“You are amazing,” I tell her, crying real tears for the first time in my adult life.
“I didn’t do it alone, Weston,” she tells me.
“What are we going to call her?” I ask my exhausted wife.
“I like Marlowe, don’t you?”
Together we stare at our sleeping girl, feeling like the two luckiest people alive.
Crosby
My mom offered to watch Marlowe for the rest of the afternoon.
“Go take your husband out to lunch. Marlowe and I will go to the petting zoo.”
“That’s okay, Mom, Weston is home early on Tuesdays.” I’m trying to gather up the drafts that are spread all over the dining room table. Some days I use my office. Other days, like today, when Marlowe is home, I draw at the table while I feed her Cheerios and orange wedges. She gets into the paper and markers too, although her passion is drawing farm animals and Daddy, not dresses and suits. This weekend, I fly to Milan to present my portfolio to Renetti. I was going to go alone, but Weston bought a ticket at the last minute, so we’re making a short holiday of it.
“Go, go! You can surprise him. Spending time with Marlowe gives me something to do.” My mother shoos me away, and Marlowe is chewing on a bagel my mother brought her and is happy as a lark whether I stay or I go.
I grab my purse and the keys, but I’m struck with an idea before yanking open the door. I jet up the stairs and start rifling through my lingerie drawers.
At the back, I find the pleated skirt and the G-string I’m looking for. Stuffing them into my bag, I rummage on the floor of the closet for a pair of heels I haven’t worn since before Marlowe was born.
Marlowe howls after I kiss her on the head, just realizing I’m leaving. My mom scoops her up and starts rocking and shushing her immediately.
I make it to the U in record time and rush down the hallway, hoping Weston is still in class. When I get to his office, I say a little prayer that he’s left his door unlocked. Sure enough, it’s open. I glance over my shoulder, dart inside, and quickly lock it behind me. I’m out of breath, and my heart’s thumping hard in my chest. I quickly strip out of my regular clothes and pull out the schoolgirl outfit I grabbed before leaving. I slip into the G-string and the plaid pleated skirt, pull long, white knee-highs up my legs, and divide my hair into two pigtails.
I know Weston better than anyone else in this world. His reaction will be equal parts angry and horny—which makes for explosive sex. He’s risk-averse, likes things calculated and planned. But he can’t resist me as a naughty schoolgirl, especially considering I performed my very first blow job right here on this desk.
Deciding to forgo the bra and shirt altogether, I grab Weston’s discarded tie and hang it loosely, so it settles between my breasts. After plopping down in his office chair and scooting back on the wheels, I cross my long legs so just my ankles and heels are propped up on the stack of books he’s left there. All I have to do is spread my legs just a little, and he’ll have a perfect view up my skirt.
My nails are done for Italy, long, red, and shiny. I pinch my nipples until they’re erect and smarting. I’m already wet as I glance at the clock. His class is getting out right now, and I wonder how many girls are trying to corner the hot professor after class, asking questions about their essays while casually batting eyelashes, flipping their long hair, and sticking out their chests.
Too bad they’re not ever getting even the tiniest taste of the man who is probably on the minds of dozens of girls as they slip guilty fingers into their panties at night.
A warm heat floods between my legs, and I smile, rummaging in my bag until I find some red lip gloss that I slick on my lips. Before I can finish, the door flies open, letting in the light from the hallway.
“What the—?” Weston slams the door closed as fast as I’ve ever seen him. “Holy shit, Crosby. You scared the hell out of me—” His jaw drops slightly as he takes in my attire. “Are you trying to get me fired?” His eyes flare with anger, but a spark of something else is there too.
He charges to the door and flips the lock. When he turns back around, I can see the outline of his hardness through his dress pants already.
“I’m here for office hours, Professor Abernathy,” I say. I keep the applicator for the gloss pressed into my bottom lip. I slowly spread my legs until I’m fully exposed before him, with nothing but a tiny black string covering my wet pussy. I cup my breasts in my hands and lift them, running my thumb over my already swollen nipples.