Page 54 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

“And that will be it for today, class. Please take turns at washing your brushes in the sink and put all caps back on your paint tubes. Your work will be here waiting for you until next week.”

A small handful of students rushed to the basin to clean their brushes while another small group of women started clapping for our teacher, which resulted in a confused-but-cute crooked smile from Tristan. The acne-ridden shy teenage boy he once was must’ve been loving the attention.

I hopped off my stool and straightened my dress, giving it a once over to make sure I didn’t accidentally slather paint on it.

Uncle Henry scooped both of our brushes from the table and went to the basin. “Oh, I can do that for us, Theios–”

He waved my hands away and shuffled off, grumbling at the students waiting in line until he managed to reach the sink. I looked over at Tristan, who was being waylaid by two pretty students at his desk.

I went to them and overheard the tail-end of their conversation.

“It’s a spoken-word club. They haven’t done one of those in a while, and it seemed cool.”

“We thought maybe you could come with us.”

Both girls erupted into a giggle similar to the one I resisted doing before class started. No wonder Tristan wasn’t fazed by my sweaty face and lack of speaking. Was this what art school was like for him?

“Actually, I’ve planned a date with… Nikki. There you are.” He turned and gestured for me to come closer, so I did, watching as their smiles fell and their eyes rolled.

Did I look that petulant when I made that face?

“Maybe next time we could both join you.” He smoothly put a hand around my waist and ended the conversation with a nod, stepping around to face me while his students began to file out.

“So this happens to you a lot, huh? You’ve never told me about your harem before,” I teased.

He shrugged. “You know I don’t usually get that kind of attention. It’s probably just the whole teacher-student thing.”

“Rochelle didn’t need to be a part of your class to want to date you.”

I was trying to sound playful, but bringing up her name wasn’t a good idea. Tristan looked away from me, and his smile was a fixed thing that didn’t stay fixed for long.

“Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”

“I am going to the bathroom, alright?” Uncle Henry yelled and shuffled off, the last in the line of exiting students.

“Did you want to talk?” I asked, but as the door shut behind Uncle Henry, and Tristan and I found ourselves alone for the first time since he had me half-naked in his bedroom… he shook his head and I bit my lower lip, inching closer to him.

“Nikki, the last thing I want to do is talk. Not now.” He tightened his grip on my waist, his touch heating my skin through the fabric of my dress, and I was against him, feeling all his hardness pressing into me.

He lowered his lips, pausing just the barest fraction from me, his nose gently nudging mine, his lips brushing so softly against me. Shivers spread from my mouth to my abdomen, and I whimpered as I gripped onto his neck.

The last time we were together, he tortured my body until every nerve was lit on fire. I begged him, begged him, to fuck me. I wanted him inside me so badly, it was all I thought about since. But here he was, standing in his classroom, pressed against me and teasing me. Again. I couldn’t wait anymore.

Taking over, I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth. His moan was low, but full of want as I gently licked and nipped. I let him taste my mouth, his tongue soft and unhurried, coaxing my own. His fingers gripped my waist firmer, and I could feel the weight of him as he pressed into me, wanting as little space between us as possible. Our careful, slow kiss became hurried and impatient, desperation stealing all my focus.

The back of my thighs felt the cool hardness of his wooden desk behind me, and I leaned against it, propped with my legs wide, pulling him between them. He slid a hand up my thigh and mumbled against my mouth, “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Uh-huh.”

It was all I could say as he slid his hand underneath my hemline, his fingers reaching my hip before he paused, took his mouth from mine and whispered, “You’re not… there’s no underwear.”

I nodded and pulled him back to me, muttering again, “Uh-huh.”

I was completely and totally drunk on the way he touched and tasted me. The feel of his hands on me as he stroked and caressed, his fingers sliding across my inner thigh, the contact so close to my pounding wetness that I moaned against his lips and said, “Please, touch me.”

Years of pent-up lust pulsed through me as I kissed his stubbled jaw, enjoying the rasp of it against my lips. I peppered more against his working throat as he unbelievably and hoarsely asked, “You sure?”

I dug my nails into the fabric of his shirt and begged again. “Yes, please, just touch me, Tristan.”