Page 79 of Wicked Ends
“Do you? What are you going to wear?” Marcus played with me like he always did. “I think I’d rather keep you right here… pantyless, wearing my high school jersey like every wet dream I’ve ever had come to life.”
He was advancing slowly toward me, trying to herd me toward the bed. I eyed him, seeing that dangerous playfulness in his eyes that suited him so well.
“I’m leaving,” I told him firmly.
Marcus nodded. “Sure you are. If you can get away… I’ll let you go.”
“Your brother is downstairs!” I pointed out.
“Not anymore. They all left. We’re all alone… no excuses, no one to hide behind… just you and me.” The playfulness in his eyesonly grew. He grinned at me. He wanted to play, and God help me, I wanted to play with him right back.
I opened my mouth to retort, but it was a fake out. Instead, I took a step toward the bed, like he wanted me to, and then lunged the other way. I grabbed the doorframe and used it to swing myself through. Marcus’ laughter followed me down the hall.
I raced down the hallway and down the small steps that led to a split-level inner balcony that ran the length of the open-plan sitting room below.
I risked a glance back to see Marcus sauntering out of his room. I was winning. I was getting away. I barely had a moment to be triumphant when I reached the main staircase and descended quickly, the front door in sight.
That damn inner balcony continued right along, ending at the wall above the front door. With horror, I watched Marcus casually put one leg over the railing, and then the other, before dropping down and landing right in front of me, between me and the door.
I tried to stop, but my momentum was too great. I barreled into him, and his arms went around me, turning us both. We hit the door with a hard impact, Marcus taking the entire brunt of the blow with his shoulder.
“Got you, birthday girl. Did you really think I was going to let you escape me when you’re lounging around my fucking house, only wearing my jersey?”
He leaned in and pressed his face into my hair, above my ear, and breathed deeply.
“No fucking way.”
“We played a game, and you lost,” I said, my voice unsteady from the excitement of my brief break for freedom. “I won, and you’re supposed to leave me alone.”
“And you’re really going to pretend that that’s what you want?” He reached down and slid his hand up my thigh and under the hem of the jersey. He pulled the elastic band of my panties and let it snap back against my leg.
“Liar.”
“Rules are rules, Mr. Bailey.” I tried my best to clear my head, but it was swimming with him, and there was no saving myself from this feeling. I was lost in it. He was right; I was a goddamn liar.
He growled at me. “Fuck. Say that again, Professor.”
He slipped his finger under my panties and without warning, surged inside me. I stiffened, my body battling his rough intrusion while at the same time welcoming it.
He leaned his face against my temple, his stubble scratching my skin. He slid his finger in and out, delicious friction building inside me. I fought and lost against the urge to grind my pussy on his hand.
“Say it, baby… or I’ll stop,” he warned.
I swallowed hard. “Rules are rules, Mr. Bailey.”
“Fuck,” he muttered and used his other hand to rip his shorts down. His cock sprang out, long and hard, wet at the tip with precum. He fisted it with his left hand, stroking down the angry red shaft with a firm grip.
He pushed his finger deeper inside me and groaned against my skin.
“I can still feel my cum inside you from before… This is how you should stay, Professor, in my jersey, stuffed full of my cum. It really suits you.”
The arrogant mockery in his tone stirred my annoyance.
“Fuck you, Marcus,” I whispered, groaning.
He rubbed his palm over my clit.
“No, baby, I’d rather fuck you, now, and later, and tomorrow and next week. And I will… and you’ll let me,” he promised darkly.
