Hot for Mr. Gordon

This story is written from a female reader point-of-view.

You and James Gordon are friends, and have been for nearly a year now, and you're good with that. He's your former science teacher, and now that you're back working at your old high school as a newly-qualified teacher, you're getting to know him more than you ever dreamed of. Science was always your favorite subject when you were a student and Mr. Gordon always made lessons interesting.

He's quiet and shy, and unsure of himself, but you saw beyond that a long time ago. You've seen him for who he really is, and he's done the same with you. You're a duo, even though you're very different people. You're twenty-one and he's in his late forties. Handsome and in good shape, with dark brown hair that's streaked with silver. You had a raging crush on him when you were a student, and now those feelings have deepened. Especially since he confessed that he's just broken up with his long-term partner.

Perhaps that's why you've been feeling so conflicted lately, you've been thinking differently about him, and you're afraid that he'll find out. If there's something you don't want, it's him withdrawing from you, back into his shell. It had taken you so long to lure him out of it. And that may be the reason why you've begun to avoid him a little, you don't want to admit it to yourself, but you are not spending as much time in the lab with him any more, and sometimes you avoid him deliberately because you're afraid you'll give away your feelings. The way your heart beats a little faster every time he accidentally touches your arm, or brushes by you in a hurry.

When he talks you sometimes find yourself simply spacing out at the sound of his voice, completely missing what he says. He notices, you know, and he probably doesn't understand. Maybe, just maybe, that's why you're on your way to the science lab right now, guided by mostly intuition.

When you enter the lab, silently as always, he's sitting by his desk with his face buried in his hands. You can see by the way his shoulders are shaking that he's crying, silently. It cuts your heart to see him like this, and your quick steps against the floor alerts him to your presence as you near him, wanting nothing more than to comfort him. He lifts his head and dries away the tears, rejecting your touch by pushing your hand away when you reach out for him. You look hurt, but he looks away from your eyes, away from your pleading gaze.

"James, please..." Your soft voice makes him turn his head away from you and he bites his lip, trying to fight the urge to pull you close. You don't know how much you tempt him, and he doesn't want to scare you away. Now you'd begun to distance yourself, and that was probably best. He didn't want you to feel guilty and reach out for him in pity.

No, that was the last thing he wanted. "Please... Leave." He mumbles, and your heart feels like it'll break in two. But your determination doesn't waver. "No." You say, and he stiffens in the chair as though you've hit him. "I won't leave you, James." You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. You can feel warmth radiating from him, beneath the lab coat and the white shirt. You longed to rip it off him, to convey to him just how much you wanted him, how much you loved him, but you didn't dare.

He looks up at you, studies your face, your eyes, your lips with his keen, analysing gaze. Something changes in his demeanor, and he inhales deeply. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he could very well be scenting the pheromones that you were producing right now. You wouldn't deny that you were feeling a bit aroused by the way his gaze fell from your face to your form, travelling over your body before returning to your eyes. You knew that he would recognise the signs; dilated pupils, heavier breathing. And he did indeed recognise them. Hesitantly he stood up, your hand falling from his shoulder to his chest, and grasped your arms, his movements slow as though he was in constant doubt about whether he dared go on.

"Are you -- am I mistaken when I assume -- "

"No, you're not." You cut him off with a breathy whisper, pushed to the edge of your ability to fight your urges by the way he was looking at you, and how close he was standing. When he hesitated once again, you grasped the collar of his lab coat and pulled him close, standing on tiptoes to press your lips against his. At first he seems frozen to the spot, but then his lips open and he ferociously returns the kiss, pouring all his desperate longing into it, all his waiting, all his desire. You do the same, and what had been an innocent display of love turns into a passionate act of carnal longing.

He growls and bites your lower lip so gently, you almost do not fear the brief touch of sharp teeth against your soft skin. Your gasp in response, pressing your entire body against his, craving, longing for more contact. Before you realise what you're doing, you've stripped him of his lab coat and are buttoning down his shirt. His arms wrap around you the moment you've discarded his shirt, and you bury your fingers in the wiry hair on his chest, leaning against him as your lips join in a violent kiss, your tongues battling for dominance, which he easily wins.

Since he seems to have no intention of helping you get rid of your now rather excessive clothes, you slowly begin buttoning down your own shirt, but his hands stop you and he steps back, breathless, looking down at you with worry. In his eyes, you see that all too familiar gleam of uncertainty and insecurity.

"James." You interrupt before he even has a chance to say what he intends to. "Yes, I'm sure, yes, I want you, no, I don't care that you're so much older. I want you, and you'll hurt me more if you reject me." You look down, suddenly uncertain yourself.

"That is... if you want me..."

Your words, your tone, your expression has immediate effect. He steps close to you again, his fingers resuming the buttoning down of your shirt where your own just left. Leaning close to you, he whispers into your ear. "I do want you very much." And that is all it takes, you almost moan at his words, and your hands shoot down to his, discarding the shirt before he has a chance to. Almost immediately you've taken off your skirt, and his nimble fingers are unclasping your bra while he walks you to his desk, pushing you against it with his lower body until you nimbly jump up on it, sitting right on the edge.

Your legs naturally spread and he moves to stand between them, allowing you to unbuckle his belt and push down his trousers. And suddenly, his hands are everywhere on your body and his erection is rubbing against your womanhood, granting you friction through two layers of fabric. You moan, unable to hold back the sound, and he answers with a throaty growl of his own, which sounds so gloriously animal that you can't help but gasp and pull him closer, letting your hands wander, exploring his broad back, tones muscles, strong neck and glorious chest. Here and there you find a spot that makes him mewl, and you remember them, as you map out each other's body and he finds those places you've been longing for him to touch. You hold out as long as you can, but you've been waiting for this for so long, that your patience is nearing zero.

"James, please, please-" He silences your pleads with a kiss, but his hands shift to yank down your panties. They end up halfway ripped on the floor, but you don't mind that. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his boxer shorts, clumsy with lust, and you manage to push them down and he steps out of them. For a moment you eye him, his form, his erection, just him in his full glory, wonderfully naked before you. You don't get the chance to savour the sight for long, because he pushes you back, making you lie down on the desk. You ready yourself, breathing deeply, and finally he does what you've dreamt and imagined he would for so long.

He slowly enters you, allowing you time to adjust to him. You need that, he is not the smallest of men, and had it not been for his careful and slow movements, this could have been painful. But Mr. Gordon is a gentle lover, and takes his sweet time before he is fully sheathed within you. You moan in unison, he sounds every bit the beast, the sound he makes is deep and guttural, and it goes straight to your nether regions, where you are so gloriously filled. You don't need to say anything, he seems to need exactly what you need, and he only withdraws for a moment before pushing back in again, this time quicker and harder, and he sets a slow pace, which you're grateful for.

Slowly he begins to speed up, just when your moans begin to get more needy, and you grasp onto the edges of the desk to push back against him, wrapping your legs around his middle as he thrusts into you with increasing force, steadily grinding out the sexual frustration you have both been holding in for so long. His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you up and away from the desk, stumbling back a few steps until he finds his chair and sits down with you in his lap. You raise an eyebrow at him, but his hands grasp your hips tightly and urge you to move, and then you understand.

You begin to ride him, your arms wrapped around his neck as you pull each other as close as you possibly can. You moan with every thrust he makes, and he lets out one animalistic growl after the other. Your pace quickens, and you feel him pulsate within you, his member quavering as his groans, growls and gasps grow louder, forming a strangely sensual harmony with your mewls and moans. His breath hitches in his throat as he places his mouth against your right shoulder and bites down, hard, drawing blood with his pearly white teeth. You shout, but as much in pain as in pleasure as the sting of his love bite drives you over the edge and you clamp down around him, burying your face in his neck to muffle your scream. He winces with pleasure as he helps you ride out your blinding orgasm before allowing himself to come inside you, filling you with hot seed that spreads a pleasant warmth within. With a heavy sigh, you fall forward to lie against him, and he leans back heavily in his chair, processing what just happened.

"We better..." He begins, but seems unsure of what he should say. You just shush him.

"Not now, James." You mumble, your head still slightly fuzzy in the aftermath. "I love you."

"Your feelings are reciprocated."