My gaze dipped down to his crotch.
I thought he must have changed the gauge on the padlock because I swore, in certain lights, you could see the damn thing protruding through the denim of his jeans.
Why did that make me squirm?
The visuals had been… interesting. I’d never have imagined that was something I was into, but it was so oddly obscene that everything in me sat up and took notice.
He had a nice dick. Long, thick. He’d always been a tight fit. That he was clinging on to chastity was somehow even hotter, even if I didn’t like that he was hurting himself.
I’d seen him when our hands brushed, or felt him if he leaned into the cabinet behind me while I washed something at the sink—he hissed, because the padlock hurt him. That was wrong.
Strangely hot, but wrong.
There was no reason he couldn’t get off like that. I guessed he could even jack off, because the padlock wouldn’t stop him from getting a boner—it’d just hurt him. As well as keeping other bitches from getting a taste of his dick.
Feeling oddly feral, like I could pull on the nearest clubwhore’s hair until it came free from the roots—especially if my target was called Kendra—I tried to switch tracks, tried to back away from the oddly aggressive mood I’d fallen into at the worst possible moment.
Shaking off those thoughts, I left the car once we pulled up, striding into the school with Cyan sandwiched between Storm and me.
All the parents and kids were bundled up against the cold, standing in winter coats everyone had packed away not expecting the bad weather to return.
However, it didn’t escape my attention that the kids chatted among each other while Cyan stayed shivering between us in a way that had nothing to do with the recent freak snowstorm and everything to do with anxiety.
I rested my hand on her shoulder as we were directed to her homeroom. As one of the faculty brought us up-to-date on how the evening would work, shortly afterward, we found ourselves facing her teacher.
In the time that took, Cyan’s shoulders were so hunched in, she looked like a pretzel. My kid was twisted into knots.
Jarred by the sight, I frowned when I took a seat in front of the teacher, Mr. Caldwell.
"Mr. and Mrs. O’Shea, thanks for joining us."
Storm settled at my side, Cyan between us, and while he nodded, I said, "It’s our pleasure."
"Now, as we all know," he murmured, shooting us a displeased glance, "Cyan hasn’t adjusted well and hasn’t really settled in here."
"Her grades haven’t slipped," I pointed out, well aware she was an A- kind of student.
"There’s more to school than just grades."
"Wished it had been like that when I was in school," Storm retorted, his hand coming to Cyan’s shoulder. When she nuzzled into him, I saw her tension ease some, and found myself angered at how stressed out she was. "As far as I’m aware, the whole point of school is for her to check all those little boxes on your stupid Scantron tests so she can fit herself into a pigeon hole nicely for the rest of her life."
Caldwell narrowed his eyes at Storm, then shot me a tight-lipped smile, apparently sensing that I was the parent to whom he’d be better off directing his commentary. "We’re also trying to help Cyan’s development. She’s incredibly aggressive, prone to snapping at other children, and frankly can make a class incredibly difficult—"
"You mean to tell me you can’t handle one child?" I murmured. "One small kid who’s quite clearly being bullied? My kid who’s happy as a clam the second she’s out of school but the moment she’s inside these walls is twisted up like a pretzel?"
Caldwell’s mouth tightened further. "Her claims about being bullied are unsubstantiated."
"How do you know that?" I prompted, and I’d admit, my mommy radar was on red alert and scenting bullshit.
"Cyan’s failed to disclose names or talk about how she’s supposedly being bullied."
"I’m not a snitch," Cyan muttered, her shoulders hunched.
Storm frowned. "Isn’t the clue that the kid bullying her is the one she headbutts?"
"That isn’t a reasonable way to resolve a situation like this," Caldwell said stiffly.
"I don’t agree. Not if the end result is that they leave her the hell alone," Storm retorted.
"If you’re failing to protect her, then what recourse does she have but to defend herself?" I questioned.
Caldwell shook his head. "I’ve spoken with the children she fights with. They say that she’s the aggressor—"
"Well, they would, wouldn’t they?"
"Having seen your daughter’s permanent record, Mrs. O’Shea, I’m aware that she had similar issues at St. Angela’s." His smile was condescending. "Are we to assume that she was being bullied there as well?"
I blinked at him. "Are you for real?"
Caldwell stiffened up. "I don’t believe that’s an appropriate question."
"If that isn’t, then you saying my daughter wasn’t being bullied when she said she was isn’t appropriate either." I turned to Cyan who was peering up at me with big eyes, but I saw her appreciation, saw a flicker of the warmth I was used to seeing when we weren’t inside these goddamn walls. "Honey, they’ve left you alone for a month, right? You haven’t been getting into fights for a while now."
"They’re leaving me alone," she confirmed nervously.
"They weren’t attacking her in the first place," Caldwell sniped. "Look, we often have issues with Sinners’ children. It’s a learning curve for them to realize that fighting isn’t—"
"I beg your damn pardon?" I grated out, not letting him finish. "Are you trying to tell me that my little girl is at fault? She’s the one to blame for being bullied?" Before he could finish, I turned to her again and asked, "I know you don’t want to be a snitch, but your dad’s right. You kind of gave the game away when you fought with them. What did they do?"
She hesitated a second, but I reached out and grabbed her hand. She clung to me. Fuck, she clung to me like she did when she was little, and I was her calm in the eye of a storm.
"Called me names." She licked her lips. "Called you and Daddy names too."
"Cyan, have you never heard of the phrase, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me?’"
Storm grunted. "Are you for real? Words hurt just as much as fists."
Caldwell sniffed. "Not in the school yard. We’re having to separate her from a few of the children she’s had issues with—"
"I’m sorry if that’s inconvenient for you," I retorted. "I’m sorry that you can’t protect my child adequately. Have you reprimanded the other kids who are involved?"
"They did nothing wrong. I can’t reprimand a child who’s been unjustly attacked."
"They called my mom a whore!" Cyan yelled, jumping up, shaking with her outrage. "My mom isn’t a whore. She’s married. You can’t be a whore if you’re married. Daddy told me that." Her fists furled into tight balls while I dealt with the repercussions of learning that Cyan had gone to Storm about this, and he’d explained that I wasn’t a whore. "They said Daddy belonged in jail and that I was a bastard. I’m not a bastard! My mom and dad had a wedding and everything."