Page 136 of Speak

I made quick work of taking his cock out and putting it in my mouth. “Now, rest your hands on my thighs.” I obeyed but when I started sucking he lightly tapped my cheek. “I didn’t saysuck. I saidput me in your mouth while I grade papers.”

So I did. Drool accumulated in my mouth and when I would swallow around him he would groan, reaching under to pet my hair with his large hand.

“Such a good girl warming my cock with your perfect, naughty mouth.”

The praise was too much. I tried to snake my hands down so I could play with myself, but he would stop me. Causing me to want to cry out and argue. He seemed to understand this and chuckled. “Rest your head in my lap, keep your hands on me, my cock in your mouth and I promise you’ll be rewarded, Angel. You’re doing a very good job.”

By the time he was done grading the papers and he came down my throat with a groan, they were neatly stacked and put away, leaving room for me to be spread out, thighs on either side of my chest, holding myself open for him so he could feast on both holes. It was the fastest I ever came.

I’ve also been training a lot more with Jonas in Maverick’s basement although Damon decided to turn his basement in the new house into a gym as well.

Keeping Damon's house secret from Maverick made me feel gross inside. My feelings for him were growing, even though he could be demanding and mean, my body, my mind, my heartcravedhim. I didn’t want to admit how much I ached to be under his desk, or how when we were hangout out in his living room, being on my knees on my pillow with my head resting on his lap while I read and he fed me snacks and played with my hair made me feel treasured.

It made me feelhis.

Not like a doll, maybe a little like a pet but… but I loved it. I love it.

I love him.

“Dance for me, butterfly.”Words I hated hearing but more and more Syndicate brothers were coming here in herds, Stephenhaving me dance for them until my feet hurt and my thighs quivered from exhaustion; but because of this, I learned three things: 1) Men gossip far more than women, From what they’re going to wear to who they’re going with to what they’re doing afterwards, 2) Thaddeus and Ashleigh would be attending the Homecoming Ball and 3) the weekend of the ball, he was getting his home alarm system upgraded the following day. The one he currently had was ‘too grainy.’ Just because more Syndicate members hadn’t been attacked since Tyler’s death, didn't mean the man responsible wasn’t planning anything.

And I was.

I was planningeverything.

As soon as Jonas asked me to be his date to the ball, I began ordering everything I would need to pull it off. And our costumes, of course.

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Homecoming is a grand, lavish event the university spares no expense on. I’m wearing a dark red Victorian ball gown, a low V-shaped bodice that gathers into the full, voluminous skirt, that swishes at my feet, where I’m wearing black ballet flats, not heels, so I can run. On my hands I wear full silk matching gloves, the fingers black that turn the same shade of red as the material travels upwards past my elbows. On my face is an old venetian mask, gold, with moth wings on the ends. I’ve decided to wear my hair half up, half down, so it stays in place. I wear an old, loose ribbon around my neck, a sensation that makes me itchy but I know it’s just one more thing I need to get over.

Strapped to my thigh, is a bag full of goodies.

Jonas as beautiful as he is walking around in casual wear, or his uniform, is unearthly in a matching mask and a black three-piece double-breasted suit, complete with a waist coat. The coat itself has a swallow tail and, just for shiggles, he’s decided to walk around with a cane and top hat.

He looks like a prince of darkness.

He makes my heart stop.

Maverick and Damon have opted to wear the same suit, although their coat jackets are shaped differently, Maverick’s being more of a medieval steampunk jacket and Damon’s more traditional. They’re going in as faculty, meanwhile I am, for all intents and purposes, Jonas’ date to the ball.

When we arrive, there are four horse-drawn carriages in the parking lot pulled by beautiful Clydesdales. We get into one, the carriage plated gold inside, even the velvet cushions on the seats match. We are somewhat considered royalty, after all. I can’t help but have that sickly feeling settle in the pit of my stomach as the carriage lurches forward.

No matter how much my mother wanted me to be a princess, I wanted to be able to slay dragons. Where other women wanted prince charming, I wanted the misunderstood villain.

Turns out in order to slay the dragons, I had to become the villain all while portraying to be the damsel in distress.

When the carriage finally stops and the footman opens the door, Jonas gets down first and holds out a hand to help me down and out. The university has transformed. Outside on the quad is a string-quartet, playing Satin Birds, couples are standing, talking, networking. We walk further, going into the dining hall and it truly takes my breath away. The gothic eating chamber has heavy lavender, silver and black silks draped along the windows, the finger-food laden tables have been pushed to the sides to make way from a dancefloor, another string quartet is off to the corner, they too, dressed in Victorian drags, and thousands of tea-light candles ranging from every size, beautifully placed throughout the room. The old chandeliers are lit, furthering the haunting atmosphere to make you feel like you’ve truly traveled back in time.

Thank God we still have indoor plumbing, though.

Damon and Maverick make their way to where the other faculty are standing, as Jonas takes me to where he sees his parents, waving at them. I spot the Monroes on the other side of the room with the last Prescott and it feels like an entire world divide as my eyes clash with Axel’s, and when he smiles at me, I turn my head, heading in the direction of the Andersons.

I don’t miss the way his smile falters, nor the way his gaze trails after me.

While I miss my brother, my best friend, my rock… I know I’m making the right decision – to go where I’m wanted. Where I won’t be made to feel like a freak.

Elena Anderson reaches out to me immediately, taking me into her arms, and when I glance behind her shoulder, my eyes clash with green ones behind an older, bedazzled mask with a large feather. Sohpia’s lips purse together, but I decide, here and now, I’ll go where hugs are given freely. I’ll go where I’m wanted. Where I’m cherished. I’ll go where I won’t be put into a glass box and labeled as “fragile.”

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