Chapter 39 Xade
XADE
I'm in a movie called Hell, and it stars the woman planted on the other side of my desk and dressed like a pious little nun.
How fucking droll.
I thought I got rid of the nuisance that is her habit last week when I bought Avalynne clothes on the mainland.
Georgina didn't even put up a fight, probably assuming I would just lie to Avalynne's grandfather if pressed on the issue of his granddaughter's attire.
But no, I didn't get rid of it at all. Instead, my little troublemaker herself thwarted my selfish plans when she said she preferred wearing the habit while in class.
Now, normally, I'm not arrogant enough to assume the decisions of others revolve around me, but I swear to Christ, Avalynne Immorier is fucking with me.
I shouldn't have ever admitted to finding her attractive in the nun's get-up.
If I hadn't, she'd already be in jeans, and I wouldn't feel like such a degenerate.
Her habit and veil have become an ecclesiastical obsession for me, and it's the little things she does in it that drive me wild.
It's how when she writes, her hair slips out of the veil and sends tendrils of copper and gold down to her shoulders.
And how she exposes the freckleless flesh at her wrists when she turns just right to pick up a book.
Mostly, though, it's how the damned thing makes her look even more pure and virtuous and how I want to be the one to expose the wanton depravity beneath it.
I haven't pushed her, though, and I won't. Whether she is mine or not is her choice and hers alone. The world has stolen every other choice from her, and I won't be the man who takes another.
So, here we are, sitting at my desk, her licking the spoon from her bowl of half-melted strawberry ice cream.
A canister of whipped cream, melting ice cream, sprinkles, cherries, and chocolate syrup decorate my desk.
It looks like I hosted a party for a preschool and not the inquisitive nineteen-year-old vexation in front of me.
I watch her as she turns the spoon over in her mouth and sucks it clean.
"Why did you buy this?" she asks, peering down at her spotless spoon.
What did she just say? I force my gaze away from her mouth.
"Sorry?" I murmur.
"Why did you buy this?" she repeats, scraping a mountain of sprinkles out of her bowl. "I didn't win our race."
"I bought it the night after you made your bet." I shrug, pushing away my bowl.
She stops mid-spoonful to her lips, her eyes flaring with surprise. "Really?"
I level my gaze at her and crack the tension out of my knuckles, though it does nothing for the torment that is sitting across from Avalynne Immorier and not touching her.
"You were always getting your ice cream party, Clarissima Stella," I tell her.
She looks at my desk turned impromptu dessert bar.
"It's not a party," she remarks, licking that damned spoon again and then turning it over to clean the other side. "It's only a party if there are presents, a cake, balloons … other party things."
She shrugs like the rest is self-explanatory.
I cock an eyebrow at her. "Would you like other party things?"
"No." She shakes her head. "Thank you, but no. This was very thoughtful."
"You're very welcome."
"You hardly touched yours." She nods to my bowl.
There's only one thing I want to eat, and it's far sweeter than this.
I don't say the words, though. If I did, she'd turn the color of that maraschino cherry she just decapitated with her teeth, and as enjoyable as that would be, it just won't do.
I need to be closer to her, and if I say that and then round my desk like a rabid animal on speed, I might scare her away.
I can't risk it, not when I can barely function when she's not around.
"If this were a party, what would you want?" I ask her, rising to my feet and circling closer. The backs of my thighs hit the edge of my desk as I stand next to where she sits. Still, I keep my hands to myself.
She blinks up at me. "If this were a party, what would I want?"
"Yes." I cross my arms over my chest. "What would you ask for?"
Her spoon hits her bowl with a clink.
"In your hypothetical, I can ask for anything?" She inches across the leather seat, closer, but not quite touching. The room smells of sugared strawberries and her, and my fingers curl around the hard edge of my desk.
"You can ask," I manage.
"What if I want something I'm not supposed to have? Would you give it to me?"
"Careful," I tsk. "You're testing my resolve, little troublemaker."
"And what if I want to test it?"
Fuck. Me.
"Then say it like you mean it, Avalynne."
She has to be certain. There's no coming back from this.
She tips her chin at me. "Kiss me, Xade."
Her words are a shot of pure bliss and my undoing. My mouth slams down onto hers as I tug her out of the chair and against me. I nearly groan as my tongue slips between her lips. She tastes just like I knew she would—cherries and innocence, how fucking ironic.
She lets out a delicious little moan, and if I were a better man, I'd stop, but I can't when it comes to her. God and Georgina be damned, I want her.
I should push her away.
I'm too old. She's too young.
I'm her professor, and she's my student.
I can't.
FUCK!
She tastes like forbidden fruit, and I'm a starving man.
Hell can't have her.
Heaven's not good enough for her.
She is mine.
I drag her even closer, flattening her breasts to my chest. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling us flush. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, teasing hers in a desperate dance. She kisses me back, her teeth grazing my lips, and I lose the battle to hold on to whatever self-control I have left.
I want her.
In my classroom.
In my life.
In my bed.
I want her smartass retorts and the way she scrunches her nose when she's confused.
I want to hear the sounds she makes when she climaxes and know my cum runs down her leg beneath her habit skirt.
I break us apart and spin us around, pinning her between my body and my desk.
My hands cup her ass, and I lift her up, tearing the veil from her head at the same time and sending bobby pins flying across the room.
Sprinkles, spoons, and ice cream tumble to the floor, but I'm rewarded with strawberry blonde locks that frame her face like burnished gold.
I lift a hand to comb through her hair and move down to the delicate curve of her throat, squeezing gently. She moans into my mouth, and my dick strains against my zipper, ready to fuck her right now, but I've waited too long to not enjoy this.
I drop my hands and bunch the fabric of her skirt, pulling it up and pushing it behind her until it's just her freckleless bare legs and thin, white underwear in front of me.
I'm mildly surprised Georgina didn't put her in a chastity belt, but I'm thankful for small miracles as I bring my hands inside her knees and push her legs wide.
My fingers skim up her thighs to the apex of her panties, right to her sheathed sex. I push the panties to the side and push a finger inside her.
Fuck. She's so wet.
Her lips part, her breath coming in short pants, as I curl my finger in a come-hither motion, dragging it across her slick walls. Her mouth hangs open, and her head lolls back as I watch the crimson blush rise to her cheeks.
I grab her throat with my free hand, my fingers curling around the back of her neck. Then I squeeze tightly.
"Look at me," I growl the command. "I want to see you fall apart, Clarissima Stella."
Her eyes pop open, and her gaze fixes on me as I thrust another finger inside her, slowly dragging two out of her this time.
I'm a dirty bastard, but I have to fucking hear it.
"What do you call me, Avalynne?" I ask her.
"P … professor," she says, the word music to my ears.
"Good girl."
She whimpers as I thrust into her again, hard, bottoming out to my knuckles, and then I'm pounding into her, fucking her with my hand.
Her breath comes and goes in delicious little bursts as her pale thighs quiver on either side of my arm, jiggling with the force.
It's wrong.
I can't stop.
I squeeze her throat. Then I don't relent.
I increase the pace even faster until she's riding my hand, her hips bucking off my desk, the wood groaning obnoxiously beneath her gyrating ass.
The room smells like her, and it makes my head spin.
The air around us reeks of sugary cotton candy and her dripping cunt polishing my desk.
Goddammit. This girl—this being—turns me into a barbarian.
I'm barely keeping it together as my zipper tattoos itself onto my cock.
I want to rut her like an animal and feel her splinter into tiny, beautiful pieces beneath me.
"Come for me, Avalynne." Her wetness slicks my hand. "Show me what a good girl you are for your professor."
She tumbles over the edge, and suddenly, she seizes, her back arching as she bites her bottom lip, stifling her cry.
It's beautiful, but it pisses me off.
I keep going, her legs shaking, her walls quivering, her cum painting the wood beneath her ass. I lean in further, crowding her, breathing her in, existing in her space.
"I want to hear you scream," I growl before I flatten my mouth to hers and kiss her brutally.
She's still lost, coming on my hand as I bite down on her bottom lip and make her yelp, even as her legs continue to shake on either side of me.
Then I drop to my knees in front of her, and fuck if it's not a sight to behold, her legs spilling over the side of my desk, her hands white-knuckling the wood, and her pussy on display.
Pink. Wet. Perfect.
I lean closer, inhaling the scent of her release—sugar and salt.
"You're perfect," I murmur against the silky flesh inside her thigh, before spreading her legs even wider and spearing her on my tongue. This time, she cries out, her hands knotting in my hair.
Fuucccckkk.
She tastes even better than she smells, and I flatten my tongue and drag it up her delicate folds to her clit. She's already shaking again, her fingers tight in my hair, urging me on with breathy moans.
"This pussy is mine," I say against her, my teeth scraping her skin. "You are mine."
"I am yours, Professor," she purrs, and I nearly spill in my pants.
I thrust my tongue deep, curling it inside her, drowning in her and desperate for more.
Her thighs quiver on either side of me. I devour her salted flesh and sweet cum, feasting on her.
She shakes, quivers, and pulls my hair so tight I'm probably going to have bald spots by the time this is over, but I don't give a fuck.
I can't stop.
Her warm, wet pussy is the only thing I need.
I lick her over and over again, thrusting my tongue in and out of her, faster and faster. I bring my thumb up to massage small circles across her clit.
"Come for me again, Avalynne," I murmur on a broken inhale as my thumb rubs furious circles around that tight bundle of nerves between her legs. "Let me hear you break for me."
My obedient girl does as she's told, throwing her head back with her orgasm as her thighs squeeze my head in a vise, and I eat her through it, her sweetness clogging my nostrils and clinging to my teeth.
She trembles and whimpers, but I hold her beautiful thighs captive to my desk. I lick and lave, swallowing every sweet drop of her, until she's clean. Only then do I rock back on my heels and stand.
Her legs loosely dangle off the sides of my desk, her face flushed a stunning pink, and her cunt on display.
I commit the image to memory as a knock comes from my door.
Avalynne giggles in surprise as I curse under my breath.
I look at her, take two steps closer, grab her flushed face between my hands, and kiss the hell out of her.