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

But the thing is that I never asked him.

I only expressed this crazy desire and he fulfilled it just because it came out of my mouth. And he has them here as well, even though we’ve never taken a bath in his room at the mansion and we never made any plans to do so.

But knowing him, I know he was preparing for any eventuality.

Because that’s what he does.

He gives me whatever I want. He protects me. He pampers me and spoils me and grants me my every wish.

And as I stand here, watching him draw me the bath that he didn’t last night because he left and for which he came back, I decide that I don’t want to be mad at him. I don’t want to waste my time being angry or fighting over stupid things.

As I watch him discard his pants, I decide I want to be his baby.

I want him to give me whatever I want.

And what I want is this one wish that I have.

One little wish.

When he comes to me and takes my glasses off, followed by my t-shirt before sliding my panties down, I decide that I want him to give me himself. I want him to give me his love. And when he puts me in the steamy, cherry blossom-smelling bath and takes his place at my back, I decide that I want him to take me as well.

I want him to take my love.

Because I love him.

I love this man.

And I want to love him and kiss him and touch him and pamper him and fucking take care of him for the rest of my life.

Is that too much to ask, that he let me do all of that?

That he stays in my future.

And not say goodbye.

Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? This is goodbye.

This bath is our last bath together.

And for what? Because his one meeting got screwed up yesterday? Because he went to the wrong room once. And that he sent the wrong file because he was thinking about me and his precious fucking school that — for the record, he doesn’t even like — was put in jeopardy for like one fucking day.

That’s bullshit.

That’s so fucked up.

Fuck the school.

Fuck his responsibilities. Fuck his family legacy and his stupid stubborn sense of responsibility.

Fuck that he doesn’t want to talk about it or listen to me or to anyone.

He’s mine and I’m his and he’ll stay here no matter what.

I’ll keep him here.

My body that had gone numb jolts awake then.

My heart starts racing. My soul starts throbbing.

And I turn around in the hot scented water to face him. To look at his face that hasn’t lost even a drop of its intensity.

His features are just as sharp and just as taut as they were when he’d burst that door open. If anything, they’ve gone sharper and tighter. If anything, his chest has started to shudder and his mouth has parted now that he realizes I’m not numb or sleepwalking anymore.

And his tension only grows when I press my fingers on his chest and whisper, “Alaric.”

As if he realizes what’s coming, what I’m going to ask him, his arms around me tense. They go rock solid.

I don’t let it deter me though.

I want what I want and what I want is him.

So I forge ahead, “Alaric, I don’t want to say —”

Before I can say goodbye, his mouth is on mine. His mouth is covering mine. His mouth is kissing and touching and licking and biting mine.

And I know.

I know he’s shutting me up. I know he doesn’t want me to say it.

Because if I say it then he’ll have to give it to me.

If I say my wish, he’ll have to grant it.

And this may be the one thing that he can’t. One thing he doesn’t have it in him to give so he won’t even let me wish this wish. He won’t even let me dream this dream.

So he’s kissing me like his life depends on it. Like he’s thirsty and I’m the last drop of water.

And I’m kissing him back because I’m thirsty too and he in fact is the last drop of water for me, isn’t he?

He’s the last drop of happiness and warmth and safety.

The very last drop.

And that’s why I turn around or maybe he turns me around, the water splashing everywhere, so my trembling chest can crash against his shuddering one. So my arms are wound around the back of his neck and his are wrapped around my waist.

And then I start moving and rocking against him, or again maybe he does that, maybe he moves me against his pelvis. Against those ridged, hard muscles before sliding me down a little.

So my bare and soft pussy is aligned with his bare and hard dick, and then I’m moving and rocking my hips to rub my core over his length. To hump and grind and to go up and down, to chase that lusty pleasure that he always gives me.