Chapter 40 Xade
XADE
It's been three days since I tongue-fucked the granddaughter of one of the most powerful men in North America. I would have done more, too, had Sister Helena not interrupted and knocked on my office door to ask a question about the Biblia Sacra Vulgata.
Today, Avalynne Immorier has obliterated my plans for an uneventful Monday. From the moment the not-so-good girl walked into my classroom this morning, she has pushed each and every one of my buttons.
Buttons that keep me from putting her flat on her back in front of a bunch of nuns and screwing her smartass brains out.
I think she's tormenting me for forgetting her morning coffee.
That or she's punishing me for not saving her this weekend from apostolate duties in the library archives with the nuns, organizing tomes of religious texts. But what exactly was she going to die of in the archives? Boredom?
Regardless, I deserve this for breaking my cardinal rule—don't get romantically involved with students.
I don't fuck them, even if it is just with my fingers … and then my tongue.
It gets … messy.
They become a distraction, and Lord knows, I am distracted.
So. Damn. Distracted.
Avalynne Immorier started this glorious morning with her infernal pencil-chewing habit. Her teeth grazed and nibbled at the wood for at least half an hour. I told her to stop a dozen times, but she kept doing it, rolling her pretty tongue across the wood like it was a damned lollipop.
I wanted to switch places with that pencil.
Then I managed to live through her barely concealed smirk when I finally snapped and told her to, "Put the pencil down, Ms. Immorier, before I glue it to your desk."
Next, she rolled her eyes when I answered a question from Sister Theresa despite the fact that I haven't given her any reason to roll her eyes in three days.
Three lonnng days.
Hell, I even ignored her when she rolled up her skirt and spread her legs so wide her knees nearly knocked against the nuns on either side of her.
She's not wearing underwear today and seeing her dressed as a pious nun as she showed me her pretty pussy nearly undid me. It should be a Pope-canonized miracle that I ignored her.
I promptly took a liking to the most banal book in the universe, and I honestly thought she'd given up. The prognosis on today was finally improving until right now, when my favorite student smirks and raises her hand.
I ignore her, but she doesn't take the hint.
"Professor Thatcher," she says from the front row, her words sweet … too sweet.
I ignore her again.
"Professor Thatcher," she repeats, louder now in the quiet classroom.
"Yes, Ms. Immorier." I raise an eyebrow and look up from my terrible book. I'm glad to find her skirt has returned to its proper place.
"I have a question about Beowulf," she tells me.
"I'm at your disposal."
"Are you?" She doesn't wait for my answer. "Do you think Beowulf abandons Hrothgar after defeating Grendel because staying would mean accepting responsibility for what he's done?"
Well, this certainly isn't about the poem.
"You're projecting motivations onto a writing over a millennium old," I reply through my teeth.
"Am I?" she smiles, and there's no good girl hidden in her grin, just a spitfire smartass. "Because it seems to me that Beowulf defeats Grendel and then just … vanishes, leaving Hrothgar, who depended on him, behind."
She's toeing a line, and it makes my chest tighten.
"He doesn't vanish," I correct. "He goes home."
"Yes, abandoning Hrothgar, the person who needed him most." She tilts her head, pursing her pretty lips.
"Absence does not equal abandonment."
A beat passes. "Professor?"
I close my damn book. "Yes, Ms. Immorier?"
"I have another question."
"You don't have questions, Ms. Immorier," I deadpan. "You have opinions disguised as interrogatories."
In a normal classroom, the students would back me up with a snicker. The nuns are far too nice for that.
"Please, Professor," she purrs.
Fuck.
She knows exactly what she's doing.
I kill the urge to adjust my dick beneath my desk in front of a dozen brides of Christ.
"Is there a reason you're being even more difficult than normal?" I snap.
"Is there a reason you're incapable of answering a simple question?"
I'll show her incapable when I make her scream … again.
"You're crossing a line."
"You're the one who drew it."
"Ask. Your. Question."
"I already did, so answer it."
It turns out even nuns can snicker.
"Class dismissed!" I shout, my roar so loud it echoes off the walls and yells back at me.
I can't be bothered to care how this looks right now.
I am going to kill my only real student and find peace in my life.
"Out," I tell them, the word barely legible between my gritted teeth.
Obediently, the nuns stand and start to leave. I try to get my shit together.
Word—annoyance.
No! Word—throttle.
Part of speech—on top of her desk.
Goddammit.
Word—strangle. Scratch that—murder. Scratch that, too—fuck!
NOOOOO!
Word—to. hell. with. this.
The last sister exits the room, and I step closer to the hellfire in white, closing the distance between us.
"What is your problem, Avalynne?" I hiss.
She rises to her feet, tipping her chin to look at me, her blue-eyed gaze downright arctic.
"Why are you ignoring me?" she demands.
"I'm not ignoring you," I snarl, my fingers steepling on the desk between us.
Liar.
"You weren't in your office this weekend." She narrows her beautiful eyes at me.
"Breaking in again, little troublemaker?" I scoff. "You were supposed to be helping the sisters in the archives."
She looks at me, and I mean really looks. It makes me think she can see all the way down to my ulterior motives. "So you did send me there this weekend," she remarks.
Hold on. What did I just admit to?
"I didn't say that," I argue.
She crosses her arms over her chest. "You didn't have to."
"I'm trying to give you space!" I nearly shout.
Space that is killing me.
"Who says I wanted space?" she demands.
"You need to think about this, Avalynne," I placate as something sharp pricks my middle with the words.
"You're young. You have your entire life ahead of you.
You shouldn't be pressured by a man in a position of authority to do anything.
" I blink at her, silently begging her to understand. "I'm trying to be a decent man, here."
Why can't she understand? I'm trying to do the honorable thing!
She presses a finger to my lips and leaves it planted there. "I swear, Xade, do not say another word. You are going to hear what I have to say first."
I try to stay on task but find myself counting the constellation of freckles on her nose.
"I loved it," she tells me. "I loved calling you professor and the way your lips felt against mine when you kissed me.
I loved your fingers inside me and the look you gave me after you watched me fall apart.
I loved how you called me your student and the feeling of your mouth between my legs. I loved all of it."
Oh fuck.
"Avalynne," I warn her through gritted teeth.
She shakes her head at me. "You don't get to choose what's good for me."
"I am a decade older than you …"
"You don't get to choose," she repeats.
"There aren't enough Hail Marys in the world to repent for what I'd do to you."
She cinches the front of my shirt and drags me closer.
"Holy Mary," she says, "Mother of God, pray for us sinners …"
I am powerless as she flattens her lips to mine.
I am drawn beneath her tide, and the dam inside of me breaks. I grab hold of her shoulders and yank her over her desk. It's messy. She falls into me. I stumble backward. We tangle in a blur of limbs and teeth and … lust.
"It's just sex," I snarl against her mouth, pinning her upright against me.
"You know it's not," she snaps.
"It'll be our secret, Clarissima Stella."
"I'll be your secret, Professor."
Fuck. Me.
We stumble toward the front of the room, and I bring her closer, her soft body flattening against mine. She can never be close enough as I wrench my mouth free of hers and let my tongue taste the column of her throat and up to the curve of her ear. Her erratic breath sounds between us.
"I can still taste your cunt on my tongue." I let my words vibrate against the shell of her ear.
She moans before I spin her around and push her against the chalkboard, her front flattening against it.
I grab her veil and hair in one go, pulling her head back, and she looks at me, her beautiful blue eyes watering.
Slowly, my free hand traces the curve of her ass before I spin her around again, her back landing hard against the wall.
"I've imagined doing this since the first day you walked into my classroom," I admit, lifting her skirt and letting my fingers skim the silky flesh of her thigh and her bare core.
"Then why haven't you?" she asks me, her tongue darting out to wet her delicious pout, her eyes challenging me.
"Because you're a good girl," I let my words cascade over the flushed skin of her cheeks, "and I'm your professor."
I grab her chin between my thumb and forefinger and force her to look at me.
"What if I want to be bad?" she whispers.
Her words are my downfall. Our hot breath mixes together in the air, and fuck, if it doesn't smell like the shot of bourbon I downed this morning and cotton candy.
I release her face, and my hands go to my belt, unbuckling it and sliding it free. I'm quick with the zipper on my pants as we stare at each other, her eyes locked on mine.
"Tell me to stop," I beg her.
"Don't stop," she murmurs, leaning in to kiss my jawline and up to my lips. Each press of her mouth against me feels like liquid fire pouring across my flesh.
What is she doing to me? I can't breathe.
"This is wrong," I say beneath her kisses.
"Then why does it feel right?"
I grab her thigh and hike her leg up, the heel of her foot hitting my ass. The slick of her pussy glides against my dick. It's just friction and bare flesh, but I nearly come undone. I lean my forehead against hers, sweat slicking our skin, and force an exhale.
"I'm sorry," I tell her.
She gasps.
"For what?" Her breath hitches on the last word.
"For ruining you."
Then I lift her, line us up, and slam into her in one brutal thrust.
"Fuck," I groan as she cries out.
"I'm glad it was you." Her words are so soft I barely hear them.
My thoughts scramble.
She was a virgin.
I shouldn't be her first.
I should slow down.
I can't.
I pull out and push into her again.
"Are you okay?" I ask her, her tight heat clenching around my dick.
"Don't stop," she wheezes, her ragged breath hot and fast against me.
It's all I need. I grab her other thigh, hooking her leg around me, and go even harder. My hips beat against hers, and her back hits the blackboard, smearing chalk dust everywhere. Her thighs bounce against my legs, her ass jiggling as we fuck, only naked where we're connected.
I'm so ready to come, and she's impossibly tight in this position.
I want to rut her.
Revere her.
Ruin her for all others.
I slam into her again. She bites my shoulder through my dress shirt.
"Hold on to me," I growl. "I need to … fuck … I need to go harder."
"Give me everything," she pants, her fingers clawing my shoulders, her nails biting through the fabric and into my skin.
I can't stop. I can never stop, but I want her to come first.
I drop my fingers between us, pushing away the fabric of her habit skirt, and massage that bundle of nerves between her thighs. She bites my shoulder again, her teeth digging into me as she moans. I rub her even faster.
I push in, and she slides up the blackboard.
I pull out, almost to the tip, and she falls.
I push back in again.
She shivers against me, her breath coming in fast bursts as I pummel into her even harder. The blackboard shakes against the wall as chalk falls off the metal ledge and clatters to the floor.
In.
"Mine," I growl, one hand bracing flat against the wall and the other holding her ass.
Out.
In. "My good girl."
Out.
In. "My student." My thrusts punctuate my words.
The blackboard clangs against the wall, the sound of us. Her fingernails claw the back of my neck and tug my hair. The room reeks of chalk dust and sex.
"Come for me, Avalynne," I tell her, rubbing her even faster between us, feeling her wetness coat my fingers. "Show your professor how much you love his cock."
My dirty words send her over the edge, and I swallow her scream as I bottom out inside of her. Her pussy clenches my dick in a vise.
It's primal, a base instinct.
I want nothing more than to empty inside her and fill her up.
The condom. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Pull out, pull out, pull out!
I pull out of her, grab my dick in one hand, and empty everything I have across her cunt and the inside of her thighs, staining her habit with our sins.
For a long moment, we stand there, both of us catching our breath. She clings to me, her arms loose around my shoulders, as I look down between us and watch my cum slowly slide down her pale thighs.
The sight does something savage to me.
It's the hottest thing I've ever seen.
I should care that she was a virgin.
I should care that her grandfather would kill me if he found out.
But some hedonistic part of me is glad it was me.
I drop my fingers between her legs, and when I bring them back, they're coated in blood and us. I lift two fingers and shove them between her parted lips.
"Taste us together," I tell her.
My obedient girl curls her pretty mouth around my fingers and sucks them clean, her gaze shuttering on the taste. As I pull my hand away, I lean in and kiss her, too.
Sugar, salt, and copper pennies.
We are perfect.
"Are you all right?" I ask her. "Any pain?"
"Mmm. No. That was …" she inhales deeply, "amazing."
"I should help you clean up," I tell her, my breath grazing her sweat-slicked flesh. "But I like knowing how dirty you are beneath that habit."
I lean in and run a line of kisses up her throat, feeling her pulse flutter like a caged bird beneath my lips.
"Be a good girl and stay right there," I instruct her. "We're just getting started."
"Yes, Professor," she says to me as I gently lower her to the floor.
As I walk to the door, I think there's no turning back now.