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When I shake my head, he accuses, “Liar.”
As much as I want to deny his words, I can’t. What he’s saying is true.
“You know what I think? That you like it dirty.”
As frightening as the thought is, he might be right.
His breath grows harsher, echoing in my ears, as his fingers keep up a steady rhythm. I can’t help but writhe against him, so close to coming. It takes every ounce of strength to stop the wave from crashing over me. With each caress, my willpower falters. I’m terrified that I won’t be able to keep all this pleasure trapped inside. The grip around my throat intensifies when I struggle against him.
“Just let it happen,” he commands.
I squeeze my eyes tightly closed as his fingers glide across my damp flesh and a moan escapes from me.
Ms. Pettijohn’s chair scrapes across the floor, and then there’s the sound of footsteps. My eyes fly open in horror as air gets trapped in my lungs.
The strikes of her low heels against the tile grow closer.
Louder.
She’s headed this way.
She must have heard us.
Me.
She heard me.
The office is only a six-by-six square foot room. There’s nowhere to hide. No way she won’t discover us.
Austin’s fingers still over my clit. Even though he doesn’t move, the firm pressure drives me insane. It’s almost more agonizing than when he was rubbing me. Even when her willowy shadow falls across the crack between the wall and the door, I squirm in his arms, attempting to find relief.
Just as she’s about to step inside the office, a familiar voice calls from the hallway, “Clarissa, do you have a moment?”
Not even the risk of discovery is enough to dampen the pleasure threatening to overtake me. It’s only a matter of seconds before I lose all control.
And he knows it.
By the sound of his heavy breathing, he’s all but glorying in it. He wants me to come undone with our teacher a few steps away. When his grip tightens around my throat, I lift my chin, tipping my head so the back of my skull rests against the solid strength of his chest. He strokes the long column of my neck as his other hand begins circling.
“Mmm, I could get used to this. One hand wrapped around your delicate throat and the other stroking your pretty little clit.”
I whimper as my body throbs an insistent beat.
“You know what you’re going to do now?”
I can only imagine.
When I remain silent, he whispers, “Come all over my fingers.”
Oh god.
There’s no way for me to keep these explosive feelings contained any longer. They’re too much for the confines of my skin.
“Of course,” Ms. Pettijohn says before swinging away, footsteps fading into the hallway.
Relief weakens my knees as he presses against my clit. That’s all it takes for my world to splinter apart. When I slump, his fingers once again wrap around my throat as if to keep me firmly in place.
“Shhhh,” he murmurs in my ear. “You need to be quiet.”
