Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
The strikes of her low heels against the tile grow closer.
Louder.
She’s headed this way.
She must have heard us.
Me.
She heard me.
The office is only a six-by-six square foot room. There’s nowhere to hide. No way she won’t discover us.
Austin’s fingers still over my clit. Even though he doesn’t move, the firm pressure drives me insane. It’s almost more agonizing than when he was rubbing me. Even when her willowy shadow falls across the crack between the wall and the door, I squirm in his arms, attempting to find relief.
Just as she’s about to step inside the office, a familiar voice calls from the hallway, “Clarissa, do you have a moment?”
Not even the risk of discovery is enough to dampen the pleasure threatening to overtake me. It’s only a matter of seconds before I lose all control.
And he knows it.
By the sound of his heavy breathing, he’s all but glorying in it. He wants me to come undone with our teacher a few steps away. When his grip tightens around my throat, I lift my chin, tipping my head so the back of my skull rests against the solid strength of his chest. He strokes the long column of my neck as his other hand begins circling.
“Mmm, I could get used to this. One hand wrapped around your delicate throat and the other stroking your pretty little clit.”
I whimper as my body throbs an insistent beat.
“You know what you’re going to do now?”
I can only imagine.
When I remain silent, he whispers, “Come all over my fingers.”
Oh god.
There’s no way for me to keep these explosive feelings contained any longer. They’re too much for the confines of my skin.
“Of course,” Ms. Pettijohn says before swinging away, footsteps fading into the hallway.
Relief weakens my knees as he presses against my clit. That’s all it takes for my world to splinter apart. When I slump, his fingers once again wrap around my throat as if to keep me firmly in place.
“Shhhh,” he murmurs in my ear. “You need to be quiet.”
My teeth sink into my lip in order to keep everything trapped within.
But it’s hard.
So hard.
Especially when all I want to do is scream out my pleasure.
At the moment, I don’t care who hears.
Or sees.
I’ve never felt more out of control.
But I’ve never felt so free, either.
DELILAH
“Icould always catch a ride home with my mom,” I tell Austin outside the football stadium, cautious hope weaving its way through my voice. The more time I spend with him, the more I…
No.
I don’t even want to think along those lines.
He shakes his head. “You’re staying. I want your ass in the bleachers.”
“Because you want me to watch you, or you want Jasper to see me watching you?”
As soon as the words escape, I wince.
Why did I even bother to ask?
Deep down, I know the answer.
I’m a fool for hoping that something will shift or change our relationship. Especially after our conversation this morning. It doesn’t matter if he enjoys touching me.
He doesn’t trust me. In his mind, I’m no better than Jasper. He entrusted me with secrets that were then used against him.
Austin flashes a grin before stroking his fingers over the curve of my jaw. It’s something he does often. For just a second or two, I find myself leaning into his touch before realizing what I’m doing and drawing back.
“It’ll totally fuck with Jasper’s head.”
Exactly.
My shoulders wilt under the unexpected weight of my disappointment. Needing to break the physical connection, I take a hasty step in retreat until we’re no longer touching. It’s all too easy to lose myself when I’m in his arms.
“Guess I’ll see you after practice,” I mutter, irritated for allowing myself to fall deeper when he feels nothing.
Before he can say anything else, I swing around and stalk to the student section in the stands where we sit for home games. Even though I ignore him, I feel his gaze tracking my movements. Not that it’s a hardship to sit and watch Austin practice—his body is a thing of beauty and athletic grace—but I don’t want to be used to incite more bad blood between these two. I’d rather head home.
Plus, a little breathing room would probably help me get my head on straight.
Pockets of students dot the bleachers as I make my way over to them. Most of the spectators are girls. Each group I pass stares openly before putting their heads together and whispering behind their hands. The tips of my ears burn as I keep my expression neutral.
The fact that I was dating Jasper last week and now I’m with Austin only seems to solidify my status as a whore. What’s laughable is that these people should know better. I’ve spent my time at HP trying to fly under the radar, never doing anything to garner unwanted attention. Most would call me boring. Apparently, my past track record is nothing when compared to the rumor mill that is constantly churning at Hawthorne Prep.