Jacob
Liar. Temptress. Whore. I want to throw each insult at her and watch the tears and shame flow from her eyes. But I don’t.
Instead, once I’m done feeding her the cum I dumped inside her treacherous cunt, I get off the bed and head into the bathroom. I don’t look back at the woman I’ve left stretched out on the bed. I’m afraid if I do, my now deflated cock will rise back to life and I’ll want to do it all over again.
The bathroom door shuts at my back, and I plant my hands on the edge of the sink. I lean over the cold porcelain bowl and shut my eyes.
What the fuck did I just do? I fucked a virgin. Stole some girl’s innocence. Came inside of her and then spit it back in her mouth.
Disgusting. Vile. Pervert.
All of the things that I am pass through my mind. What do I do now?
Go back in there and apologize?
Fat. Chance.
One slow breath in. One slow breath out.
Seconds tick into minutes, minutes tick into hours, and hours tick into days. My breaths come in short bursts and then faster ones before slowing down again.
I don’t know how long I remain like that, but when I’m done, I know one thing for sure—the secrets end here.
Turning back to the door, I twist the knob and step out into the bedroom. The coldness in the room has me shutting my eyes. My hands clench into fists at my sides.
I don’t need to look at the bed to know she’s not there, yet I do. The dress on the floor? Gone. The sheets on the bed? Rumpled. The smell in the air? Already fading.
Crossing the room around to the other side of the four-poster bed, I lean down and grab my trousers. Yanking them up my legs, I pause on the fastenings at my crotch when I spy the white mask laying on the pillow.
Ella … Cinderella.
Just like the princess in the fairy tale, she’s left me. Running off into the night. Glancing down as my phone pings, I almost laugh at the time on the illuminated flat screen.
12:01 a.m.
Against my own instincts, I lift the mask to my mouth and press my lips to the lace and fabric shell of it. It smells like her—smooth lavender and warm vanilla spice combined with … a hint of lemon? I blink.
I know this scent. Lavender. Vanilla. Lemon. Recognition hits me with about as much subtlety as a freight train. There’s only one person with this distinctive scent. My stomach drops out from beneath me.
Oh, shit. Oh … fucking shit. My fingers grip the mask tighter and I shove it back against my nose as if hoping I’m wrong, but I know I’m not.
My Cinderella isn’t a figment of my imagination. She’s a girl—a woman—that’s more than real.
She’s my fucking student.
Gabriella DuPont.