I ripped the zipper down on my pants and hefted her up on the wall.
“This?” I said against her mouth while I pulled my cock out. “This is what I wanted to do to you that first night.”
“Yes,” she hissed, scoring her fingernails against the back of my neck. Keeping one arm wrapped firmly around her back, I found the edge of her underwear and wrenched it aside. I didn’t have the mobility to let go of her so I could test her, but I didn’t fucking care. And neither did she. Adele was just a writhing mass of impatience, shifting down so that the head of my cock lined up with her. She shoved down while I shoved up and my balls slapped against her ass.
I fucked her against that wall, the way our movements were limited making it nothing other than a rutting, thrusting, dirty thing. I could still taste the tang of beer on her tongue when I sucked it into my mouth, and it made her pussy clench in tiny pulses when I did it.
“God, Nathan,” she moaned. “Fuck me. Harder, harder.”
So I did. Who could’ve said no to her? I slammed into her, over and over, until I couldn’t hold back the racing fire in my body. She stiffened and cried out, clenching my dick in an impossibly tight fist. With one last thrust, I came, groaning into her mouth and then sinking my forehead into the crook of her neck. When I pulled out, the rush of liquid that followed gave me a sick sense of pleasure. We had no way to clean up, so she’d feel me like that, coating the insides of her thighs while the stupid little boys in the house gawked at her.
She was still slumped against the wall, breathing hard and smiling. “That was pretty epic, Professor Easton.”
I shushed her, even though no one could have heard her. Her face was flushed, and I traced my thumb along her cheekbone.
“Have I ever told you that you look exceptionally gorgeous after you come?”
She laughed, leaning in to hug me. We stayed that way for a couple moments, stealing a sweet embrace in the darkness.
“Can we go home now?” she asked when she finally pulled back. “I don’t want to share you anymore tonight.”
“I don’t want to share you anymore, either,” I said back, and the truth of those words didn’t feel as scary, hidden as we were. I placed the mask back over my face and wrapped my arm around her while we walked back toward where we could hail a cab.
When the yellow car was pulling up to the curb, she turned back to me and smiled. “You realize that we’re going to have to do that again, right?”
“What?”
Right before she opened the door, she leaned up and whispered in my ear. “You. Fucking me in public.”
“Get in the car, Alice,” I admonished with absolutely no heat in my tone. When she turned to slide in, I grinned. Because hell yeah we were doing that again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
November passed quickly, the red and gold leaves curling up and turning brown and brittle. Between class, picking up a few extra shifts so I could pay for the Wi-Fi I had finally signed up for, and trying to sneak in time with Nathan, I’d barely registered that winter was on the horizon until I’d slipped on my ass on the sidewalk in front of my apartment, landing on ice. My hand had hit knuckles first into the ice and the sharp sting of the blow made me loudly groan, “Mother fucker!”
I tried rolling over to my knees to pull to standing but that resulted in another swear. My knees were bruised from the blow job I’d given Nathan in his shower, the blow job I’d purposefully taken a very long time in giving—just so he could experience an explosive orgasm of his own. He’d given me so many, after all.
But then I’d been stuck on the floor, my knees bearing imprints of his tile. We’d laughed as he’d picked me up and set me on the counter to dry me off, but days later they were still bruised and aching.
I pulled myself to the steps to my building and pulled off my glove, checking my knuckles for bleeding. They were red, maybe beginning to swell a little, but when I flexed them, I didn’t feel pain apart from the stretch in the tissue where I’d hit.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Celeste: What’s your major again?
I stared at my phone, puzzled. Either Celeste was looking to drag me down for what she called my “fake” major or she genuinely couldn’t remember. The former would be her acting like a bitch and the latter would be her being an uncaring bitch. One way or another, I wouldn’t win.
Me: Creative writing. Why?
Celeste: Ah, that’s right. I just wondered if you’d changed your mind yet.
I had to bite my tongue to keep the anger from taking over.
Me: Why would I change my mind?