Page 42 of Speak

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Monday comes around, and she enters my class wearing thigh highs, not fishnet stockings. The beast inside of me wants to feel them wrapped around my waist. I glower at them.

I teach on a lesser-known alleged serial killer, Dennis Nilsen, as she practically sits in Anderson’s lap. She twists her torso toward him, her skirt riding up her creamy thighs when she crosses her legs, an asscheek hanging out and my own lizard brain almost short-circuits in front of my class when I let out a soft growl which captures her attention for a split second and does her best, to once again, ignore the fuck out of me.

That’s it, Siren. My beast calls to you and you hear him. You know him. Come to him.

I hide my growing, painful erection behind my podium until I can control it.

Ican’t.

She leans closer to Jonas, sharing a textbook, and he wraps an arm around her, holding her closer. I pull my glasses off, put them on the podium, put my hands on my temples and groan. The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Class is dismissed. Miss Monroe, a word.”

Jonas’s sharp eyes snap to meet mine.

He kisses her goodbye, slowly, sweetly, as if it’s agonizing to part ways with her.

I roll my eyes, waiting for the jealousy to rise in me, to strike… but it doesn’t. He can be all the good things for her. The roses, the dates, meeting mommy and daddy in their far away castle. I am not a sweet man. I am not a nice man.

I am a man with sick, twisted, borderline sadistic tendencies, and all I want –need- is for her to stop torturing me. To put an end to this… itch. This ache. This annoying pain in my side that feels as though I’ve broken a rib. All I need is one touch. One kiss. One lick. One taste. Just. One. Fuck. And that’s it. Oneof each so I can put her back in her little perfect box and give her back to her golden boy.

Except what’s in the package may come back a little bruised… a little ruined… the thought sends ripples throughout my blackened soul. Awakening it.

She stays behind, and soon as she’s in my office, I shut the door with a force, grab her by the arms and shove her against the wall beside it. The back of her head thuds softly against the wall and those twin amber flames peer up at me in a wide and shocked expression. The same expression I imagine she’d have when I slideevery fucking millimeter of myself into her. Her perfect plump lips part slightly in her surprise and I take the opportunity and lick her bottom lip, tugging it into my mouth.

Raven Monroe tastes of mint and macchiato, of strawberry flavored lip-gloss and smells of all the good things that blossom in the Spring with just enough spice, musk and amber that reminds me she is purely autumn on the cusp of winter. She is the embodiment of crisp cool nights, warmth of roaring bonfires, pink super moons, the silence of absent cicadas and critters, of death in its most beautiful and natural form. She is the promise of new beginnings and transitions that come with time and rage. Furious like a fire devouring a house until only its charred skeleton remains standing.

I am addicted to her smoke, inhaling it sadistically, letting it settle into my lungs like cancer. That’s what she is. An insidious tumor spreading in my brain, invading all of my thoughts.

I am almost too delighted when she tenses, only to relax against me, and her tongue fills my mouth, tangling with mine. It is an angry, primal kiss that ends with her biting my lower lip until a metallic flavor bursts on my taste buds, and I growl, pulling away to wipe at the blood coming from my lower lip. She slaps me, the crack loud in the deafening silence of my office, and all the blood in my body rushes to my groin. I go to kiss her again and she fucking. Spits. On. Me.

“Lick it up.” I growl, heart thumping wildly in my chest, dick begging to be released.

She turns her head away from me.

Oh no. That won’t do.

I tilt her head by the chin with my thumb and forefinger and turn her to face me. “If you want to act like a bitch, open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and lap up your mess like a good fucking girl.”

I don’t miss the way she shivers against me. The pink, wet tip of her tongue slips out and I almost cum as she licks up her own spit from my face, taking extra special care when she gets to my lips. I open my mouth, let her lick the blood off my tongue and all that mint and macchiato and iron thrills me.

“Raven, you never turned in your paper to me by end of day Thursday.” I taunt.

She turns to me, a look of pure horror on her face.

I crowd her. “I said, for you to ‘turn it into me and only me.’ I didn’t say on my desk. I didn’t say in front of me. I said, ‘to me.’” I lick the seam of her lips - tinged red with my blood. The sight alone has me weak. “The next time you choose to disobey me, I’ll have to punish you. You already failed your first debate and skipped class on Friday. Don’t let it happen again, Siren, you won’t like the punishment,” I reach out to squeeze a pert nipple. I grab her wrist when it flies out to slap me again, I almost purr in her defiance. “Or maybe you will. Turn around, hands on the wall.”

When she doesn’t obey, I force her to turn, pull her hips so they jut out, bent slightly. I kick her feet to further open her legs and push her skirt up. I bite my fist to keep from moaning at the sight before me.

Those thigh high socks and matching black thong making me feral. I spank one cheek, and then the other, pleased when my handprints show up pink. If she wants to be a brat, I’ll punish her accordingly. I rub the thick globes of her ass, pulling her apart, then spank again and again and again until her skin is warm to the touch, only massaging until she pushes back.

I know what she wants, what she needs. Little brat thinks because she won’t speak to me that I won’t do as I please to her succulent little body, torture her the way she tortures me, she’s wrong. Dead fucking wrong. The slit on her panties is soaking when I brush my fingertips against her.

I turn her only to slam her back against the wall, hiking her leg over my hip, and grab her ass with both hands, splitting it open. “Tell me you’ve let him fuck you.”

Her eyes shine with defiance, rubbing her pussy against my slack-covered crotch and I groan against her. “I need inside of you, Raven, do not play coy with me. Tell me you let him rupture you so I can fuck you like a beast.”

She does her best to shove me off, bucking her hips, heightening her own pleasure. I reach between us to the hem of her thong and shove a finger inside, that fucking piece of internal skin, barring me. I drop her, but still unwilling to let her go fully.

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