12. Frankie

Sheepish,that's how Bishop looks right now, yet there is a glint in his eyes that says he feels no guilt for sneaking up on me or dragging me up here. Once upon a time, I thought he was all raw masculine energy, an intoxicating mix of dominance and sensuality.

"Guilty." He gives me that megawatt smile that reminds me so much of the young boy I once knew.

I stare at him for a long minute, and all thoughts leave my head. I'm pretty sure I'm having a stroke, only worse, because Bishop is my instructor.

Shaking myself out of it, I pivot on a heel and march to the door.

"Firefly." Bishop's fancy shoes squeak on the tiled floor as he rushes toward me. Once again, just as I'm at the door, he slams a palm against it, preventing me from leaving. His heartbeat thrums against my back.

"Move," I growl. My breathing becomes erratic, and with each inhale, I smell him—his tobacco and vetiver scent. It engulfs me until all I know and all I can breathe in is him—him and his stupid games, his stupid smile, and the memory of his stupid touch.

"You want this as much as I do," he whispers, his lips grazing my neck. His words snake their way down my spine, eliciting a shiver that pools in my core, and my knees threaten to give out.

"Move," I repeat, but I already know it's a losing battle.

"No, I don't think I will." He presses me into the door, his body hot and warm against mine. Leaning down, he runs his nose along the sensitive skin of my neck. "You have every right to be mad at me," he whispers, his lips moving against my neck.

Prickles of desire rise along my arms, chest, and legs. Again, I bite my tongue because he's damn right—I'm mad at him.

"Tori," I remind him.

"And?" He licks the spot right where my neck and shoulder meet. This is what drives me insane about Bishop. He's always been a playboy, always will be. It doesn't matter how obscenely intelligent he is, because at one point or another, he will hurt me. "What about Tori?"

He will use me, and he will drop me.

Use him first. The thought whispers through me, and I close my eyes as the internal struggle mounts to a fever pitch.

I shouldn't.

He grips my hip and tugs me back into his body. The press of his cock fits perfectly between my ass cheeks. I can feel him pulsing through the fabric of our clothes, insistent and demanding.

Shit, he asked me a question, didn't he? "Tori believes she's dating you." I drop my head as his teeth sink into my shoulder. I know it'll leave a mark. He always does, and I used to love those marks and wear them with pride.

"She does." He chuckles, but his words make me grow cold.

I buck against him, but he doesn't dislodge. For a moment, my fear spikes, and the fucked up, twisted part of me finds excitement in the fight.

I once read about sexual abuse survivors who either shun sex or become hypersexual. I was the former, until Bishop walked into my life, and it didn't matter how rough it got. I was always soaked and ready for him. That's when I realized just how fucked up I am. Sure, I don't want some people to touch me, like Professor Blackwood, but Bishop? I'd let him tie me up and fuck me until I forgot my own name.

I loved his games.

And his cock? Yeah, I loved that even more.

I remind myself it was only ever sex, just lust and no deeper connection. We were like two fireworks simultaneously exploding again and again.

"Tori says you two are together." I barely get the words out as I hear the snick of the lock.

"She does," he answers, and although I expected it, the answer still stings. I should stop this. I wasn't good enough for him then, and I won't be good enough for him now.

Besides, I have others who asked me for my attention—ones I ditched.

Regret burns through me.

"Shouldn't you go fuck her?" Again, I buck against him.

Laughing, he slams me against the door, his hands gripping mine. My backpack is long forgotten on the floor.

"Why?" he asks, but I can tell he isn't really paying attention to his words. He's paying attention to me, to my breathing. "I have you right here, ready and willing."

"I'm not ready, and I'm not willing, Bishop." I push as much heat into my words as I possibly can.

"Oh, firefly, but I bet you are." He tugs me backward, my head resting on his shoulder. He places a hand on the top of my thigh, right above my socks, and his fingers toy with the fabric.

"Is this what you wanted? What you thought would happen when you came searching for me?" I spit the words, angry at myself and at him.

"Yes," he murmurs. "I haven't seen you in over a year. Of course I tried to hunt you down as soon as I was back on campus."

I smile, knowing it took him this long to find me.

"Guess you didn't try hard enough." I push back into his cock, savoring his hiss. "Tori is my roommate, Bishop. If you were really looking for me, then you'd know where to find me."

"Are you calling me a liar?" His hand snaps up to my neck, where he grips me. He doesn't completely cut off my air, but he's damn close.

I fucking love it.

It's why I'm convinced I'm broken. I survived assault more than once, and here I am, getting off on it. I bet the psychology professor would love that.

Dorian's face flashes before my eyes. The hell? I am not thinking about that pompous prick right now.

"Yes, you are a liar and a thief, Bishop Mercer." There's a sadness in my voice that I can't hide.

"Because you think I stole your heart?" He laughs, it cuts through me.

Screw him. "If you're going to fuck me just to make Tori jealous, get it over with already. I have class in half an hour." I want my words to hurt him, to cut him just as deeply as he cut me, but he only laughs, amused by me.

"Just because Tori wants me doesn't mean I want to fuck her." He releases my neck, sliding his hand down my body and across my breast to the hem of my skirt. "No, I want to fuck a certain little slut."

I should hate the word. It's degrading, but instead, I moan.

"That's right," he murmurs in my ear, his fingers sliding up until they toy with the lace of my panties. "Are you wet for me, Frankie?"

Frankie. Not firefly. It's how I know he's serious, and there is only one way this entire scenario is going to end—with his dick balls deep inside me.

"You know I'm soaked," I answer despite my anger at him.

"And how many people did you let fuck this tight little cunt while I was gone?"

I laugh at him. If he wants to play games, then fine, I'll play them right back. "Oh, there's been a few," I lie.

Bishop freezes behind me, his body going completely still. "What?" There's shock in his voice.

I know I shouldn't, and I know I'll have to warn him, but I can't stop the words from leaving my mouth. "Leo." I moan his name, purposely trying to make Bishop jealous. "He fucks me slowly just how I like it, and Matteo is all darkness and sin."

Bishop spins me around and slams me down on a desk, still holding me tight enough that I know I will bruise tomorrow.

"No one will ever fuck you the way I do," he growls.

He isn't wrong. Even now, my panties are soaked. My nipples harden in anticipation, and my breasts become heavy. Part of me just wants him to fuck me and get it over with, and the other part wants him to draw it out and make it hurt.

For some reason, I laugh at him. "No, but they can fuck me together."

Instead of laughing this time, he leans over me, his erection hot against my thigh. When did he pull himself out?

"Such a dirty whore. Aren't you, Frankie?" He moves my panties to the side and lines himself up. Pushing just the hot tip inside me, he groans. "Soaked and ready for my cock."

I am a dirty whore, but only for him. I don't know why I brought Leo and Matteo into this. I know it'll come back to bite me in the ass later.

He flips my skirt over, baring my ass. I anticipate what he's about to do next. The slap ricochets through the empty classroom, and the sting sends a hot spike of arousal straight to my clit.

The moan that leaves my body is carnal, dark, and feminine.

He inches in a little more, driving me insane.

"Look at you, bent over my desk, your ass bared." Slap. "I love watching how bright your skin gets for me." His voice becomes guttural.

I don't care if anyone walks in. At this point, the only thing I care about is how quickly he can make me come. "Stop fucking around, Bishop."

"There she is, my little slut." Somehow, he turns the degrading word into praise at the same time he shoves his cock deep inside me, giving me exactly what I want.

I've missed this need that swells inside me for him.

He slowly lowers himself as he shifts his hips in and out.

"You're right, firefly," he growls in my ear, his voice raw with lust. "No one else can fuck you like me. No one else will ever touch this sweet pussy the way you deserve." His words are punctuated by his thrusts, each one driving into me deeper, harder, stealing the air from my lungs. My nails dig into the smooth flesh of his hand as my back arches, pressing against him.

As his pace increases, so do the moans that spill from my lips. It's been too long since I've felt this, since he's been inside me. Greedily, I take every inch of him, my body memorizing every hard ridge and soft groove along his length.

Bishop grunts, his grip on my hips tightening as he slams into me even harder. "I missed you," he growls, burying his face into the crook of my neck. "God, Frankie, I missed you so fucking much."

The admission catches me off guard. Bishop Mercer was never one for mushy confessions, but in this moment, it only fuels my desire. I clamp down on him, milking him. I savor this moment because I damn well know that once it's all over, he'll never say the words again, and he'll go right back to pretending I don't exist.

"Faster, Bishop." My grip tightens on his hand. "I want... I need..."

He growls in response, picking up his pace to match the beat of my racing heart. Sweat glistens on our brows as the room heats up tenfold. The ache between my legs intensifies, my core clenching around him, begging for release. I can't believe how quickly he reduces me to this puddle of lust, but I don't care—not when the world is reduced to just us, the feeling of his body moving against mine, and our breaths mingling in the cramped space.

"So demanding, my little cum slut." He laughs at me, his dirty words causing my core to clench. "What do you want, firefly?" He groans as he fucks me hard and deep, reducing me to nothing more than a puddle of need.

"Dammit, Bishop." I try to move, but he locks me down then slaps my ass harder than necessary.

"You want to be punished." He groans as though it excites him, which it probably does, the pervert.

I'm teetering on the edge of an orgasm, one that's bound to make me black out. "Just fuck me," I snap at him, trying to distance myself from his emotions.

"Say my name, and maybe I'll let you come." He stops, holding himself above me. He lets go of my hands, and I grip the desk under me.

I try to push back, try to make him fuck me, but he doesn't move. Whimpers spill free of my mouth.

"Look at you twitching under me, trying to get yourself off on my cock." He leans down and bites my neck. "Go ahead, firefly, I want to see you try."

"Fuck you, Bishop Mercer."

"Oh, my full name." He pushes his cock impossibly deeper. "Beg for it."

Anyone could come in right now, but that thought only makes me wetter. Hell, I am no better than him. Screw it.

"Bishop," I moan, slamming my eyes shut in shame. I squeeze my thighs tighter around him, pulling him in, needing more of him. "Make me come."

"We'll work on that."

We won't.

He doesn't disappoint. His hips flex, and he begins fucking me in earnest, each thrust sending me higher and higher. Reaching around me, he grabs my panties, tugging on them so they brush against my clit.

My moans echo around us. I couldn't hold them in even if I wanted to, so I don't. Let someone hear us. Let him get in trouble for fucking a student over a desk.

With a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt inside me, grunting with each plunge. "Frankie," he whispers against my neck, his voice ragged with desire. "Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Come for me, let me remember what your pussy feels like milking me dry."

His words send me over the edge, my orgasm tearing through me like wildfire. I arch my back as I cry out his name. Bishop's grip tightens on my hips as he groans his release, hot and sticky inside me.

For a moment, we stay entwined, our harsh breathing the only sound in the room. Slowly, he pulls out and stands me up. Heat floods my cheeks as I try to fix myself while avoiding eye contact with him.

The smug smirk on his face makes it hard to deny what just transpired. "That was... unfinished business," he states casually, adjusting his pants.

"Yeah, well, consider it done." I tug on my skirt angrily. "We're even now."

He flashes me a knowing grin. "Francesca," he drawls, "we both know that was just the beginning."

Shit. Cum spills out of me. He's lucky I'm on the pill.

I turn around to leave him, but he grips my arm, tugging me back. "I want my cum in you when you go back to your dorm room. I want it dripping down your legs when you see Tori." His smile is cruel. "Then, when I visit her later, I want to smell my cum on you."

I jerk out of his hold. "Fuck you, Bishop."

Anger seizes me as I grab my backpack and leave his class. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Like hell.

The first thing I'm doing is telling Tori.