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“You like that one better,” he says when I finally look at him.

He puts the lime pie next to the raspberry one, and breaks off a piece of it.

“Now be a good girl and open your mouth for me,” he says while his thumb pulls on my lower lip.

And maybe I’ve always been a good girl, because my brain doesn’t compute that this is wrong on so many levels, and my mouth opens as if on autopilot.

Louis slips the broken piece of lime pie into my mouth, and then closes my jaw for me.

As if in a daze, I chew on the pie, not even paying attention to the taste in my mouth. I’m mesmerized by the way he’s looking at me. He might be the one feeding me, but all I can see on his face is hunger.

He breaks off another piece, and without him needing to prompt me, I open my mouth again.

It takes another five pieces of pie before he’s fed me the entire pie.

“Now, lick my fingers clean,” he adds, his thumb still pulling on my lower lip softly.

Something inside of me is rebelling at the idea of doing just that, but they’re covered in lime cream, and I don’t want to waste any—and maybe, just maybe, I really want his fingers inside my mouth.

It’s the next best thing if I can’t have them somewhere else.

Because this can’t happen again. And more than that, this is the only thing that can happen.

This is already too much.

If the dean discovers what happened this morning in my classroom, this is the end of my career here.

I still close my lips around Louis's pointer and middle fingers and twirl my tongue against them, licking them clean and maybe sucking on them a bit more than I should.

Like earlier on the blanket, he groans again, and I drop my eyes to his groin for a second, before looking up again.

That thing is so freaking big, but also, I can’t help but imagine how it would feel if it was his cock I had in my mouth.

I feel myself getting wet at the thought, and I immediately know that my vibrator is going to get overused as soon as I’m out of this classroom and back at my place.

Louis leaves his fingers in my mouth longer than necessary, and when he finally removes them, I make them pop out of my lips, and his eyes darken.

“Good girl,” he says as he wipes something from the corner of my mouth and puts his fingers in his mouth—the same that were in mine a second ago.

He takes a step back, and returns to the blanket. Slowly, he packs the pastries and the blanket in his backpack, puts the desks and chairs the way they were when he arrived, and then walks to the door.

“See you next week,” he says with a devilish smirk, and I’m so fucking lost and horny that it doesn’t register in my mind that he’s just decided to leave more than an hour early than the end of the detention.

Some part of me doesn’t care, though.

I need to get home. I need to take care of myself.

I fucking need to come.

And I probably need to find someone, and get laid, because this can’t happen again.

I’m so fucking screwed.

14

Louis

Ihad to leave.