A series of knocks sounded against her heavy office door, and each impact seemed to reverberate through Eve’s chest. Her eyes closed in exasperation as she ran her hands through her mane of dark, curly hair. While her occupation as a professor wasn’t necessarily difficult in and of itself, her students could really grate her nerves. On a day like today, the woman barely had any patience left to offer before she was going to start throwing things, so her office door remained closed. She hoped it was a subtle deterrent to potential irritants. The window in her door was frosted glass. Maybe, just maybe, if she sat very still, she may appear as just another fixture in the room. Maybe the inquiring student would simply leave. She bit her lip and waited. Another knock shattered her hope of being left alone. “Shit,” she whispered to herself. “Office hours are closed!” she called. Technically, it was true. It was only three past, but Eve would be dammed if she had to stay even later to explain a concept to a student that could easily be read in their textbook or Googled, for that matter. Really, how hard is it to use context clues?
A small, sniveling voice came from behind the door. “Sorry to bother you, Eve, but I was hoping we could discuss my most recent mark?” The question was harmless enough, and the tone was pleading. The accent of the student fit with the London locale, but something wasn’t quite right.
Eve smirked and shook her head. She knew exactly who it was. Oksana Astankova, or, as she preferred to be called, Villanelle. The woman was in a few of her classes last year, and she was simultaneously the best and the worst student Eve had ever had. Villanelle was smart as a whip, and her quick tongue and unique thinking enriched class discussions. The problem was that she had a penchant for pushing Eve’s buttons. Over the course of three semesters, their little cat-and-mouse relationship evolved, and Villanelle was pushing the professor’s buttons in an entirely different context. “Miss Astankova, come in,” she said, schooling her expression.
“What?” a much deeper voice whined in a Russian accent. The door opened, and a tall blonde woman wearing a perfectly tailored pinstripe suit and a pout emerged. “How did you know it was me?”
Eve flicked her wrist, gesturing for the other woman to close the door. “None of my students call me Eve.”
Villanelle casually slipped her hands into the pockets of her trousers. “Well, I’m not your student anymore,” she started, slowly approaching Eve’s desk. “So maybe I could get a recommendation letter? I’ll do anything,” she added, pathetic expression and fake accent back in full force.
Eve simply rolled her eyes before bringing them back to her computer screen. “Sit. I’m just finishing up grading, and then you can bother me all you want.”
Villanelle circled the chair across from Eve’s desk, looking at it with disdain. When was the last time that upholstery was cleaned? What could possibly be on peoples’ pants that would get the chair that dirty from everyday use? “Can’t I bother you at the same time?”
The older woman’s eyes flicked to Villanelle for a moment, but she otherwise does not acknowledge her. Sometimes that was the best route.
Already growing annoyed at the lack of attention, Villanelle picked up the black and gold nameplate that read ‘Mrs. Polastri’. She frowned at it, and her reflection frowned back. In a second, it was hurling through the room, landing in the bin by the door with a clatter.
“Oksana!” Eve scolded, her hands hovering over her keyboard.
Although she wasn’t a fan of her birth name, she could usually tolerate it coming from Eve’s lips. The professor seemed to reserve the name for when the younger woman was being especially irritable. “What?” Villanelle replied innocently, eyes wide. “How are we supposed to fuck on your desk if there’s so much clutter? Really, Eve, you need to-“
“Put it back,” Eve commanded, gaze fixed on the younger woman.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Villanelle defied, eyebrows furrowed. She sat gingerly on the desk in the now-open space. The ruby red of a half-eaten apple next to Eve’s keyboard caught her eye, and she reached forwards to grasp it and take a hefty bite. A drop of the juice slid out of the corner of her mouth, but the back of her hand caught it before it reached her chin.
For as professional as the younger woman dressed, she could be downright uncouth. Although this wasn’t particularly unusual for her, her heightened misbehavior usually correlated with something bothering her.
Eve wasn’t stupid. “Are you okay?” she wondered. Most people ask that sort of question out of a baseless need for conversation but do not actually care. Eve, on the other hand, felt as though those polite, but ultimately empty, questions were pointless. She was asking because she genuinely wanted to know.
“I’m fine,” Villanelle replied, mouth still full.
“You winced when you sat down,” Eve noted, knowing her attention to the detail may deter further lies.
The blonde finished chewing. “Maybe I have a very big stick up my ass,” she said before taking another bite.
Brown eyes rolled, and Eve stood from her chair and made her way around her desk. Villanelle’s legs were already widespread, so Eve occupied the space between them. Perched on the desk, Villanelle was slightly below Eve’s height for once. The older woman snatched the apple from long fingers and put it back on the plate.
“Hey!” Villanelle protested weakly, as though it was more of an act than actual anger.
Undeterred, Eve’s hand gently worked the hair tie out of the younger woman’s hair, slipping it around her wrist for safekeeping.
Big, hazel eyes looked up slightly, the action making Villanelle appear vulnerable. Her hair fell, framing her face with an almost comedic amount of volume after being tightly tied all day.
Eve’s fingers worked through the long, honey blonde locks, her blunt nails gently scraping across her scalp.
The ministrations were calming, and after a few seconds, Villanelle was visibly relaxed. Her eyes closed, her shoulders slumped, and her lips parted slightly. Despite that, her eyebrows remained furrowed, the only evidence that she was not, in fact, okay.
“Why did you throw my nameplate in the garbage?” Eve asked blankly, as if asking what time it was.
“Ugh, ‘garbage’,” Villanelle frowned, as if the word tasted bad in her mouth. “You Americans and your ugly words.”
“That’s not an answer,” Eve prodded, continuing petting the other woman’s head.
“I’ll get you a new one,” the blonde replied, eyes still closed.
“What’s wrong with the one I have now?”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Villanelle asked instead, her eyes flicking back open.
Eve’s hands stilled, falling to rest on the flat pane between the other woman’s neck and breasts. “What?”
“Being called Mrs. Polastri.” Her gaze was intense.
“It’s my name,” Eve replied evenly. She’d been married to Niko Polastri for years—long enough to get to know herself as Mrs. Polastri instead of Miss Parks. Until the divorce was finalized, it was still her legal name.
“Your name is Eve. Mrs. Polastri is possessive. It’s like you belong to him, even now,” Villanelle replied, her disgust clear in her grimace.
There it was. “Oksana,” Eve said softly. With another glance from the blonde, this time one of annoyance, Eve tacked on a “sorry” for using her birth name. “Mister and missus have the same root word. It’s not a possessive.” Her left hand reached up to cup the younger woman’s chin for a moment.
Perfectly groomed eyebrows furrowed. “Oh.” After a few beats, she added. “Really?”
Eve nodded her head.
“Well, I still don’t like it…Mrs. Astankova is better,” Villanelle decided. Then, her eyes glossed over for a moment, as though she became lost in thought.
The older woman looked down at her, trying to work out what she meant. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d spoken in riddles that Eve had a hard time deciphering. “Than Oksana?” she guessed.
Strong hands reached forward, gripping delicate hips and pulling the older woman closer. “Than Mrs. Polastri,” Villanelle clarified, voice low. Her eyes bored into Eve’s, like a feline who had cornered its prey, daring it to try to flee. The words, the action—all of it screamed that Villanelle was trying to make a claim.
Although Eve would categorize their relationship as casual, she knew that neither of them had slept with anyone else since they started…whatever it was they had going. Eve also knew that that was unusual for the younger woman, who had garnered a reputation as somewhat of a player around campus. With her confidence, style, and charm, Villanelle could have whoever she wanted. That being said, when her flirtations were directed at her professor, Eve wasn’t sure if it was due to genuine interest or a play for better grades. It’s not that she wasn’t smart, she was one of the smartest students in Eve’s classes, but she could be lazy.
Frankly, at this point in her life, Eve didn’t give a fuck what the younger woman’s intentions really were. If Villanelle wanted to get under her skin during class, she could get under her sheets after class. She was fine with the power differential. She was fine with the age difference and the omission of labels. She was fine with reducing herself to be Villanelle’s favorite chew toy until she got bored of her. Her life was so dull until the passionate blonde made herself the center of Eve’s attention. The younger woman’s vibrancy was so pervasive, so addicting, that Eve wouldn’t allow herself to go back to the way things were before. She was ready to do something for herself for once, to allow herself to be greedy. And she was ready to let their relationship burn hot and fast and eventually consume itself. Eve didn’t think about what it would be like once Villanelle cast her aside for the next woman. She couldn’t be bothered to think about anything outside of the present. And presently, she was pretty damn satisfied.
Villanelle, on the other hand, was pretty damn unsatisfied—but not for the usual reasons. Typically, Villanelle’s trysts lasted no longer than twenty-four hours. Once they fulfilled her immediate needs or fantasy, she had no use for them. They were boring. They were clingy. They were annoying. They were stupid. They were too emotional. They were replaceable—but not Eve.
Eve didn’t smile and nod and go along with whatever Villanelle had to say. She made her work for it. If Villanelle pushed, Eve pushed right back. If Villanelle was wrong, Eve corrected her and guided her without making her feel stupid. When Villanelle was herself, truly herself, Eve didn’t run away.
The initial interest, the prickle of excitement when someone caught Villanelle’s eye, usually faded quickly. After she had her way, Villanelle was always left feeling bored and empty until the next came along. Each person offered just enough entertainment to satiate her for a few days, maybe a week. That wasn’t the case with the beautiful professor with the glorious mane of curls and a sharp tongue. It started as a little flame, as it always does. The classroom banter and defiant attitude peaked her interest and kept her on the chase, promising a bigger payoff. Securing a sexual relationship with the older woman should have been the end of it for Villanelle, but the blonde just couldn’t get her off of her mind.
When she spent time with Eve, she loathed to think about going back to her apartment. Once a safe space for her to soak in her independence, it now felt too big—too empty. Every second apart pulled at her, like an invisible tether. She found herself counting the hours until she saw her again. When Eve spoke, she wanted to hear more. For the first time ever, she cared what someone else had to say. Eve had such a way with words that Villanelle could listen to her talk about anything, really. When Eve touched her, she melted. No one could make her feel safe enough to be vulnerable, but she was absolute putty in the other woman’s hands. When Eve came for her, she wanted to see her do it again and again and again. She wanted to bring Eve higher and higher, and she reveled in how much Eve could take. That’s what Eve did: take take take. And, God, Villanelle wanted to give her everything.
This casual little arrangement they had going was incredible, but it wasn’t enough. The blonde felt like she was chasing a high she just couldn’t reach. She needed more of Eve. She needed to know she had her all to herself.
“I thought you didn’t do labels,” Eve stated. That much had been clear when their relationship became physical. Villanelle set boundaries, ones the professor could only respect. Villanelle’s statement had been bold. It implied that she wanted something much more serious than what they currently had. Eve was willing to make that leap. But did the younger woman really mean it? She could be passionate and impulsive, sure, but Eve wasn’t sure if committed was in the cards.
“Things change,” Villanelle snapped, as if she were avoiding the very subject she had brought up herself. Her shoulders were tense, and her eyes drifted to the wall and ceiling—avoidance behaviors.
Eve could see Villanelle closing herself off. She had to bring her back to the present. Her fingers moved slowly, creeping down to find the buttons of the other woman’s suit jacket and undoing them one by one. That, paired with the height advantage her position put her at, allowed Eve to see just a taste of the black lacy bra beneath the v-neck she exposed. Her eagerness to remove more clothing was thwarted by the appearance of an unusual addition to the younger woman’s outfit. Now that the suit jacket was fully unbuttoned, an uncharacteristic bulge in the woman’s waistline was impossible to miss.
“Is that a gun or are you happy to see me?” Eve jested.
Villanelle laughed, but it was a weak, breathy thing. Was she…embarrassed? “I wanted to see you,” she answered, looking up at Eve through her eyelashes.
Eve’s hand cupped the object through baggy suit pants, confirming her suspicions. Next, the buttons were popped, and gravity pulled the strap-on now that it was free from its confines. “Well, you’re here,” Eve replied. “What do you want?” She wrapped her hand around the length of the toy, about halfway, and pushed down. She fully expected a reaction from the blonde, knowing the base would likely come into contact with her clit. To her surprise, the toy pushed much further than it should have, and Villanelle’s head fell back, a moan escaping through the teeth that bit into her lip. It seemed this wasn’t the typical strap-on. Intrigued, Eve pulled and pushed again a few times, feeling the toy slide in and out of the other woman. Villanelle’s eyes were squeezed shut, and her fingers gripped the edge of the desk—her knuckles paling every time the toy slid back in. “It’s double-ended,” she sighed, answering Eve’s silent question.
“Ah, that explains the wincing.”
“I didn’t wince,” Villanelle argued.
Eve took the moment to brace one hand on the shoulder before her and shove downwards particularly rough with the other.
Villanelle’s jaw dropped, and her whole body became rigid as the toy went deeper. Before she could speak, shorter but equally as rough thrusts caused the end to repeatedly hit the same spot inside her, and her thoughts became hazy.
“Looks like a wince to me,” Eve replied, halting her movements.
Asshole. Villanelle opened her eyes, taking in Eve’s smug expression, and smirked despite herself.
“It’s not really in your ass, is it?” the older woman suddenly asked with a grimace, recalling Villanelle’s comment from earlier.
The smirk widened until a laugh poured out. “No.”
Her laughter was joined by Eve’s. “I didn’t think I’d be giving a handjob today.”
“Ugh,” Villanelle scoffed, a flash of disgust crossing her face at the comment. She didn’t want to think about it like that. Her expression switched comically fast as Eve began pumping around the toy again. Her eyes closed once more. For a few moments, the only sounds were of Villanelle’s heavy breathing and the telltale sound of how wet she was becoming. “I didn’t think I’d enjoy a handjob this much,” she admitted with a single chuckle. “Although, I imagine it’s not quite the same.”
Eve hummed, lost in thought as she studied the other woman’s face. “Open your eyes.”
“Open your eyes. Watch me,” Eve commanded.
Hazel eyes fluttered open, albeit a bit hesitantly.
“Watch my movements,” Eve instructed, pleased when she was obeyed. Now that the attention was on her, her movements were less practical and more dramatic. Her fingers traced along the length of the toy gently before her touch became increasingly firm.
Villanelle did as she was told, her eyebrows furrowing as she watched the older woman’s ministrations. It didn’t make any sense. Maybe her imagination was to active. Surely, she couldn’t actually feel it, but…there was certainly something going on.
Next, Eve graduated to pumping around the toy slowly, using just a little too much force so that it would sink further on Villanelle’s end.
The blonde responded in turn, her eyes glued to Eve’s hand as she let the power of the human brain heighten her feelings. She pulled her lips into her mouth in a feeble attempt to remain quiet, but the little moans that clawed at her throat rumbled out anyway. Her eyes opened, finding Eve’s gaze too intense. Everything was too intense. So, naturally, Villanelle made it worse. Her right hand flew up, grabbing Eve by the side of her neck, and pulled her into a kiss. It wasn’t sweet. It was a messy thing, all tongue and teeth—something to convey how chaotic she felt while teetering on the edge.
Eve leaned forwards into the blonde’s space, feeling eager hands bunch up in her hair. The kiss was returned with equal fervor, and her hand increased its pace as the general tone of the moment was suddenly heightened. Villanelle’s breath was hot and uneven
between kisses; Eve could tell she was struggling to remain in control. But in times like this, she needed to let go of that, if only for a moment. She could feel her resolve crumbling by the second. She could feel it in her too-tight muscles, she could taste it in the way Villanelle whined as Eve sucked on the tongue in her mouth.
“Eve,” she said, the word less of a name and more of a warning. After that, she was a mess of stuttering hips, broken moans, and too-tight grips on whatever parts of Eve she could get her hands on. And then she was still. Sitting on the desk, eyes closed as her shoulders sank. Minutes passed as she schooled her expression and caught her breath. She was confident she was collected,
only the flush on her pale skin gave her away. Hazel eyes flicked open to meet Eve’s intense ones.
They were kind of glossy, as if Eve couldn’t bear to blink and miss any of what Villanelle had to offer her. With that primal glint in the blonde’s eyes, Eve knew she had successfully grounded her.
Big hands slid to a small waist, pulling Eve back into her space. They made quick work of the older woman’s pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down until gravity took them completely. A little chuckle sounded as Villanelle noticed a darker patch in Eve’s panties already. “Did that excite you, Eve?” She asked, the answer evident when she dipped her fingers into the material and they met slick heat. “Knowing you had some control over me—over my pleasure?”
Eve didn’t blink. “Yes.”
Villanelle smirked, letting her fingers explore slowly. They glided through swollen folds and circled a taut clit easily with how much wetness had gathered there. “You’ve been so good—pleasing me when I didn’t even ask for it. I think it’s your turn,” Villanelle suggested, removing her fingers in order to stroke the length of the toy with them now that they were sufficiently wet. “Don’t you?”
Eve’s gaze flicked between hazel eyes and long, glistening fingers. “Yes.”
Villanelle smiled, pleased with the response. “You make me so wet, Eve.” Her free hand guided Eve’s to the base of the toy, where her own wetness had gathered. “Feel me. I’m dripping for you,” she revealed with a single chuckle. “I was going to take you right here, bending you over your desk, but it’s going to be harder for me to keep it inside of me now.” A pause. “Maybe if I sit it’ll be easier.” Her hands returned to the hips in front of her, her fingers digging into the prominent bones there. “Come, Eve. Sit on my lap.” Villanelle suggested, her head tilting just a little.
This was the Villanelle that initially enchanted Eve. Of course, she loved that the younger woman allowed herself to be vulnerable around her as well. Having power over someone like the blonde was intoxicating. But no one had ever taken charge quite like Villanelle had. In Eve’s otherwise mundane existence, giving Villanelle the reigns and trusting her to keep things interesting was freeing. She didn’t give a verbal reply or bother to nod her head; she simply obeyed.
The younger woman scooted back to give Eve more room to straddle her. Some books clattered to the floor, but neither of them could be bothered to retrieve them now. With the help of strong hands, Eve found herself nearly lifted into Villanelle’s lap. Long fingers pushed the material of her parties aside. The older woman hovered over the toy, letting the tip rub at her clit a few times. She allowed herself to close her eyes now, enjoying the teasing.
With the way Villanelle’s eyes were glued to the toy, she wasn’t sure who the teasing was for exactly. As expected, the blonde became impatient. “Come on, pupsik. Take a seat,” she encouraged.
Eve lowered herself down onto the toy. With how wet she was, it entered easily, but she needed a few moments to adjust to the stretch.
The motion caused it to simultaneously sink into Villanelle, whose jaw dropped at the feeling. “God, it’s like I can really feel it,” she said with an incredulous laugh. She noted Eve’s furrowed brows and added “Don’t worry, baby; I’ll go slow.”
Maybe Villanelle could handle slow in her post-orgasm haze, but that wasn’t what Eve wanted right now. Her hips began a steady, shallow thrust, and instantly, the blonde’s hands were on them.
Her grip tightened as the toy went deeper with each of Eve’s thrusts. Normally, Villanelle could keep her cool with just the clitoral stimulation of her usual strap ons. She didn’t think through how different this experience would be. Watching Eve in her lap and feeling the direct results of her movements—it was almost too much.
Meanwhile, slow was certainly not cutting it for Eve. Unfortunately, the younger woman’s death grip on her hips was preventing her from going much faster. Impatient, she figured it was time for a distraction. Small hands balled into the lapels of the suit jacket and pulled, bringing their bodies flush. Eve initiated a searing kiss, licking into Villanelle’s mouth and causing her to moan. The unexpected motion took the blonde off guard, and her muscles relaxed a bit. It was just enough for Eve to pick up the pace.
The younger woman noticed immediately, the rough pace rapidly bringing her higher. Her kissing became sloppy, her mind far from her lips. “Eve,” she said into the kiss. She was getting too close too fast.
“No,” Eve snapped. She only bucked her hips harder, drawing out the thrusts so they were longer and deeper.
“Eve, I-“ Villanelle started, but she was cut off by the feeling of teeth biting down on her bottom lip. She cried out. The taste of copper distracted her enough for the moment. The scales were tipping as control shifted hands, but Villanelle couldn’t find the strength to stop it.
“You are going to wait until I come first,” Eve demanded, her eyes boring into the other woman’s. “Got it?”
The command sent a pleasurable tingle through her body. Blonde locks bounced as Villanelle nodded three times in quick succession. Her mouth closed in concentration until a small hand wrapped around the column of her throat. Her eyes snapped open, watching as Eve bucked into her, her pace almost punishing at this point.
In just a few seconds, the older woman’s jaw dropped as her body trembled violently.
Villanelle, who was barely holding off at this point, moaned loudly enough at the sight to make up for Eve’s silent unraveling. She wasn’t going to make it. She could only hope whatever punishment Eve thought up for her would be just as good as this. Then, the hand around her throat squeezed as Eve’s eyes met hers.
Those two words were all the permission that Villanelle needed. Her orgasm crashed through her, the sensation drawn out by Eve’s long, deep thrusts. She felt small and pathetic under the older woman’s intense gaze and tight grip, which oddly only heightened her pleasure in the moment. When her body couldn’t hold on any longer, Villanelle relaxed, and so did the hand around her neck.
The two women sat for a while, sweat-sheened and breathless. Eve reached up, brushing stray blonde locks behind small ears.
Villanelle leaned into the touch subconsciously, eyes closed. They opened once more when fingers traced along her bottom lip, still sore from the bite but no longer bleeding.
This was the part where most people would say ‘I’m sorry’ for having drawn blood, but Eve wasn’t like most people. Instead, she said “Now we’re even,” referring to the bite mark the younger woman had left on the space between her shoulder and her neck just a few days ago. The professor wasn’t particularly pleased with the placement as it was more difficult to conceal, but that’s where the frustration ended. In truth, she liked being marked by Villanelle. It made her feel wanted.
And Villanelle loved to mark her. It was a physical reminder that Eve was hers—something she couldn’t deny. It was real. Tangible. And now, for the first time, Eve had marked her back. A pleased little smirk crawled across her face. That was better than a title, anyway.