Page 10 of Spring Fling

“Abbi,” he finally says, his voice dark and dangerous. “You lied to me.” There is a tremble in his voice that betrays his struggle to stay in control.

I shake my head almost frantically. “I didn’t.”

Logan shoots to his feet and plants the palms of his hands on the desk, leaning toward me. “You told me you were a college student. Yet here you are, in my high school class of seventeen-year-olds. How is that not lying?”

A lightbulb flashes in my head—oh ... “Logan—Mr. James—“ I pause and bite my lip for a second, thinking. I’m not sure what to call him right now ... “I’m still in high school, but I turned eighteen over two months ago. And, I am enrolled in college classes. I’ll graduate high school next month and begin my sophomore year of college in the fall.” I run a hand through my short curls, look up at the ceiling and sigh.

“Mr. James”

My eyes fall and meet Logan’s. “What?” I ask.

“Mr. James,” he repeats. “I like that way that sounds falling from your sexy mouth.” His hazel orbs are still dark, except the anger has ebbed ever so slightly, replaced with hunger. He sweeps his gaze down my body and back up, the desperate edge growing. My thighs clench and my already wet panties are now flooded with arousal. “I think I’d like it a whole lot better if you were screaming it,” he mutters.

I gasp and glance at the closed classroom door. “You can’t say stuff like that here!”

Logan’s expression hardens and he straightens before prowling around the desk. I back up a step, but can’t go any further when he grabs my waists and hoists me onto the table top. He presses my knees wide, my attempt to keep them closed failing miserably against his strength and determination. He steps between them and then wraps his hands around my throat, his thumbs lifting my chin. “I’ll say whatever I want to you, when I want, Abbi. And you ... you will say nothing, unless its ‘yes, Mr. James.’ Got it?”

I can feel the blood drain from my face and I peek at the entrance again, before staring at Logan once more. “We can’t—”

I’m cut off when his hands tighten around my neck. “Yes, Mr. James,” he insists. I’m kept from replying by his mouth when it crashes down over mine. He ravishes me with his lips and tongue, tasting and making delicious little sounds of satisfaction. The pressure of his fingers is inhibiting my breathing and I feel a heightened awareness of the throbbing in my ... (okay, I’m just going to say it ... ) pussy. (Eeeek!) My clit is swelling and rasping against the metal daisies, making me squirm with need.

When he loosens his hold, my head flies back and I suck in deep breathes while his lips trail down my jaw to the spot just below my ear. His hands land on my bare knees next. Gliding them up, he bunches my skirt around my waist and dips a finger inside my panties.

“This outfit is going to get me thrown in prison, baby,” he mumbles against my skin. “Every time one of the horny little fuckers in class looked at you, it was all I could do to keep from ripping their balls off.”

His finger finds my piercing and he flicks it back and forth a few times. Despite the underlying fear of being caught, a low moan escapes me. It takes me right back to our week in Miami, where his every touch left me burning for more. Two days without him and I feel as though I’ve been starved of his presence.

“Do you have any idea,” he rasps, “what it’s going to do to me to watch you walk around in this short skirt every day, knowing the little treasure you’re hiding beneath it?” The sound of fabric ripping causes me to stiffen. Unbelievably, my panties still feel intact, I’m pretty sure he just made my underwear crotch less.

His mouth finds mine and his tongue twists with mine, our minds and hearts dancing in synch. I hear the sound of his zipper lowering and tear my lips away, glancing at the door wildly.

“Logan!” His hand dives into my hair and grip it tight, yanking just enough to cause a sting, reminding me. “Mr. James.” His clenched fingers loosen. We can’t—oh, fuck!”

Before I can finish protesting, he’s grabbed my ass and thrust into me hard, slamming our pelvises together. Now, he freezes at my exclamation.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear, baby.”

I can’t believe I said that! I’ve never even thought that word ... I peek up at him through lowered lashes, afraid of his reaction. Did it turn him off? What if he doesn’t want me anymore?

He starts to pull out and my eyes well with tears, but then he drives back in hard.

“Hot.”

Thrust.

“As.”

Thrust.

“Fuck.”

Thrust.

He thrusts in on each grunted word, as though adding his over version of an exclamation point. I’m not longer worrying so much about the door, but I still try to muffle my cries, biting my tongue until I feel the coppery taste of blood.

Logan picks up speed and starts to piston his hips in and out. “Fuck, you’re every bit as tight as I remember. Hell, baby, it feels like I haven’t had my cock buried in your sweet little pussy for months.”

My head falls back and I whimper. I feel the tell-tale tug of my hair and my eyes meet his again. “While I love the incredible sounds you make, especially your screams when I make you come, we don’t want anyone walking in. You’ve got to stay quiet, Abbi,” he says gruffly. “Think you can do that?” He stills, waiting for my response and I accidentally let out a cry of protest.

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