See what’s really cooking between Lizzie and Connor while they prepare the dinner party in Out on Good Behavior…
“Okay, the pork is marinating and the coconut is toasting in the oven—what’s next?” Connor asks, rinsing his hands in the kitchen sink.
“Hmm.” I consult the recipes from the Filipino cooking class we’ve been taking together online. “Looks like lumpia, though when I read the recipe I got from class to Lola, she said ‘Hindi ‘yan pagkain’ and made me write down a new one.”
“I know I should not be turned-on by a sentence that includes a mention of your grandmother, but Cris, I find it so hot when you speak Tagalog.”
I know. My grandmother actually said it in English.
“Behave, professor. We have a meal to cook. Get to chopping the carrots.”
He does, grabbing a knife and the cutting board and commencing a fine chop. His lean biceps flex with every stroke, and I’m sure I’m supposed to be doing something too, but his forearms are so much more interesting.
“Am I chopping wrong?” he asks, pausing in his task.
“Nope.”
“You wanted this size, right?”
“Yup.”
He waits for me to stop doing my own chopping. I don’t. Finally, he gets it. For a TA, he’s an awfully slow study sometimes. “Elizabeth.”
“Yes, professor?”
He sighs. “What have I said about calling me that?”
“You mean when you pretend you don’t love it?” I lean back against the counter. “You know I can literally see your dick disagreeing with you, right?”
He exhales the most put-upon breath ever expressed by man and sets down the knife. “You are impossible.” But judging by the way he takes a fistful of my tank top and pulls me to him so he can place a hot, hungry kiss on my mouth, I don’t think he’s too upset.
I reach behind me to sweep the counter clean and hop up, pulling Connor close and trapping him between my thighs, grinding against evidence he is definitely a fan of a certain academic nickname. He groans, cupping my ass as he grinds back, but when I reach for the button of his jeans, he traps my fingers in his.
“Lizzie,” he murmurs between kisses behind my ear. “We’re not fucking on the very counter on which we’re cooking for your friends.”
“I’ll wipe it down afterward!”
“Elizabeth.” Before I can even voice a protest, he grips my ass again and lifts me, forcing me to hold tight around his waist as he carries me into my room while I squeal out of certainty I’m gonna fall. I don’t, though, which makes me think his workouts with Mase are doing more than I realized.
“Not the bed,” I say before he can drop me onto the mattress. “I’m not giving up kitchen counter for plain old bed.”
“I’m going to choose to ignore how many ways I think I’ve been insulted.” But he nips at my throat and deposits me on my desk. I immediately yank him to me for a fierce kiss while shoving books off the wooden surface from under my ass.
“The desk,” I observe with raised eyebrows as I undo his fly—successfully, this time. “How…”
“Don’t say professorly,” he orders against my mouth.
“What are you gonna do?” I ask innocently, shoving his jeans down over his hips, then lifting my butt so I can push my sweatpants down. “Fail me? Too late.” I pull my tank top over my head. “I’m an A student all the way now, baby. Unless you count these Cs.”
“Tabarnak.” His head drops to my tits and he takes a nipple in his teeth, making me glad I skipped the whole onerous bra thing today. “How are you so terrible and so sexy at the same time?”
“Sex magic.” That’s about as clever a response as I can manage when he’s circling a nipple with his tongue and his cock’s pressing up against me through two layers of cotton that really need to get the fuck out of the way.
His response is a warm murmur against my skin as he sucks, hard, and I wonder if he can feel just how damp the stupid cotton is between us. That mystery’s solved a moment later when his fingers push it aside and stroke me just a couple of times before sliding easily inside me.
“Ready and waiting, huh?” he says as he switches to the other breast. “What did set you off? Was it the carrots? Did you have props in mind?”
“Shut up,” I groan as I ride his fingers, willing him to move faster, harder. “You know it’s your stupid fucking hands.”
“So now my fucking hands are stupid? Well, I never.” He starts to slide out of and I grab his wrist and shove him back in.
“This is not the time for terrible jokes, Connor,” I warn him, biting his shoulder.
“Professor,” he corrects in a growl as he curls his fingers inside me.
It’s too fucking hot for me to even feel smug.
“Professor,” I amend with a gasping breath. “I think I could learn a lot better without these stupid things on, don’t you?”
He slips his fingers out and tugs my useless panties off. “I think that’s an excellent observation, Miss Brandt.”
“I have a really great teacher.” I spread my legs wider on the desk, picking my feet up so they’re hanging off the edge. I’m on full display right now, and thought we’ve been in the kitchen and surrounded by food all day, this is by far the hungriest I’ve seen him. I drag a finger up through the wetness I’m sure he’d be able to see from ten feet away. “He’s taught me so much about the power of… observation.”
“You’re doing an excellent job with those visual aids.”
“Am I? Perhaps you should take a closer look, Professor. Nothing beats the power of hands-on instruction.”
He lowers himself into my desk chair. “Nothing?” He raises his eyebrows as he skates those elegant, sinewy hands up my thighs.
Then he buries his face between them, and I respond with a howl as he nudges my hand away and fucks me with his tongue. It takes all my restraint to keep myself steady, but he helps with firm hands cupping my ass. My brain short-circuits as he grazes me with nipping teeth, then soothes with long strokes, teasing just a little too lightly. He swirls his tongue slowly around my clit and I know he knows I need more.
“This is mean,” I gasp out, my hips bucking, demanding more than he’s giving.
“Is it?”
“Connor Lawson, I swear to fucking—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence before he yanks me onto his lap and mashes my mouth to his. I taste myself on his tongue, feel myself soaking through the cotton of his boxer briefs to the impossibly hard cock threatening to tear through them. Our hands clumsily fight together to yank his underwear down, and then I’m sliding down on him and it’s so fucking satisfying I let out a groan that could probably wake the dead.
“Cris, your neighbors—”
“Are probably jerking off to this.” My nails dig into his tight back muscles as I use him for leverage. “This is not the time to quiet the class, sir.” I lift up and slam back down, over and over until fireworks are forming in my brain and all I can hear is the panting of “so fucking good” and I’m not even sure which one of us is saying it, and then everything explodes and I’m coming all over his cock and I swear to fuck I have never been so glad I sat through an entire fucking semester of Byzantine history in my entire life.
And of course, that’s when the smoke alarm goes off.
Fuck.
The Daily Dahlia 