Page 11 of Dirty Tricks

My balls ache, my cock aches, throbbing in time with my heartbeat. I’ve been hard as a rock since hearing the whir of her vibrator above me. While she showered, I should have crept from her room to make my escape.

Instead, I left the present on her pillow, then resumed my place while I listened to her eat, then fall asleep.

It’s risky being in here. The riskiest thing I do at this school, and that’s counting the actions I take to ensure her safety.

There’s a far cry from tripping a teasing boy so he chips a tooth on the hard concrete—my most recent correction—to being caught in a student’s room after hours. Especially without her knowledge.

They wouldn’t just drum me out of my job for this infraction. They’d call in the police.

I’d get a record. Worse, I’d never be allowed near her again.

But even knowing this, the ache to see her grows every day, too compelling to ignore. The ache to be seen by her has captured my soul.

I thought anything more was an impossibility, nothing but a daydream. But today…?

Today shesawme. Shestaredat me. Our eyes locked together like we were physically joined, and I peeked straight into the heart of her.

I know she saw straight into my heart, too.

Then her arse of a boyfriend blustered and raged, and the moment was over.

I hate Finn. Hate him with a passion. I also know I can’t act against him like I can the others. Not without her permission. Not when shechosehim from the multitude of boys she could have.

Now, when I should catch up on the jobs I skipped to lay under her bed this afternoon, I’m back. Staring at her sleeping form. Wishing I could pry open her head and crawl inside, lie down with her thoughts surrounding me, the epitome of peace.

The long t-shirt she sleeps in is rucked up a little, the sheets twisted between her legs where she tossed and turned before sleep reached out its long arms to claim her.

Her splayed legs expose the tender skin of her inner thigh and despite all my promises, despite knowing how nasty, how disturbing my actions are, I can’t resist reaching into my sweats and grabbing hold of my swelling cock, pulling and tugging at myself as I imagine those sweet thighs parting for me.

As my need grows, I spit into my palm, remembering how she did the same on the first night we met, my head dizzy as I think of how her wide mouth closed around me, how she gagged and strained to take me as far inside her as she could, dispensing more pleasure than I’ve ever known.

And it’s not just her body that I hunger for. Or not entirely. I love her expressive features, how sometimes her face pinches closed when she says something, and nobody listens.

I know she thinks it’s her, that she’s not loud enough or clear enough. Maybe one day, I’ll gather the courage to tell her she’s not the problem. It’s them. Too selfish, too deluded, too caught in their own drama to see or hear anyone different.

Their loss, not her failure.

My grip grows stronger, tugging harder, rougher with each stroke, like I’m punishing as much as pleasuring myself. The loneliness of the solitary act not eased by being in the room with another person but intensified.

I stop caring about the noise I make, part of me hoping she’ll wake or at least wake into the sleepwalking self I’ve seen a half dozen times since the first night. That she’ll notice me the same way she did earlier in the evening. That she’ll look at me and lock my image deep inside that gorgeous mind, watching it on the inside of those spectacular eyes.

Load me into the wiring of her brain and make me a part of her forever.

The tugs grow harder, faster, as I get closer. With my eyelids at half-mast, I watch her stir, heels pushing the covers even farther down as she rolls onto her back, arms splayed on either side of her pillow.

I watch the rise of her chest as she inhales another deep, dream-filled breath. Imagine those hands reaching for me, closing around me. Imagine those sweet lips parting, that tongue resting against her teeth as she guides me inside her, sucking and licking and welcoming me deeper while her eyes lock to mine and she sees me, really sees me, and all it takes is one more tug and the head of my cock swells, muscles twitching as my release fires into the cup of my waiting hand.

For a moment, I’m ecstatic. Then dribs and drabs of reality slowly make themselves known.

I’m left with the sheen of sweat on my forehead, my lungs catching as I haul in one deep breath after another. There’s the tight pull of muscles on my right cheek, where the nerves are buggered beyond repair, caught in the deep scar tissue that slices across my face, my lips, my chin, one side digging so deep there’s a chink missing from my jawbone.

With my clean hand, I swipe my fringe away from my forehead. The other is sticky from my own spunk, the smell driving Lexa’s sweetly showered scent from my nostrils.

I need to clean myself in the sink but for the moment, I stay, transfixed by the sight of her.

The rapid flutter of her eyes beneath the lids makes me wonder at the content of her dreams. I hope she isn’t trapped in the shadows, her memories clawing at her, even in sleep; not like that first night, where trauma had her walking the room.

I want her to dream something good. Something clean. Something pure and real and calming.

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