Page 76 of Tenure

“We could use a drink,” she calls.

“Who’s that?” the guy yells.

Kiernan looks at me for a long time.

“I’m your new neighbour,” she says.

52

Kiernan

8 months later...

It’s very strange, seeing James sitting in my high school gymnasium. It’s even stranger seeing him seated beside my mom and dad.

My parents were wary when I told them I was being treated to a trip to Paris by my new boyfriend. Wariness faded into outright shock when they realized he wasn’t the valet. But James turned on the charm—schmoozed them in a way that almost made me jealous since he had never bothered to be kind to anyone but me up until that point—and had them both eating out of the palm of his hand before dessert.

My mother was half in love with him, and my father—despite his historical hatred for tenured professors—had talked physics with him late into the night in the lobby of our Parisian hotel. James had fallen into bed beside me drunk as shit, slurring about how much they loved him and how we had nothing to be worried about.

Nothing ever came of the beating in the garage. Graham was conspicuously absent from campus for a while, and when I eventually ran into him in line at Tim Horton’s he abandoned his coffee and donut order and hightailed it out of there. I didn’t bother bringing it up to James. He was moody enough already; his obsession with going to sleep and waking up with his cock inside something of mine had him soaring as high as his irritation at my music choices, and “girl shit” all over his bathroom counter had him sinking into surly lows. But he loved me, showed me the time of my life in Paris, could never be found in public without his arm around my shoulders or lips on my neck, often resulting in quickies against brick walls in alleys or dressing rooms at the mall.

We’d decided to keep quasi-quiet about our relationship while on campus, at least until I was done high school and in attendance full-time. But the current of tension tethering us together was hard to hide. I’m sure most students just assumed we were fucking and didn’t think much of it. But we kept the school property trysts to a minimum, and I didn’t attend his tutorials. Being alone together in that room was . . . a lot.

“Kiernan Baker,” they call, and I walk across the stage, shake hands with my teachers and the principal, swap my tassel to the other side . . . I know I should be paying attention to this, that people are saying things to me, and that I’m saying things to people, but all I can see is him, eyes locked on me, brimming with pride and lust and clearly itching to kiss me.

I hurry down the opposite side of the stage but instead of returning to my seat I go straight down the aisle to James who is already standing. My parents tut at us, my dad rolling his eyes, my mom misty and dabbing at her cheeks, as he steps towards me.

Fuck it.I jog at him, and he scoops me up in his arms, kissing me hard, tongue pushing into me like I know his cock is dying to, until my dad clears his throat, and we break apart.

He drops me to the ground, and I expect him to blush or look sheepish, but he just kisses me once more, soft, chaste, despite half the gymnasium openly staring at us, most of the womenveryopenly staring at him.

He doesn’t seem to notice. Or he just doesn’t care.

“Alright, alright,” my dad says, blushing on our behalf. James smiles at me, a whopping nine thousand megawatt smile that one hundred percent has caused a tidal wave of wet panties in the immediate vicinity, and then takes his seat beside my dad. I hurry back to my spot and can feel his eyes burning a hole in my back, my neck tingling with anticipation. I barely notice when everyone tosses their caps—just turn to go back to James but bump right into his chest. He’s already come over, is already grabbing me by the cheeks and kissing me again, his enthusiasm intoxicating. He has hated keeping things quiet on campus. Has hated not being able to freely touch me at will when I’m there. And this was our milestone marker. He has free reign now.

He ducks down, and I feel his lips against the shell of my ear.

“We need to find a bathroom,” he says, voice husky and desperate.

“My parents are here,” I whisper.

“I don’t care.”

He grabs me by the hand and takes off, nobody noticing in the chaos of hugs and excitement. We slip out the doors and down the hall, and he drags me into the nearest bathroom.

He pauses for a moment, glances around, and then looks down at me.

“Which one,” he asks, his voice desperate.

I know what he’s asking, and I point to the second stall.

He shoves me in and kicks the door shut behind him while unbuckling his jeans, kisses me roughly, and then spins me around. I slap my palms to the wall just as he rips my panties to the side and—

“Fuck!” I hiss.

No preamble. No fingers. No warning. Just his cock thrust up into me so hard he almost lifts me off the ground.

“God, you’re wet,” he says, sounding extremely pleased. But I know him, and I know that catch in his throat, and he is barely holding on to his self-control.

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