God help me, heat inundates me when I remember the way he pulled down my tank top. Without permission. Exposing my breasts. My palms grow damp when I recall him yanking down my shorts, sinking his teeth into my shoulder. The sounds he made, like a wolf mating during a full moon.
With that grunting rasp ricocheting in my head, I finally slide my fingers down the front of my panties, my middle finger stealing into my slick folds—and I jerk, a shocked moan sailing from my mouth, my back arching involuntarily.
Oh my God, what is that spot?
I can’t seem to stop rubbing it, twisting a corresponding bolt inside of me every time my middle finger passes over the tingling nub.
His name comes to my lips unbidden. “Granger,” I gasp, feeling his male seed bathing my feminine flesh, running down my thighs. Watching his mouth fall open, his eyes going blind as he attacks me, pushing me up against the chain links—
My phone rings loudly on the desk and I screech, quickly pulling my fingers out of my panties, looking around the room guiltily. There is no one here, of course, it’s just my phone making the commotion. But when I look at the screen and see my roommate’s name scrolling by, I might as well still be touching myself. That’s the effect thoughts of him have on me now. Just knowing he sleeps one door away has kept me awake and restless for two nights, the pulse between my legs refusing to calm. The way he behaved should have sent me running in the opposite direction, especially after what happened with my stepbrother, but instead…
I’ve had to stop myself from running to him.
I might have given in, too. I might have knocked on his bedroom door and asked for his help in extinguishing the new fire inside of me. But he’s been acting so strange for the last two days. He moves around the apartment looking as if he’s in physical pain. Every time I walk past him, he hisses a breath.
Being near me seems to put him in acute agony. And yet he never takes his eyes off me. It’s like he’s waiting for me to run so he can give chase.
I never took myself for a reckless girl, but I can’t help it.
There’s something inside of me that thrills to the idea of being caught.
My phone continues to vibrate on the desk and I pick it up, pressing talk, taking a deep, bracing breath and holding it to my ear. “Hi, Granger.”
“Peyton.” His exhale crackles down the line. “What are you doing?”
His voice jolts my pulse into racing. “I’m working on report cards.”
A long silence. “Is that all?”
The hair stands up on my arms and I turn my head, searching the pitch-black windows for a face. Some sign that he’s watching me. That he caught me touching myself. But that’s crazy, right? My roommate is not standing on the other side of the glass. I’m being paranoid. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you should be home by now. Is there something you’re doing at the school that you can’t do at the apartment?”
I’m not sure why I whisper, “Yes.” Perhaps because he showed me his vulnerability in the basement on Monday night. Showed me how badly he needed release. And here, alone in my classroom with no one nearby to judge, I confide in the only person who has ever made me feel safe. Wanted. “I’m doing something I’ve never done before,” I say shakily, dropping my free hand back between my thighs and tease the front of my panties with two fingers.
“Are you touching yourself, Peyton?”
“Uh-huh.”
He releases a guttural sound. “Why?”
I swallow hard, rubbing now. Rubbing my sensitive spot through the white cotton of my underwear, creating a wet spot. “I can’t help it. Ever since the other night, I’ve felt different…down there.”
Do I hear footsteps in the background? “Different how?”
“H-hot.” I bite my bottom lip hard. “Damp.”
He’s breathing in short, rasping pants. “If I was there right now, baby, would you let me pump my dick inside of it?”
Those words blast me like an inferno, my fingers moving involuntary to slip inside my panties, finding my soaked flesh and stroking it eagerly. Granger between my legs, his hips thrusting vigorously. The imagery makes me restless, the upper half of my body falling back in the chair and arching, thighs spread. “Yes,” I say finally.
And then he’s there.
Framed in the doorway of my classroom.
He lowers the phone pressed to his ear, shoves it into the pocket of his jacket and advances toward me—and God help me, I’m too turned on and achy to question how he arrived so fast. All I can do is be consumed by those eyes. They’re black and tinged with madness, but it’s madness I feel, too, in this moment. Like I would do anything for this ache to be lessened and my body knows, instinctively, Granger can help me do that. He’s the only one who can.