Page 18 of Playing with Fyre

My stomach flutters and then drops to my feet when he pulls the classroom door closed and locks it.

Chapter Twelve

Charlotte

Fyre stalks over to me with a grim expression on his face.

Oh my God. He’s angry with me. But why? What did I do? How did I fuck this up?

The hand holding my drawing begins to tremble.

“Sir?” My voice is weak, quivering.

He doesn’t answer me.

I start backing up, my legs bumping against easels and workbenches as I retreat from his looming shape.

Panic has me in its teeth, shaking me like a dog with a rat.

A second before I hit the back wall of the class, Fyre catches up to me. He rips the drawing from my fingers and slaps it down on the desk beside us.

I open my mouth to try and apologize, to explain, but there’s no time.

Fyre grabs my hips and hoists me up. His body slams into mine, pinning me to the wall. I wore a dress today, and maybe that’s why everything happens so fast. There’s no fussing with buttons, no tugging at zips.

Professor Fyre crushes his mouth against mine hard enough to make me gasp. He rips up the hem of my dress, baring my underwear to the classroom’s cool air. With a yank that leaves fabric burn on my skin, my panties are now tangled around my upper thighs.

Strong fingers graze my pussy. Fyre groans against my mouth, breaking our kiss just long enough to murmur, “You’re already dripping for me.”

I want to say something, but I only have one second to stare up into his dark, golden-flecked eyes before he darts forward and snatches up my lips with his. He grabs my underwear and yanks, tearing the fabric down my legs.

There’s a metallicclankas he rips open his belt, the rasp of a zipper.

My legs wrap around his waist, and he takes it as an invitation.

Fyre parts my pussy with deft fingers before forcing the first inch of his cock inside me.

I moan, gripping his waist tighter, kissing him harder. My hands are around his shoulders, one hand fisted in his hair. I twist, desperate to hold on as he forces another inch of his thick cock into me.

I’m splitting open. Tearing apart. Pleasure and pain mingle into an indecipherable cocktail of sensation that rushes through me in a hot, aching wave.

He thrusts the last of his cock inside me, forcing my ass hard against the wall.

Filling me entirely. Possessively.

I wriggle and moan and nip at his mouth, furious at him for stopping. But I have no control over him. No control over myself.

He breaks our kiss. Moves his lips to my ear. “Why is forbidden fruit always so goddamn sweet?”

I choke instead of replying. My mind is such a mess I doubt I could form a sentence. All I manage is a pathetic, “Please.”

“Please what, Charlotte?” he demands in a rough voice. “Please stop? Please fuck you harder?”

“Harder,” I whimper.

He growls, and again I’m convinced he’s furious at me. There’s a snarl on his face when he pulls back and studies me with a condescending flick of his eyes. “You should be telling me to stop,” he says. “You should be screaming for help.”

I shake my head. Nip at my bottom lip. “No. I want this. I want…you.”

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