No! I want to shout, don’t hold back. Let me hear you.
My cock grows impossibly harder while I fist it, stroke it, twist my wet hand up and down and all around, harder and harder, imagining it’s her wet cunt making it feel this good.
Remembering all the ways she liked it when I put my tongue up her hot channel, flicked her clit with it, fucked her pussy with my impossibly hard dick. She was insatiable that night, wanting more, loving every way I touched her.
I want to do so many things to her.
Blindfold her pretty eyes while I bend her over—her palms on the floor—and fuck her hard. Wrap my hands around her neck as I stare into her trusting eyes that know I’ll make all this pain feel so fucking good. I could spend hours doing this with her. Hours of touching her. Tasting her. Licking the sweat from her body and coming to moans as they flee her lungs.
I have thought of her in every filthy, depraved way imaginable.
And none of it is enough.
She’s getting close. Her hand that was on her breast is now braced against the window frame, her head bowed, leaning against it as she works herself. But her eyes. Her eyes are open and on me, on my hand as she works herself up, so close. And just when I can’t hold off another second, she cries out, and I catch it.
That sound.
It spurs my own orgasm, and a raspy groan wrenches the air, out into the night, trapped between us.
I can’t touch her. I’m helpless, restrained by boundaries and lines I know I can’t cross. I can’t. Too much is at stake. So I stroke my cock faster, my balls drawing up, and I come all over my chest and abs as I watch her fingers pry every ounce of pleasure from her body.
A pleasure I won’t feel. A pleasure I cannot taste.
A pleasure I’m rabid to feel beneath me, a smile I’m furious I cannot fully see.
“Elle.” There it is. I say her name again. She’s still standing there, naked, breathing hard, so stunning my chest squeezes painfully. Right as the cold breeze hits the cum on my body, freezing me over.
What did I just do with her?
God, I really am an asshole.
There is so much beautiful life in that bold, sexy woman. I’d rather die than snuff that life out. I am bad news for her. And she undoubtedly deserves better.
I say one thing, and I do another, and it needs to stop before it’s too late. Before I’ve done something I can’t undo.
This won’t happen again.
As if sensing my thoughts, she straightens her body, brushing her hair back from her face. She’s waiting for me to say or do something, and I do the only thing that will save us both. I lower my gaze and take a step back, shutting and locking my window once more.
I heave a breath and then turn off the lamp.
Her light turns out a second later, and everything inside me hurts. A turmoil I’ve never experienced before pounding through me. A fiery warpath leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. Charging thoughts I can’t give a voice to.
Wishing, for the first time in all these years, I were a better man. A man who deserved a woman like her. My vixen. A man who didn’t fear all she could possibly represent.
And destroy.
15
I’ve been on edge since I woke up this morning, and it has nothing to do with what Landon and I did last night. Or the way he fled the scene as quickly as he could, like a thief in the night, leaving me standing there naked with my light still on and my window still open. Squashing all that bold, empowered bravery I had been rocking by seizing my sexuality and getting myself off with him watching.
No. I’m telling myself I’m on edge because today is my first cooking lesson with Stella, and I’ll eventually have to see the heartless bastard otherwise known as her father after. Though he can officially keep the scarf.
I was lonely last night.
A bit sad and a little lost. When I walked in, I could have sworn I heard a noise outside my window. Then his light was on, and he was there, staring at me like I was his reason. Only I’m not, and it was foolish of me to think otherwise.
The girl sitting in the seat behind me already holds that title.
But I didn’t realize that until after.
In the moment, I had this heady excitement sizzling in my veins. I wanted to bring him to his knees. Rock his world. Stupid. So. Fucking. Stupid. I’ve tried to convince myself that I’m proud of what I did. Screw him. I got off, and it was hot. And the majority of me knows this. Owns this. Revels in it.
But there’s that other part…
“Thank you for giving us a ride,” I say again to Bridget.
She waves me away as we turn left, leaving the grounds of the school. “It’s my pleasure. I can’t have you two walking home in the rain. But I will just gently mention again that you need—”
“To buy a car,” I finish for her. “Yes. I know. I’m working on it.” Sorta. Not really. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about my parents. I texted David about it, and he said my family deserves what they get and that he had allowed them to bully him longer than he should have with how things turned out. Whatever that means. I didn’t press it.
But my mother does. I got another phone call this morning from her that I ignored. Thankfully, she didn’t leave a voice message. Oh, and to add to things, my sister randomly texted me. Four years since my wedding—the last time I saw or spoke to her—and now she texts? She asked where I was living because she wanted to come visit me.
That can’t be good. Last I heard, she was running with a motorcycle gang and got herself arrested for breaking and entering, and larceny. Needless to say, I did not reply. I’m ignoring the world outside of this small Boston suburb, and that’s all there is to it.
“Stella, hon, what are you and Miss Wilde making tonight?”
“She calls me Elle after work hours,” I correct, and Bridget flashes me a Cheshire grin I can’t quite read.
“Chicken pot pie,” Stella replies. “It’s my dad’s favorite, and I looked up some recipes. I also have carrots, onions, and peas that I’ve grown in my garden and greenhouse we’re going to use in it.”
“I was thinking we could make a biscuit topper for it instead of using pie crust.” I spin around in my seat to find Stella. “Maybe it’s the Southern girl in me, but I miss real biscuits and haven’t had an excuse to make them since I moved up here.”
She nods like that’s the best idea ever, and I turn back around, some of my uneasiness ebbing. Today will be fun. I love cooking, and I can’t wait to use fresh veggies and now make biscuits. I don’t have to see Landon. The girl lives next door. I can just send her home with a dish all ready for him.
He had my scarf in his bedroom. Was he—
I mentally shake myself. Nope, not going there.
“You’ll have to let me know how it turns out,” Bridget says, stopping at a traffic light in town.
The leaves are already falling. All that beautiful gold, orange, red, and yellow lining the streets and sidewalks. I haven’t had this… well… ever. It’s beautiful. The air has a crispness to it you feel in your bones. It makes me want to snuggle up under a blanket and read a book by the fire, which I plan to do one night soon. With a glass of wine in my hand, naturally.
“Oh, hey,” Bridget goes on, pulling me away from the window. “I’m having a dinner party at my house on Saturday. Mostly faculty and a few friends. Will you come?”