“Next week. Tuesday or Wednesday.” I try to remember, but it’s really not that easy to get my brain to work under the watchful eye of this Adonis of a man. He taps his lips, as if contemplating the whole situation, and my eyes zoom in on his perfect lips. God, he is hot.
“Do you have anywhere else to stay?” he asks. I give it some thought. Not a lot. I already know the answer. Nope. That would be a big, fat no. The only person I would consider an actual friend is Christian, and he won’t be able to explain my presence in his house for a few days. I don’t even feel that comfortable telling him. Despite our friendship, it is still difficult to admit just how bad things have gotten at home. My life is so different than the lives of West Point’s other students, that I think it’s sometimes difficult to comprehend.
I don’t answer, but look away, outside through the window of the little boat. It’s cozy in here. There’s a medium-sized yellow couch that looks old but comfy, a small kitchen, and a bathroom you can climb down to.
“Remingt—” He starts again. I cut him off.
“What do you want me to say, Mr. James? That the answer is no? I have no one to rely on when things go south. I called you, didn’t I?” I blow a lock of hair away from my face, frustrated. “That should tip you off about my overall situation. I don’t want you to save me. I want you to make me forget.”
My voice breaks at the last sentence, and I hate it, and I hate me, and I hate this. I wanted to have fun with Pierce James. I wanted him to be a distraction from life, and instead, somehow he’s become my whole life, and everything else is a distraction.
“You can stay here.”
“I don’t need your charity.”
“You’re not getting any.” It’s his turn to snap and push off his chair, walking over to me. He is assertive. And big. All man. My assumption was right the first time I saw him. He shouldn’t be a teacher. He is too menacing to be one.
“If you were a charity case,” his eyes narrow at me, “I would throw your case on the headmaster’s desk and look the other way. If you were a charity case, I would follow protocol. You. Are. Not. A. Charity. Case. You need a place until this blows over. You need to be honest with your dad about what’s going on with your stepbrother. If he’s a smart man, he may throw your stepbrother out once you explain. I’m counting on it. Until then, you stay here. Understood?”
There’s a pause in which everything is completely silent, save for the distant hoots and hollers from the surrounding party boats.
I hang my head, knowing he’s right and hating it. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Only thing is…I’m not good. And I’m about to become even worse than he had ever imagined, because this—right here—his compassion, is driving me nuts. Without thinking about the consequences—something I never do when I’m around him—I push him to the chair in front of me and hop on the wooden counter of the small kitchenette. I part my thighs, ever so slightly. Pretend to check the bloody wound.
He swallows hard, and my eyes catch the movement in his throat. His eyes drop—finally, finally—between my legs as he takes another swig. Victory.
My heart is doing cartwheels in my chest, and even though he hasn’t so much as touched me, I feel myself growing slick. His eyes stay fixed on me, and it gives me the courage to take it a little further. I slide my fingers up toward my plain white bikini underwear and graze my clit over the fabric. For half a second, I’m insecure about my less than sexy undergarments, but the look in his eyes—a little pissed off and a lot horny—squashes that thought.
I’m afraid he’s going to turn me down again. Tell me to stop. Throw me in the fucking lake, I don’t know. But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he stands and grabs a beer—once more—then returns to the booth. This is the last thing I should be thinking about doing after tonight, but this is the first time he hasn’t shut me down, and I need to know I’m not the only one feeling this. I need to know I affect him as much as he affects me. He sits forward, with his elbows on his knees, the bottle dangling between two fingers as he studies me.
He wants to watch.
I lean back on my elbows and bring my knees up so my feet are resting on the edge of the counter. Now my legs are spread wide. If anyone walked in right now, he’d appear to be disinterested. But I know the truth. He wants this. But he wants me to take the choice from him. I rub myself over my panties, slowly circling my clit again. Touching myself is nothing new, but with Mr. James watching me, it’s never felt better. A moan slips out, and my hips start rocking into my touch. He licks his lips and takes another drink. When he sits back in his seat, I see exactly how much he wants me through his gym shorts. But he doesn’t make a move to touch himself.
Challenge accepted.
I take a deep breath and pull my panties to the side, showing him the parts of me no one else has ever seen. I’ve never been exposed like this. Even with my ex, Zach, it was only twice, and only ever in the dark, under the covers. I’m spread out on display for my teacher, and the thought only gets me hotter.
This. This is what I’ve been waiting for.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and I take that as a win. I slip two fingers inside, and they slide in easily with how wet I am. My head drops back, and I fuck my fingers harder, rubbing at the tight bundle of nerves with the heel of my palm.
“I picture you touching me like this almost every night,” I admit breathlessly. “And in class. It’s all I ever think about.” He bites down on his plump bottom lip, but doesn’t respond.
I palm my breast over my tank while I rock into my other hand, and I feel it building. I’m not going to last much longer. I glance at him again. He stares at me like I am nothing and everything at the very same time. I have no idea what’s going through his mind, and that just makes it so much hotter. This is all a mind game. He could just be playing me, and thinks I’m nothing but a stupid little girl—a cheap, soon-to-be-broken toy. Jesus, I’m not even sure if he is hard for me or for the situation. The sheer desperation that I exhibit as I offer him myself like a sacrifice.
I want to break that control. I stand and walk toward him. When I’m standing next to the table in front of him, I slide my underwear down my legs, letting them fall to the floor.
“Remington,” he warns, his voice still hard and gruff. It’s the same stern voice that tells me to stop touching myself. To go to the headmaster’s office. To behave. Only tonight, I will misbehave until I break him.
Before he has the chance to object, I sit on the corner of the table, swinging one leg around him so he’s in between my thighs. His breath comes out ragged, and I prop myself up on one elbow, while my other hand snakes its way back down. His eyes are glued to where my fingers slowly work their way in and out. In and out.
“I wonder what you taste like…” I whisper. “Your lips. Your cock. Do you ever wonder what I taste like?”
His jaw ticks once. “What do you think?”