Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Peyton

It’s after hours at the school and I’ve stayed late to work on report cards.

This is something I could have easily done at home, but home is a distracting place to be lately. It’s Wednesday night, two days since the…incident in the basement. Since my body hung on the verge of something exciting, every muscle tightening as if an explosion was about to happen. All because of Granger and his voice in my ear, his sweaty, chiseled torso.

That long, thick appendage being so roughly handled between us.

A breathless sound escapes me, loud in the dark, quiet classroom. Setting down my pen, I place both palms flat on my knees and drag them higher, slowly, bringing my skirt to the tops of my thighs. My breasts grow full and achy almost on cue, a telltale pulse starting deep in my core.

Women can give themselves orgasms, same as men. I know that much. But I’ve always been too timid to touch myself there, afraid I’d like it too much. Afraid that once I started, I’d be required to do it all the time. There are entire stores dedicated to pleasuring oneself and all of the choices always seemed overwhelming. Like a time-consuming hobby.

Obviously I’d just never been inspired enough to need it.

To have no choice but to touch myself there.

I’ve resisted for two days, but alone in the classroom, the moon having risen in the sky, I part my thighs and trail my fingers up and down on the sensitive skin, getting closer to the edge of my panties with every journey of fingertips. Electricity races all over my skin, my breaths sounding hollow in my ears. And I can’t help but close my eyes and think of Granger.

His flexing six-pack of muscles, his white knuckled grip rifling up and down that hard, angry part of him, lip caught between his teeth.

God help me, heat inundates me when I remember the way he pulled down my tank top. Without permission. Exposing my breasts. My palms grow damp when I recall him yanking down my shorts, sinking his teeth into my shoulder. The sounds he made, like a wolf mating during a full moon.

With that grunting rasp ricocheting in my head, I finally slide my fingers down the front of my panties, my middle finger stealing into my slick folds—and I jerk, a shocked moan sailing from my mouth, my back arching involuntarily.

Oh my God, what is that spot?

I can’t seem to stop rubbing it, twisting a corresponding bolt inside of me every time my middle finger passes over the tingling nub.

His name comes to my lips unbidden. “Granger,” I gasp, feeling his male seed bathing my feminine flesh, running down my thighs. Watching his mouth fall open, his eyes going blind as he attacks me, pushing me up against the chain links—

My phone rings loudly on the desk and I screech, quickly pulling my fingers out of my panties, looking around the room guiltily. There is no one here, of course, it’s just my phone making the commotion. But when I look at the screen and see my roommate’s name scrolling by, I might as well still be touching myself. That’s the effect thoughts of him have on me now. Just knowing he sleeps one door away has kept me awake and restless for two nights, the pulse between my legs refusing to calm. The way he behaved should have sent me running in the opposite direction, especially after what happened with my stepbrother, but instead…

I’ve had to stop myself from running to him.

I might have given in, too. I might have knocked on his bedroom door and asked for his help in extinguishing the new fire inside of me. But he’s been acting so strange for the last two days. He moves around the apartment looking as if he’s in physical pain. Every time I walk past him, he hisses a breath.

Being near me seems to put him in acute agony. And yet he never takes his eyes off me. It’s like he’s waiting for me to run so he can give chase.

I never took myself for a reckless girl, but I can’t help it.

There’s something inside of me that thrills to the idea of being caught.

My phone continues to vibrate on the desk and I pick it up, pressing talk, taking a deep, bracing breath and holding it to my ear. “Hi, Granger.”

“Peyton.” His exhale crackles down the line. “What are you doing?”

His voice jolts my pulse into racing. “I’m working on report cards.”

A long silence. “Is that all?”

The hair stands up on my arms and I turn my head, searching the pitch-black windows for a face. Some sign that he’s watching me. That he caught me touching myself. But that’s crazy, right? My roommate is not standing on the other side of the glass. I’m being paranoid. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you should be home by now. Is there something you’re doing at the school that you can’t do at the apartment?”

I’m not sure why I whisper, “Yes.” Perhaps because he showed me his vulnerability in the basement on Monday night. Showed me how badly he needed release. And here, alone in my classroom with no one nearby to judge, I confide in the only person who has ever made me feel safe. Wanted. “I’m doing something I’ve never done before,” I say shakily, dropping my free hand back between my thighs and tease the front of my panties with two fingers.

“Are you touching yourself, Peyton?”

“Uh-huh.”

He releases a guttural sound. “Why?”

I swallow hard, rubbing now. Rubbing my sensitive spot through the white cotton of my underwear, creating a wet spot. “I can’t help it. Ever since the other night, I’ve felt different…down there.”

Do I hear footsteps in the background? “Different how?”

“H-hot.” I bite my bottom lip hard. “Damp.”

He’s breathing in short, rasping pants. “If I was there right now, baby, would you let me pump my dick inside of it?”

Those words blast me like an inferno, my fingers moving involuntary to slip inside my panties, finding my soaked flesh and stroking it eagerly. Granger between my legs, his hips thrusting vigorously. The imagery makes me restless, the upper half of my body falling back in the chair and arching, thighs spread. “Yes,” I say finally.

And then he’s there.

Framed in the doorway of my classroom.

He lowers the phone pressed to his ear, shoves it into the pocket of his jacket and advances toward me—and God help me, I’m too turned on and achy to question how he arrived so fast. All I can do is be consumed by those eyes. They’re black and tinged with madness, but it’s madness I feel, too, in this moment. Like I would do anything for this ache to be lessened and my body knows, instinctively, Granger can help me do that. He’s the only one who can.

Halfway to me, he strips off his jacket, drops it on the floor.

Grabs his T-shirt behind the neck and tosses it aside, leaving him bare-chested in jeans and boots, his hair in disarray. My femininity clenches at his blatant sexuality, his magnetism, the corded stomach muscles that flex with every one of his panting breaths. Granger doesn’t stop until he reaches me, plucking me up by the waist, depositing me on the desk—

And then he surges between my splayed thighs and kisses me.

I’ve always felt like prey in the spotlight of his attention and that sensation is amplified now. I’m being devoured whole. His mouth is wild, wet, moving over mine the way a man eats a meal when he’s been deprived of food. He’s on the verge of starvation and I’m the only thing that can save him. My lips become pliant along with my body, need screaming through my nerve endings, wanting him, burning for every stroke of his tongue inside my mouth, every moan we release together.

As we frantically try and get our fill, his hands don’t remain still for a second. They scrub up my thighs, pushing up my skirt, and when it won’t go any farther, he wraps a forearm around my waist, lifts me and leaves the garment bunched around my waist. This is unprofessional and scandalous, sitting on my desk with my wet panties showing, but my lust doesn’t care. It’s demanding I let this happen. Let him have me, show me what it means to be helpless and desperate.

We’re mid-kiss when Granger breaks away, groaning brokenly. In pain.

“What’s wrong?” I manage around my laboring breaths.

With his forehead pressed to mine, he hesitates a second. Then he reaches down and unzips his jeans, shoving them down. It takes me a moment to believe what I’m seeing. His erect manhood is there, but it’s wrapped in a silver cage, swollen and miserable. Locked in a device that’s preventing it from growing to the huge shaft he masturbated to an orgasm on Monday night.

“Granger,” I gasp, tracing the smooth metal slats with my fingertip, causing him to jerk and curse. “What is this?”

“Cock cage,” he says through his teeth. “My punishment for pushing you too far the other night. I scared you. I made you run from me.”

“It looks painful,” I say, emotion in my voice. He did this for me? As penance?

His nod is jerky. “Every time you make me hard, it reminds me I behaved like a bastard and not to do it again.” His face falls into the crook of my neck, his fingertips clawing at my hips. “Ah, baby. I’m hard all the time. Your skin, the way you smell, the sound of you showering, even your shoes sitting beside mine near the door. It’s torture. It’s torture and I deserve it.”

“No.” I’m suddenly frantic to stop the pain. End his suffering. “Take it off.”

“That was the other vow I made myself. Only you can take it off. I put the key on your ring.” His stuttered breath bathes my ear. “You own this cock. Torture me or free me, Peyton. You decide.”

I have the sense that I’m on the precipice of a major decision.

If I unlock him, there’s no going back. My body knows it. Once we take this relationship to the next level, we’ll never be just friends again. Maybe we never were just friends to begin with and I was just in denial. But my instincts ring loud and clear, telling me that I’m swimming into a deep end that has no bottom.

So be it.

Offering my mouth for another kiss, a comforting one this time, I search the desk for my keys, finding and lifting them. They rattle in my hand. I feel for the unfamiliar key I never noticed, locating it after a few seconds. Small and jagged.

Pulling back, I study the cage around Granger’s hard sex and find the lock, inserting the little golden key and twisting. When the contraption falls away, landing on the floor of my classroom with a clank, he catches his rapidly swelling shaft in his hand and shouts a curse, his eyes turning a darker shade of black, masturbating himself roughly, his attention blazing a path toward the place between my thighs.

Teeth bared, he releases himself, takes hold of my panties at the waistband and rips them clean off my body. Gripping my buttocks, he yanks me to the edge of the desk with a growl. “I wonder if you realize what you just unlocked.” He stamps his mouth down over mine and I feel it, that thick head prodding my entrance, our flesh oh so slippery. “It’s never going back in the cage, honey. I’m not just talking about my cock. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my subconscious answering on my behalf. Some part of me knows I’ve just made an irreversible decision to be his. I’m not sure everything that entails yet, but I know I can’t survive the night without him giving me pleasure. Showing me what it means, feels like. “I understand, Granger.”

“Good girl,” he rasps, pressing his erection there, pressing, shifting it, grunting in frustration. “Ahhh Christ. Tight virgin kitty we’ve got here, baby. I’ve got some work to do before I can teach you to fuck, don’t I?” His kiss doesn’t allow me to answer. It absorbs my thoughts, distracts me as Granger props one of my ankles on his shoulder and presses his steel sex against my core again, spearing me with the engorged tip, punching his hips with a groan, delivering more. More. Sweat appearing on his forehead, his teeth clenched, eyes obsidian. “So wet. So innocent.”

“Is it going to hurt?” I hiccup, my fingers curling into the edge of the desk.

“As soaked as you are, honey?” He shakes his head, his hips starting to roll forward and back in a sensual undulation, his jeans slipping farther down his legs. “Not for long. I’ll make it good, Peyton, just have to get it all in first. Have to.”

The deeper he gets inside of me, the more pressure begins to mount, but I trust him not to hurt me unnecessarily. It’s my first time with a man, in any capacity, so I have nothing to compare to this stretching sensation. The fullness of his flesh inside of mine, wedging deeper and deeper, until he releases a satisfied growl, our hips flush, his mouth panting on top of mine.

“You’re taking all of me now.” He rocks gently, hissing a breath. “Goddamn, I knew this pussy would be sweet and tight, but it’s like being in a fucking vise.”

I breathe through the tinges of pain. “Is that bad?”

“Jesus, no, baby. It’s so damn good.” His lower body ebbs back and grinds forward, his mouth falling open on a broken moan. “It’s so, so good. It’s heaven and I don’t deserve it.”

Those words distract me from the pain and I find myself relaxing, even opening my legs wider to him. “Yes, you do.” I reach up and unbutton my shirt, pulling it open and watching his expression slacken with lust, riveted by my breasts. “You deserve this. I wouldn’t have waited for you otherwise.”

“Peyton,” he rasps, leaning in to kiss my mouth long and thoroughly.

Lovingly.

“I want to watch you get helpless while you’re inside of me,” I whisper against his lips, flexing the intimate muscles that cradle his manhood. “Want to watch your need turn…critical.”

“It’s always critical,” he grunts, taking two handfuls of my backside and squeaking me closer on the desk, his hips beginning to pump faster. Faster. “Christ. Stop squeezing my dick so hard. You’re going to make me come.”

But it’s too late.

I’m addicted to giving him pleasure.

Amazing how it happened in the blink of an eye. I went from a clueless virgin to understanding my power, my ability to make his body come undone. And it turns me on, suddenly holding the key to making this man’s willpower snap. I arch my back and show off the bounce of my breasts in the opening of my shirt, I throw my other ankle up onto his shoulder—and that is what breaks him.

“FUCK!” he roars, pitching forward and bending me in half, his hips slapping down against mine roughly, possessively, his sex hard and swollen, ramming in and out of my entrance, a touch more violently every time. “Do you know what it did to me? Watching the sweet little kindergarten teacher rub her clit, that tight ass wiggling around in the chair? No idea how to come. Just knowing it feels good. I almost broke the fucking cock cage, baby.” He rakes his teeth up the side of my neck. “Horny little fairy needed a big bad dick, didn’t she?”

My eyes are rolled back in my head, a heady sensation beginning to wrap around me, beckoned by his gloriously crude language, the friction being created by our straining bodies. And oh God, even the ferocious sounds of this man mating me turns the dial on my pleasure to a fever pitch until I’m moaning right along with him, lifting my hips eagerly for his forceful drives.

“Granger,” I whine.

He pushes his thumb into my mouth and I suck it automatically, wanting any part of him inside of me, desperate for his taste. “Yeah, that’s the first and last name you’ll ever fucking moan, do you understand me?” He bears down with his hips, smacking into me with punctuated pumps. “This is your first and last cock, Peyton. I’m your first and last man. Say it.”

“First and last,” I whimper, my thighs beginning to tremble. “First and last!”

I’m not expecting the rush of bliss to blindside me, but it does, it careens into my loins, squeezing, and I scream. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register that I’m having an orgasm, but surely this feeling can’t be whittled down to a single word. It tears me apart, my womanhood clenching to the point of pain, pleasure, pain and all I can do is ride it out, accept Granger’s animalistic humping, vaguely hearing the bump of the desk inching along the floor.

And then Granger jerks to a halt, shuddering, his muscles in a tight clench, head thrown back as he calls my name, letting that hot liquid pulse into me. It’s unlike anything I could have imagined, opening my legs to allow a man’s seed to enter my body, knowing I’m responsible for making him hard, for creating the need for him to thrust and rut and sweat. I’m not just addicted. I’m the addiction, too. And I was right, there is no way to go back to a time before I knew what this man felt like inside of me. I’m almost fearful of how much I love it.

It’s not merely my libido that has reshaped itself.

There’s something in my chest. A righteous yearning when I look at him.

His eyes meet mine and something passes between us.

Wonder. Desire. A promise.

Obsession.

If I’m looking at him with a fraction of the intensity he’s looking at me, it’s a wonder the whole school doesn’t go up in flames. It’s that intensity in Granger’s eyes that reminds me of how he looked when he arrived. Hot. Determined. Starved.

But there is something that doesn’t make sense. With my pulse going back to normal, my thoughts settling, a bigger picture knits together.

My nerves begin to dance. Trying not to show it on my face, I take my ankles off his shoulders and scoot forward, hopping off the desk. Granger is standing so close that my breasts graze his bare chest and we both break off a sound, my womanhood constricting. If he pushed me back onto the desk and entered me again, I would wrap my legs around him and ride the ride again. My body, my insane attraction to him would give me no choice. But he seems too focused on my face to act, as if he’s intent on reading my thoughts.

“What’s wrong, Peyton?”

“Nothing,” I murmur, fixing my clothes, watching Granger slowly do the same. “How did you get here so fast?”

I ask the question carefully, but his hands pause in the act of buttoning his jeans. And that’s when my pulse kicks into high gear again. I can hear the oxygen moving in and out of my lungs, my fingertips tingling with alarm. Fight or flight.

He got here so fast because he was already at the school.

Following me. Watching me.

His eyes turn predatory, as if he knows the conclusion I’ve drawn.

My legs are burning with the need to run, but…oh God. I don’t know what I’m running from, do I?

Granger.

Or the fact that him watching me unaware makes me feel…treasured.

Coveted.

Hot.

So yes, when I turn and sprint for the door, there’s a possibility that I’m running away from what this man has awoken inside of me. Something dark that likes to be possessed. Likes to be on the receiving end of an infatuation.

I wheel around the corner into the school hallway and skid to a halt. There, on the floor in a heap, is a janitor uniform. And scenes from the last two days come back in a blinding rush. The janitor moving past my classroom door at odd times. The janitor watching me pull out of the parking lot from the shadow of the building, his baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes.

Granger has been dressing as the janitor.

Granger has been stalking me.

A scream builds in my throat, but I never get the chance to let it loose because I’m being thrown over Granger’s shoulder. He storms down the hallway, easily subduing my attempts to get loose, his mighty forearm clamping down on my legs to keep them from kicking.

“Let me go,” I breathe, twisting to try and free myself. “Let me go now!”

His laughter is deep and devoid of humor. Villainous. “Too late for that, Peyton,” he says; his voice is crafted of iron. “You said first and last. First and last,” he shouts, then takes a minute to rein in his volume, but not his madness. That has clearly been set loose. “You’ll keep that promise, even if I have to make you.”