Hey, Mister Marshall (St. Mary's Rebels 4)

Hiccupping with rapid breaths, I ask, “W-what are you doing?”

He responds by leaning down over me. And before I can ask him again, he backs me up like he did yesterday. And he keeps doing that until I’m up on his desk, sitting on his files, again like yesterday.

“Alaric…” I breathe out, clutching his tweed jacket. “What’s happening? What —”

Putting his hands on my waist, he squeezes my flesh with a force that makes me arch up my chest and almost whimper. “When’d you take them? The pictures.”

My heart is racing at his rough words. “Last night.”

His eyes rove over my face. “At the mansion.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s clearly your bed.”

“Yeah.”

He lets me rest for a second before he fires off another question. “Did you do it right after I left your room?”

Something about the way he asks me this question makes me blush. “Y-yes.”

His eyes narrow for a second. “So you took your clothes off the second I left you alone.”

I gasp. “But I —”

“And then you posed in front of the camera while I was right next door.”

“You weren’t right next door. You were —”

“Down the hall,” he interrupts, his hands squeezing my waist again. “Same fucking thing.”

“Alaric, I —”

“Actually, I wasn’t down the hall,” he murmurs then, to himself. “I was right outside your fucking door, pacing the fucking hallway because I wanted to make sure that I heard you if you motherfucking screamed in your sleep again.”

“What?”

“I was right outside your door, Poe. I was right the fuck outside.”

“I didn’t —”

He clenches his teeth. “While you were in there, in your room, naked and ripe and flushed. While you were —”

This time I cut him off. “You were keeping an eye on me. You were watching over me.”

My breathless voice makes him breathe deep. “Yeah, while you were in your room so fucking eager to be my friend.”

“I’m eager right now too.”

In fact, I’m even more eager.

I’m dying.

I’m practically dying and writhing in agony to be his friend. To mend our rift. To trust each other.

Because he was watching over me.

My guardian was keeping an eye on me last night and I know Mo told me about that but this is the first time that I’ve seen it or known about it first-hand and I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know what to do except everything.

Except every single thing that he wants me to do. Every single thing that I can do for him.

At my words, his chest expands on a breath.

His fingers flex on my waist. Then, “You’re eager to be my friend.”

I nod enthusiastically. “Yes.”

“And you take your clothes off and pose in front of the camera for all your friends.”

I shift on the desk, crinkling the papers. “N-no. Just for you.”

“For me.” He scoffs slightly. “How about fuck-me eyes?”

I jump at his words. “What?”

“You give those fuck-me eyes to all your friends or is that something just for me too?”

“F-fuck-me eyes?”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Flushed cheeks and parted mouth. That arched-up back that makes your tits look all bouncy and juicy, thrusting up to the fucking sky. And those big blue eyes, all drowsy and hooded, behind your librarian glasses. Yeah, that’s a fuck-me look, Poe. Is that for me?”

I blush hard.

Harder than I’ve ever done before.

Because I didn’t know that he’d notice. I didn’t know that he’d catch me.

Actually I didn’t even know that I would do something like that.

I didn’t want to.

This was serious business.

I was doing this for good reasons but then those reasons turned bad.

Then those reasons turned… horny.

The more pictures I took, the more I imagined what he’d think when he looked at them. And the more I imagined him all angry and authoritative, his jaw clenching, his eyes narrowing, the more turned on I got.

“I just… I got horny,” I whisper.

A muscle jumps on his cheek.

Before he leans closer and as always, my thighs wrap themselves around his hips.

I’m not even sure when this became a habit because we’ve only been this close a couple of times and only yesterday, but it has, and I hook my legs around his hips like they belong there.

And he settles himself between my thighs like he belongs here as well.

“Horny,” he whispers.

“Yes,” I eagerly nod and tell him.

He grits his teeth. “Because you were writhing around in bed, flashing your tits at me.”

“My t-tits are covered.”

He scoffs. “Fucking barely.”

“You can’t see my nipples.” Then, “Well, not in this one at least.”

“Explain.”

“There’s pictures where you can see them.”

He pauses, his nostrils flaring. “There are pictures where I can…”

“Uh-huh.” I lick my lips. “Uh, later.”

“Later.”

“Yes.”

“What happened later?”

I lick my lips again and he growls. He isn’t even hiding it or being subtle about it, about his animal noises.

“I let my…” I whisper. “I let my fingers slip.”

“You let your fingers slip.”

“Yeah.”

A puff of breath. “You let your motherfucking fingers slip and flashed me your pink puffy nipples.”