The door closed behind them, and Deja felt as if her office was quieter than it had ever been. She swore she could hear and feel her heart pounding against her chest; it was deafening but drowned out deliciously by the ragged sound of Alejandro’s breath in her ear.

When she’d fantasized about what it might be like to finally be with him, she imagined the encounter as frantic, desperate, because she knew she would be frantic and desperate. She couldn’t even count how many times she’d dreamt about tearing his suit from his body, buttons flying everywhere, and messy wet kisses ruining her makeup. The reality was so much slower, and not in a bad way.

Deja clutched her keys to her chest as Alejandro’s hands bracketed her waist and squeezed, as if he needed to hold her, possess her.

Deja’s breathing slowed to match his and then sped up as his thumb started to move up and down her hip, slipping just under her t-shirt and over her bare skin. She could have sworn she felt that movement everywhere; on her inner thighs, across the tips of her tightening nipples, over her clit, inside her sex, everywhere she’d fantasized about Alejandro touching her since the moment they met.

She swallowed a groan as his hand flattened over her stomach in a possessive hold, and then he pulled her back against him. They both groaned as the prominent mound of his dick pressed against the curve of her ass.

“Turn around,” he commanded.

Deja shivered with excitement.

Five

Alejandro was a patient man. He’d been waiting for Deja for over a year.

A year of watching her out of the corner of his eye across the auditorium at the monthly Faculty Senate meetings. A year of wasting too much time in the hallways of their building in the vain hopes that he might catch a glimpse of her. A year of training his body to recognize the very particular sound of her heels echoing down the hallway. A year of trying to decide if he should sit next to her at the Provost’s speeches so he could try to decipher each individual note in her perfume or sit where she was in his line of sight so he could study each microexpression as it flitted across her face. A year of running into her in the student union and then his heart matching the beat of the unconscious and impatient tapping of her right foot — always her right foot — while they waited in line for coffee. A year of wet dreams that made him feel like a pre-teen all over again. A year of waiting for the right moment to ask for so much more.