28. Georgia

TWENTY-EIGHT

Georgia

The thing about being an educator is, you have to wake up so early for school that you learn to know the time based on the way the light looks through your window.

I know that it’s probably around five thirty in the morning, then, when I am woken up by the feeling of rough hands massaging my nipples and a hard, massive dick sliding back and forth against my inexplicably wet pussy. I whimper.

Both of us are on our sides, under the covers. Oliver’s hard body is wrapped around me, spooning me, thrusting slowly.

“Morning, Chaos,” he growls in my ear, and the sound of his hoarse morning voice in the morning releases another wave of wetness. “Let me in,” he commands.

I tilt my hips back, and he slowly presses in, inch by inch, one long, continuous movement, his hand steady on my hips. The feeling of the bare skin of his cock is sublime. We both groan when he reaches the hilt, and he gives me a moment to adjust.

“I’m a little obsessed with this,” he whispers in my ear, and he starts a slow, gentle roll of his hips, making sure I feel every inch of him. He puts his fingers in my mouth, the pads rough on my tongue, and I suck on them lightly, before he pulls them out and uses the wetness to circle my nipple, the same slow and gentle rhythm he’s using to fuck me.

I want to die and scream and laugh, all at the same time, at the feeling of fullness, at the sheer fucking perfection.

“I’m extremely obsessed with this,” I gasp, and he chuckles without messing with his rhythm.

His hands wander all over my body, caressing my curves. He murmurs soft compliments and affirmations in my ear, licking and nipping at my neck. I feel worshipped. “How is it like this?” I ask nonsensically, but he shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he answers, seeming to understand. “But I don’t know if I can stop.” He angles his hips so that he’s rubbing at the spot that he found several times last night, a spot that has remained hidden from any others in the past. “There it is,” he says with a smile in his voice. “Can you come like this?”

“It feels amazing—but I don’t know. I don’t think so,” I tell him.

“Do you have a vibrator in your bedside table?”

I almost come from the thought alone. “Yes,” I say, and I reach over and grab it.

He takes it from me, reads the buttons, figures out the settings, all while continuing to move inside me. “Did you use this thinking of me, Georgia?”

“Every night since this weekend,” I tell him, with no shame. I feel him grow impossibly harder inside me.

“Good girl.” He turns the vibrator on medium speed and rubs tight circles on my nipple, and there it is . My body begins a familiar ascent up.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I’m chanting as he sucks on my neck, moving his hips faster.

“I feel you squeezing my dick,” he groans.

He moves the vibrator then, right where I need it, ramping the speed up to high and resting directly on my clit. His thrusts grow harder, our skin slapping loudly in the dark room.

“Where, Georgia?”

I’ve lost my mind. “Come inside me.”

Growling, Oliver uses the hand that’s been tucked under my body to reach up and twist my nipple, hard, and?—

I am transcendent. I’m screaming, the force of my orgasm bending my spine backwards. Somewhere behind me I feel Oliver’s thrusts become erratic, hear a long groan as he spills himself inside me.

His thrusts slow, our breaths heavy, as we both come down from our highs.

I turn to lie on my back, laughing and feeling a little bit hysterical.

He stays on his side and props his head up on his arm. “Let me see,” he says, taking my legs and opening them. I feel his come leak out of me, feel his eyes watching in the dim morning light. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, collecting some with his fingers and pushing it back inside.

He leans down then, for a kiss, and our tongues tangle, mapping one another’s mouths. He kisses my forehead and leans back on his pillow, bringing me to lie in the crook of his arm. Both of us stare at the ceiling while he pets my hair.

I don’t want to stop either , I say to myself, in response to his earlier comment. When I feel his head turn to look at me, his eyes boring into the side of my face, I realize maybe I said that out loud.

He sighs.

I cringe, body tensing. He notices, frowning over at me. What am I saying? I sound like a desperate hag , and I make sure to keep that comment in my head. You get one good dicking down (well, three, technically) and you’re ready to beg him to stay? Snap out of it, Georgia, you don’t need a man to keep you satisfied. Your vibrator is your best friend (although it was very nice having someone else use it on you while stuffed with his dick)…

“I can feel you thinking over there,” Oliver tells me.

“I’m thinking… that was pretty okay,” I manage.

He laughs. His body relaxes, probably realizing that this conversation won’t have depth. “It was very good.”

“But it probably has to stop.”

He is silent for a moment, regarding the side of my face. “Probably.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but my mouth has other ideas. “My ex never cared if I came. It just wasn’t a priority for him. Sometimes… sometimes I would have to get myself off with my vibrator after he fell asleep next to me.” I wince, suddenly ashamed.

Oliver resumes petting my head. “I’m sorry. That’s unacceptable. What a fuckwad.”

“Yeah. I like that you made sure I came… every time.”

He scoffs. “Of course, Georgia, that’s what a partner is supposed to do. Besides, I enjoyed getting you off. It only made me harder.”

We lay there for a bit, neither of us wanting to move.

“Is this it?” Oliver asks me quietly.

I can’t stop fidgeting, unsure of and comfortable with all the feelings in my body. “You tell me, Label Maker. You’re the one intent on following all the rules.”

He gathers me in his arms, squeezing me tight, so that I stop wiggling around. “You’re the only person who has ever made me consider breaking them, Chaos.”

I blossom at that. “What if… what if we set up some ground rules for this? To keep it going? Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

He thinks about that. “Like what?”

“Like… I mean, we’ve already started to a certain extent. Li ke…keeping it a secret. Everything. Keeping this completely separate from work. Doing our jobs, as if nothing were happening. Fucking after school, or on the weekends.”

“I’m worried that you won’t be able to stop pining after me at work, Georgia, with your horny eyes tracking my every move,” he says, amused.

“Please. Anyone at school with a pulse has horny eyes for you.”

He laughs. It’s becoming my new favorite sound. After the sound he makes when he comes. He takes a deep breath, and I watch his irritatingly sculpted chest rise and fall when he lets it out. “Okay. Okay. I think we can do this with those rules. We’re two consenting adults?—”

“I think we’ve established that we’ve moved past ‘consenting’, especially after I begged you to come on my tits?—”

“—and as long as we keep it a secret,” he continues, pinching my nipple, “I think we can make this work.” He sits up to look at me, and I am overwhelmed by the force of his gaze. His body seems to glow, tanned and strong, illuminated by the dim morning light. “I don’t want to stop this either, Georgia. You’re fucking glorious.”

My cheeks hurt with the force of my smile. I lift my arms, presenting my chest, holding onto my headboard. “Show me how glorious you think I am, then.”

He gives me a small smile, looking at me with something that looks like awe. He leans down and kisses me, open-mouthed, tender, and hot, but he pulls back. “Later tonight, maybe,” he says, standing up.

I clock his entire body, the way his thick, wavy hair is mussed, the sharp angle of his jaw, his arms and chest ropy with muscle, the ridges on his abs, the deep ‘v’ of his hips, his strong thighs. His giant dick, which is currently half-hard and making my mouth water. He leans down to kiss the top of my head. “I have to get to work, and so do you. ”

I whine. “Let’s play hooky and call out.”

He looks at me as if I’ve asked him to set himself on fire, or get a colonoscopy. “We can’t do that. Just don’t be late.”

I grumble and bury myself under the covers.

I’m only fifteen minutes late, thank you very much.

I burst into my classroom, my kids glancing over at me, Emmanuel standing there, glaring at me with his hands on his hips.

“I’m so, so, so sorry; I forgot to set my alarm; and then I tried to take the bus?—”

“I don’t care, Ms. Baker,” he snaps at me. “Ms. Ackerman is in there, all by herself,” he says, pointing toward their classroom, “and she’s about one thousand years pregnant, and I’ve left her all alone, and she’s in pain, and her feet are huge, and she can’t take any of her personal days, because she has to save them all for her leave, which is trash in itself, only six weeks to heal from a massive trauma to your body, all while taking care of a new, living, breathing potato; freaking unbelievable?—”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jean-Baptiste, I know, I know, I’ll give both of you a prep today?—”

“Give them both to her,” he tells me, matter-of-factly. “It’s okay. Whatever. It’s not your fault that our union hates women, even if they make up over seventy-five percent of their workforce,” he says grumpily.

He strides towards the door but stops short just after he passes me. He slowly turns back around, dramatically, as if someone is turning his body from his feet, like a ballerina in a music box. He narrows his eyes.

I freeze.

“You look different,” he says to me.

“I—”

He sniffs the air.

I showered. What the fuck? I panic internally.

His face shines with understanding. “I know why you look different.”

“Uh—”

“But it’s not an appropriate conversation to have here.” He turns on his heel and marches towards the door. “We will discuss this later, Ms. Baker.” The door slams behind him.

My class looks at me. I sigh, running my hands through my hair. “I’m sorry I’m late, friends. Good morning, Class 302.”

“Good morning, Ms. Baker,” they chant dutifully.

I walk over to my desk to throw my backpack down. “All right, everyone, take out your Lenape projects?—”

“Why are you late, Ms. Baker?” Max calls out.

“Yeah, Ms. Baker, why? You’re never late,” Dorothy says right after him. What are you two, some sort of dynamic duo, now?

“Did you have an adult sleepover, Ms. Baker?” Paige asks. “That’s what my mom calls it when we’re late to school after her boyfriend stays over?—”

I sit at my desk, put my head down, and groan.