Chapter 21 #2
Kade rises to his full height in one fluid motion that showcases the athletic grace he usually hides.
The next thing I know, he's lifting me onto my desk—papers scattering, pens clattering to the floor—and kissing me again like he can't get enough.
I taste myself on his lips and tongue—bitter and sweet and wrong and perfect all at once.
It turns me on more, makes me desperate, makes me forget every reason this shouldn't be happening.
Every ethical boundary I'm obliterating. Every professional line I'm crossing. Every vow I made on my wedding day.
None of it matters. Not when his hands are on my body, not when his mouth is claiming mine, not when I finally feel something other than fear and numbness.
I haven't wanted sex in so long. Years, maybe. Daniel destroyed that part of me piece by piece, punishment by punishment, until the thought of being touched made my skin crawl and I'd lie there during sex counting ceiling tiles and waiting for it to be over.
But I want Kade all the time. I can't stop thinking about him, dreaming about him, touching myself in the shower while imagining his hands instead of mine. I can't stop myself when I'm with him, drawn to him like gravity, like inevitability, like fate.
My hands fumble for the button on his jeans, fingers shaking so badly it takes two tries to pop it open. The zipper follows, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet classroom. I pull away from our kiss, gasping for air, desperate to see him.
"Do you have protection?"
The question sounds absurdly responsible given that we're about to fuck in my classroom where anyone could walk by. But I need to know, need this one thing to be safe when everything else about this is so dangerous.
He nods, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket with one hand while the other stays on my hip, anchoring me.
While he's busy with that, I push his jeans down over his ass—God, even his ass is perfect, firm and muscular—and free his cock.
A whimper escapes my lips at the sight of him, at the sheer size and thickness that makes my core clench with want.
He's so big, so hard, and I marvel at how different this is from the clinical, perfunctory sex Daniel demands.
My hand wraps around him automatically, stroking base to tip, learning the weight and heat of him. His skin is silky-soft over steel hardness, and I can feel him pulse in my palm.
He hisses through his teeth, head falling back. "Fuck, Peaches."
I stroke him until he catches my wrist, stopping me with gentle fingers that contrast sharply with the desperate need in his eyes.
He rolls the condom on with shaking hands—slight tremors that betray his nerves despite his confident exterior—and something about that, about him being affected and nervous even, makes my chest tight with an emotion I don't want to name.
"You sure?" His eyes search mine, dark and intense and giving me one last chance to stop this insanity. One last opportunity to be the responsible adult, the teacher who doesn't fuck her students, the married woman who honors her vows even when her husband doesn't deserve them.
Instead of answering with words—because words would require thought and I'm done thinking—I grab his sheathed cock and guide it to my entrance. The blunt head presses against me and I'm already so wet, so ready, that he could slide right in.
He groans as he pushes into me—slow at first, careful, watching my face for any sign of discomfort.
The stretch burns in the best way, my body accommodating his size inch by inch.
Our foreheads press together and we're both breathing heavy while he pushes deeper, stretching me, filling me more completely than I've ever been filled.
"Fuck." The moan rips from my throat, loud and shameless.
He freezes immediately, every muscle going taut. "Are you okay?"
Concern floods his face—genuine worry that he's hurt me, that he's too big or going too fast or being too rough. And I realize he thinks the moan was pain when it was the exact opposite.
"So good." I hook my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, taking him to the hilt. "Don't be gentle with me. I won't break."
I need him to understand, I'm not fragile. Daniel always goes soft and sweet even when he's taking from me, it's like it's own form of torture. I need Kade to treat me like I'm strong enough to take everything he can give.
Something changes in his expression. The careful restraint he's been holding onto shatters like glass.
He pulls back almost completely and thrusts into me hard.
"Oh God, yes." My nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt, probably leaving marks on his skin. "Just like that."
"Fuck, Peaches." His voice is rough, wrecked, barely recognizable. "You feel so good. So fucking tight."
He sets a brutal pace—exactly what I asked for, what I've been craving.
Each thrust drives me back against the desk, making more papers scatter to the floor in a flutter of white, lesson plans and grade sheets cascade like snow.
Making me forget where we are and why this is wrong and what could happen if someone walks by.
His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise and I love it, crave it, need the marks he'll leave behind. Because Daniel's marks are about ownership and control, reminders of his power over me. But Kade's marks are proof I'm still alive, still capable of feeling something other than fear and pain.
"Harder." I bite his shoulder through his shirt, tasting cotton and wanting skin. "Please, Kade."
He obliges immediately, fucking into me with a force that makes the desk scrape against the floor with harsh metallic sounds. One hand slides up to cup my breast through my blouse, thumb finding my nipple through the layers of fabric and circling with perfect pressure.
I'm already close. Too close. My body coiled tight and desperate for release after weeks of wanting him, thinking about him, touching myself while imagining exactly this. His cock inside me, his hands on my body, his voice saying my name like prayer.
"Kade." His name sounds like prayer and curse, plea and praise. "I'm—"
"I know." His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my moans before anyone passing in the hallway can hear. "Let go. I've got you."
Those three words—I've got you—shatter something inside me that I've been holding together through sheer force of will.
My orgasm crashes through me like a wave, stealing my breath and making me cry out against his lips.
Electric pleasure races through every nerve ending, making my entire body convulse around him.
He swallows the sounds, keeps fucking me through it, prolonging the pleasure until I'm shaking and boneless and completely undone.
"That's it," he murmurs against my mouth, voice rough with awe. "So fucking beautiful when you come."
He follows seconds later, his rhythm stuttering as he finds his own release. The groan he makes—raw and vulnerable and utterly unguarded—might be the most erotic sound I've ever heard. I feel him pulse inside me, feel his entire body shudder with the force of his climax.
We stay like that for long moments afterward, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard, hearts racing in tandem. Neither of us ready to pull apart, to acknowledge what just happened, to face the reality of what we've done.
What we just did.
On my desk. In my classroom. Where anyone could have walked by and seen everything.
Reality crashes back in cold and harsh, like jumping into ice water.