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

I swallow. “My sheet too.”

“What about the sheet?”

“I let that slip too.”

It takes a second for him to understand. As if his brain is sluggish. As if I’m killing him, his common sense, slowly but surely with all the things that I’m saying.

But when he finally understands, his eyes flare wide and his mouth parts.

He licks it, his mouth, as he rasps, “You… You fucking flashed me…”

“My pussy,” I finish for him because he couldn’t seem to.

He couldn’t seem to do anything but stare at me with such… violence right now. Such thick intensity and belligerence, like I’m ruining his life.

But I’m not.

I did it for good reasons. Noble reasons.

And yes I became a little horny while doing it but so what?

It was for him. My guardian.

For the man who’s protected me all these years, who’s tried to keep my heart safe. Who was pacing up and down the hallway last night in case I woke up from another nightmare.

And it feels even more right today.

That I shouldn’t be feeling this for my guardian or that he’s also my principal or even the fact that I was in love with someone else up until last night doesn’t even register.

Fuck Jimmy. Fuck the world.

I don’t care.

This is right.

This is my Alaric.

“Alaric?”

“So you couldn’t stop yourself then, could you?”

“What?”

“You set out to be my friend but along the way, you flashed me your ripe tits and your cherry pie pussy, and you couldn’t stop yourself from becoming a whore for me.”

I squeeze my thighs around his hips. “God, no. I couldn’t. I loved it.”

I love it so much.

Maybe I shouldn’t but I do.

I so do.

I want to be a whore for him. I am a whore for him.

God, I am.

“So what did you do?” he asks, swallowing. “Did you clench your thighs? Press them together? Real hard and real tight. When you got horny.”

I go to press my thighs together right now but I can’t because he’s between them so all I end up doing is squirming and squeezing his body as I whisper, “Yes.”

“Why, because there was an ache in your belly?”

I can’t sit straight now. I twitch and move, ruining his documents on the desk, but I don’t think he cares much. I don’t care either except to whisper, “Yes.”

I bite my lip.

And his gaze hones in on it.

I bite my lip harder.

And his nostrils flare.

“And what about your tits?” he growls.

“W-what about them?”

“Were they heavy, achy too?”

I nod eagerly again. “Yeah. They were all achy and hurt-y.”

“Yeah, they were,” he rasps, his face dipping closer. “That’s why you flashed me your nipples, didn’t you? You wanted to show me. You wanted to show how hard they were, yeah?”

“But you weren’t there.”

“Yeah. Fuck me for that, huh. That I wasn’t there. So you had to take matters into your own hands.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I bet. I bet there came a point when your tits got so heavy, your nipples got so hurt-y that you weren’t only using your hands to play peekaboo with the camera, you were also using your tiny little hands to play something else. Weren’t you?”

“Yes. I did. I played with my tits.”

A shudder goes through him and I wrap my arms around his shoulders to give him strength. “Were you kneading your creamy tits, Poe? Your creamy and milky and ripe fucking tits?”

“Yes.”

“Were you jiggling them too, plumping them up, making them all pink and swollen? Making them all big, bigger than they are.”

“Yes.”

His cheekbones turn crimson. “Because they’re big, aren’t they? They’re so big, they make my fucking mouth water.”

“They d-do?”

“Fuck yeah. Always. They make me thirsty, Poe. They make me want to drink from them.”

My tits perk up and jiggle with my next breath as I say, “Oh, but you can. You can. I promise.”

His chest shudders again. “Let’s not talk about it, yeah? Because I don’t want to blow in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“W-what?”

“Let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about your nipples,” he says. “What did you do to your nipples?”

“I-I pinched them.”

He glances down at my tits then. They’re all thrusting out, shamelessly and proudly. My nipples are scraping against my blouse and I think he can see them.

I think he can see the outline of them.

And I get the proof when he digs his fingers into my waist so hard, I twist and come off the table almost. I moan in a delicious kind of pain and he growls again.

“I bet they’re all pink, aren’t they?” he grunts. “All pink and puffy, the size of a fucking quarter. I bet they’re so sensitive that you twist them a little, you pull at them mixed in with a tug and you go off.” He looks up then. “You go off, Poe, don’t you? When someone plays with your nipples. When someone flicks them and pulls at them and fucking sucks on them like they’re drinking from your tits because they’ve been parched for a goddamn century.”