4. Three
Three
Fabrizio
A s the door clicks shut behind me, I let out a deep sigh, the tension in my chest finally easing. I lean back against the solid wood, my mind reeling with the implications of what almost happened.
What the fuck am I doing?
The question echoes through my head, tinged with disbelief and a touch of self-loathing. I can’t believe I was just inches away from kissing her.
My children’s teacher.
A potential accomplice in an attack on them.
My captive.
The thought sends a wave of guilt crashing over me, but it’s quickly replaced by a thrill of anticipation.
The muffled scream and muttered profanities from behind the locked door bring an involuntary smirk to my lips.
I can almost picture her pacing back and forth in the confines of the room, cheeks flushed with anger, eyes blazing with defiance.
Despite her seemingly demure appearance, there’s a palpable force of electricity surrounding the woman. She’s as fiercely captivating as she is beautiful, a potent combination that leaves me breathless.
Although she isn’t the type I’d usually find myself drawn to, I can’t deny the sudden twitch of my cock in my pants. The longing I sense building inside me comes as a shock, a foreign feeling after so long. That’s probably what happens when you live like a monk for more than three years, not allowing yourself to notice any woman.
Three years, five months, and thirteen days of self-imposed celibacy have apparently lowered my resistance.
My control is slipping, my resolve weakening.
Before the irrational and conflicting emotions—shadowed by the primal desires suddenly boiling inside of me—can get the better of me, I stalk away from the door.
I need to clear my head, take a cold shower. That might calm the storm brewing inside me. I can practically feel the icy water soaking through my skin, extinguishing the flames of desire licking at my control.
By the time I reach my bathroom, I’ve already shed my clothing, leaving a trail from the bedroom door to the shower. My shirt clings to the doorframe, my pants tangled around my ankles in my haste.
I barely register the chill of the tiles beneath my feet as I strip away the last barriers. I turn on the shower and step under the ice-cold stream of water. A gasp escapes my throat as the cold droplets hit my heated skin. I throw my head back and close my eyes, letting the frigid water cascade down my face.
My breath comes in ragged pants, my body straining against the sudden change in temperature. Mentally, I list a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t give in to these building urges that appeared out of nowhere.
She could be responsible for my children nearly being hurt, or worse. She’s vulnerable. She’s under my protection. I’m a monster for even considering it. But those reasons are overshadowed by at least two dozen depraved ways I want to fuck my newest… employee. No, not an employee. The word tastes wrong, even in my mind. Until proven innocent, she’s barely a step above a captive. A beautiful, infuriating, captivating captive.
My hand closes around my rock-hard cock, the flesh scorching against my palm. I start to pump my hand up and down, the motion unceremonious yet desperate. It’s been years since a woman looked at me the way she did. It’s been years since a woman’s touch made me this hard, my erection aching with a longing I can barely contain. Hell, it’s been years since I’ve been touched by a woman at all. Fuck.
When I close my eyes, a vivid picture dances in front of me, seemingly more real than the tile walls surrounding me and the cold stream of water raining down on me.
A sweet, sweet teacher kneels in front of me, her cheeks covered in a rosy blush that matches the pink of her parted lips. Her hazel eyes are wide; pupils dilated as she looks up at me while those rosy lips wrap around the head of my cock. My hands fist the silky strands of her hair, the gentle tugs sending bolts of pleasure through me as I fuck her throat, her moans vibrating against my sensitive flesh until…
With a groan, I come in my hand, the release tearing from me as I lean forward, my forehead resting against the cold tiles.
I watch, dazed, as the remains of my release wash down the drain, but I don’t feel released, not sated in the least. The orgasm only seems to sharpen my need, my desire. And when I close my eyes again, the images of my sweet little captive aren’t gone. If anything, they become more vivid, more real. I see us in every filthy scenario I can imagine, every taboo act I want to commit. I see her bent over a desk, her skirt up and her panties down. I see her on her knees, my cock in her mouth, and her hands tied behind her back. I see her in my bed, chained down and at my mercy. The images burn themselves into my brain, fueling a hunger that’s gone from craving to starvation.