Page 57 of Promise to Break

Fuck him. It's mandatory. We have to cover our hair, at least the hair on our scalp, with some kind of hat or bandana. My long and heavy hair doesn't fit any hat, so I use the classic mode.

Cabron: I wonder if your cakes taste as sweet as you. I bet you're sweeter, though you are a bit spicy, too. I like your taste.

What the fuck does that mean? No, I don't want or need to know. This notion that the flavor of someone's cum is good for some people is understandable because so many people partake in the act, but to call it sweet or spicy makes it sound too much like food, and that makes me cringe. It didn't make you cringe when his mouth was down there.

I shake my head, and apparently, I didn't do it mentally as I should have because Emanuel says, "I don't think I want to know what's wrong, but if your cake is not rising, I demand you leave my classroom. I am a chef, not a doctor." That asshole. Both of them are assholes.

A moment later, timers chime in unison. "It's time for the cakes," Emanuel announces with a clap as he stands from the edge of his desk. Each of us goes to our oven and pulls out the cakes we made. This is our lord's favorite pastime. He relishes, making us see how inept and useless we are in his eyes. Standing there with both cakes, I anticipate my usual dosage of humiliation. I can practically hear him scolding me for making two different cakes without perfecting the one we learned today and doing the same to other students. I look at the works of those around me, and everyone's cakes look the same.

My phone pings a few more times, but I refuse to touch it.

"As you know," Emanuel begins, "the cakes should cool off completely before we cut into them. Meanwhile, let's check the croquembouche you made this morning."

I turn to the little tower of French pastry I made, just to see him sitting near my spot.

"Mr. Fierro, I don't believe you are supposed to be here," Emanuel says as the whole classroom looks at the deviant in question. Killian is dressed in the black trousers of our school uniform and only the jacket, leaving his torso bare to the world. His allergy to fabric is distracting.

"I don't think I asked where I need to be, Manu."

Manu? The man who lives on the waves of self-love and respect has a nickname? I try to stifle my chuckle, but an unruly snort escapes me for the whole class to hear. Fuck my life.

"Keep going," Killian says with a dismissive wave. "I'll just sit with Miss Fernandez here." He puts his ass on my chair and takes the plate of pastry from my hands.

Great. Now, I don't have anywhere to sit. Sit on him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Cabron?"

"I told you I need to know if your juices are sweeter than these little things." He ruins the pyramid I created with the eclairs and takes a big bite. The cream oozes onto his lips. A feral need to lick them has me taking a step back, but I stop myself at the last moment. Fuck, I hate this man so much.

"Mmm. You are sweeter." He does what I planned to do just a second ago.

"Be quiet," I whisper.

"Why?"

Because I don't need my weaknesses to be seen by all. "Because it was a one-time thing, remember?"

"I think your best friend made sure the whole school knew how I took you and made you… Remind me, how many times did I make you come?"

I put my hand over his mouth, and the fucker licks it with the remains of the cream on his lips.

"Everyone is watching." I try not to look at him as he takes hold of my hips and sits me on his lap. Any struggle I make only brings more attention to us, so I relax on his muscled thighs.

I don't want his touch. I don't.

"And since when do you care about them?" Killian asks, and he's right. I rarely give a fuck about what they say because I know those people are on the wrong most of the times. But just now, my shameful truth is looking me in the face, and I despise it. More than anything, I hate that I want to feel him between my legs again. His huge frame making me scream as the barbell on the tip of his dick penetrates me. I want to experience him taking me between my legs as he promised, making me feel dirty, wanted, cherished, alive.

"You are so hot when your eyes glaze over with lust." How can he know? He can't even see my eyes. I look back over my shoulder to shoot him a glance. His reaction is to kiss the tip of my nose.

"Shut up. You're interrupting the class," I say after turning back around. It's a good thing I have a somewhat dark complexion, or I'd be as red as a beetroot by now.

"Fine," he says with an air of boredom. "Since I can't eat you out here, I will eat what you made with me on your mind."

"I did not." Great, now I sound like a four-year-old.

"Oh, come on. This thing looks like my cock. You even have my piercing on it."

"That's the caramel. It dripped down like that." I hear him take another bite, and he moans in my ear.

Emanuel steps up to us with his hands on his hips and scowls at Killian, then me. "It fell in a bulb that may resemble the thing the whole school saw on Mr. Fierro, but it's because Fernandez here is an untalented, clumsy girl who loves too much sugar. I imagine that's because she didn't have it when she was young and without money. But you see—"