“What?” I gruff out.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck on your desk.” She shrugs with a grin.
“At school?”
She nods. “I want to feel my bare ass grinding against the papers from Mikaela and her stupid crew as you fuck me senseless.”
I shouldn’t be as hard as I am to hear it. That is for sure. I kick the door open wider and cock my head to the side.
“Miss Stringer,” I say. “On my desk.”
She drops to her knees and crawls deeper into the room on all fours, her ass daring me somehow.
And I’m done for.
Officially and entirely hers.
I’m sitting in his office and telling him everything.
He is grading papers. He won’t let me see what I got, but it doesn’t matter. I already know I got an A. And not because I’m sleeping with my teacher, but because I’m damn good at debating, which I proved tonight when I convinced Pierce to fuck me for a third time.
The longing ache between my legs is replaced by a real one. I’m sore all over. I feel like he sliced me open and filled me with more than I can handle. My thighs are still shaking from the aftermath of every time we had sex.
Pierce is wearing his low-hanging gray sweatpants and a long white T-shirt. It’s hot outside, but Pierce keeps his house like an igloo. He still looks expensive and rich, even in things Ryan usually wears. Pierce smells clean. Like soap and cologne and a little bit of me. And like sex. A lot like sex, actually.
“So your dad doesn’t believe you?” he asks, running his hands through my hair. I am slouched under his desk, flipping through a stack of photos I recently had developed. Of our Sunday trip. Of Christian’s new look. Then random ones, like my shoes on a cracked sidewalk. The single flower brave and strong enough to grow in our yard otherwise full of dirt and weeds. And of Pierce. So many pictures of Pierce. He has no idea. I have a hundred more waiting for me at home. Of him. Looking down to his papers behind his desk. Smirking at a student who answered his question. Looking at me with those eyes—that promise to give me pleasure and pain in spades.
“Nope.” I blow a lock of hair from my face. “He believes Ryan. Even when I told him about Ryan wanting me…”
“I see.” Pierce purses his lips together, and I know that he is pissed off. “So that’s what made you run away?”
“I didn’t run away. I just…walked away from a really screwed-up situation. Yes, that, and he didn’t remember my birthday.”
Pierce wheels his office chair sideways so that I’m placed between his legs, and I look up and see him staring at me hard.
“I want you to get your things and move away from there.”
“I have nowhere to go, and before you suggest it, I can’t live on the boathouse forever. It’s too far away from school and civilization, and even though I hate how hot and cold you are toward me, even I admit that moving in together would be asking to get caught.”
“What about Christian?” he asks. I shrug.
“His family is going through a rough time. I very much doubt they’d let some white trash chick live under their roof.”
“You’re not white trash,” Pierce snaps through gritted teeth.
“That’s not what the rest of the school thinks.”
“The rest of the school can go fuck itself.”
“Very mature.” I laugh, but really, I feel a little better hearing that. He takes my hand and yanks me up to sit on his thigh. It feels so different, sitting on him instead of Ryan. I knot my arms behind his neck and stare into his too-deep blue eyes.
“I’ll figure it out.” I smooth his shirt for an excuse to touch more of him.
“No need. I will rent you a place near my house first thing tomorrow morning.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re eighteen,” he says. “You can live by yourself. All I ask is that we keep this quiet. For now.”