Chapter 18 Reyna #3
Looking means people could see my face. Looking means everyone could know I’m that girl who’s fucking her teacher.
Still, I look.
I turn because I’m too wild with need to think about doing anything else but what he’s told me to do.
There has to be at least ten students walking through the courtyard below.
Most are preoccupied with their phones or talking to their friends, but all it would take is one person to look up, and our secret would be out.
“Yes.” I choke on a single syllable, and as a reward, he pushes two fingers into me.
“Good,” he croons. “It’s rude of you not to say hi to your friends.”
Before I can tell him that a guy down there is in one of my classes, Maddox curves his fingers and captures my sensitive skin in his mouth with a greedy tug. I’m a puppet on his strings, crying out and buckling over, using his head for support just from a single ministration.
“Inside voice, Miss Sinaga,” Maddox chastises right before biting down on the inside of my thigh.
I squeal and attempt to squirm away, but of course the sadistic asshole doesn’t let me free.
He starts pumping his fingers while leaving blue and purple love bites along my flesh that feel like the embodiment of carnal sin.
Curse after curse quietly flies past my lips. All he does is give me an amused chuckle, curling his fingers inside of me. The tension in my lower stomach tightens, pushing me closer to the precipice of my release, so close, yet just out of reach.
Condensation trickles onto the windowsill from his teasing pace. I claw at every inch of him that I can reach, to urge him to go faster and put me out of my misery.
Maddox tenderly kneads and caresses the scarred tissue along my thighs. Our gazes clash, stealing the air from my lungs. Disarmed by the absolute adoration in how he looks at me, I forget to swallow a moan.
“Love, I suggest you quiet down. I’d hate to lose my job for eating the best meal I’ve ever had.”
Heat unfurls to every corner of my heart—the kind that feels like warmth on the harshest days. A makeshift crutch to lean on when everything is too much. I’m so far from perfect that there’s no universe where I deserve whatever he’s feeling toward me.
It’s fake. Temporary. He’ll move on soon enough. Even if he doesn’t, it’s for the best that he realizes how wrong it is for him to look at me the same way he looked at the Artemisia Gentileschi back at the museum.
I’m flawed. Beyond repair. Cracked and chipped, held together by weathering glue, and he’s treating me like I’m the foundation he’d crumble without.
I never want him to stop, but I need him to. I’m falling deeper. This will end with my hopes and spirit crushed. But I promised myself one day because I know this isn’t supposed to last.
Winding his soft, dark strands between my fingers, I let my eyes drift shut to bask in the last remnants of warmth, and the way my pleasure soars each time he moves a muscle.
“I want you to make a docufilm about me.”
It takes me a second to realize he said something. Then a solid two more to work out what he said.
“Do we have to talk about this right now?” I’m going cross-eyed. This is hardly the right time.
“Make a documentary about me.” Maddox curls his fingers and presses his thumb against the bundle of nerves. “Does that feel good?”
I moan out my approval, shifting position to feel more of him.
“Good. I’ll make a list of topics I suggest covering.”
My eyelids snap open. “Wait. That’s not what—”
“It’s silent time now, Miss Sinaga.”
I scramble to grasp the last vestiges of my sanity. “I didn’t agree—”
He does something with his fingers that officially makes me lose my grip on reality. It’s like he found a switch that shuts me right up, and my orgasm comes barreling forward.
All of my muscles contract and seize. A bright light flashes before me as if the gates of heaven have opened up. Euphoria bathes my skin and douses my veins in the most intoxicating ecstasy.
My legs tremble on his shoulders as my climax stretches. The death grip I have on his hair is the last thing on my mind because the sadist keeps going. He continues moving his fingers in a way that makes all the lights in my head go out.
I think I’m chanting his name. Or maybe I’m quietly moaning, saying please and thank you a thousand times. I’m not sure. One second my eyes are rolling to the back of my head, the next, I’m cradled in his arms and being carried across the room.
One hand is supporting the back of my neck, the other under my ass to hold my weight. So at odds with the brutal way he was fingering me, he gently lowers me onto the couch and whispers, “Bloody beautiful.”
I’m panting and shaking, but when he kisses me, exhilaration floods my veins, and the fall from my high goes back on the rise. The heartbeat-long pause is the only indication I have that he didn’t expect it.
But he doesn’t stop. Maddox keeps kissing me like he’s taking out his pleasure through it.
“You shouldn’t have let me taste you,” he rasps against my lips.
I shouldn’t have done a lot of things when it comes to him.