Dedicated

by Clara Jenkins

  “I’m cumming,” I gasped.

  A second later, he followed his warm seed pouring into me.

  The bell rang a few minutes later.

  Too caught up in passion, we failed to notice how much time passed. So consumed by the raw need for each other.

  We sprang into action, fixing our disheveled clothes.

  It was too late.

  Mr. Smith, the gym teacher who I’ve seen have lunch with Dean in the faculty room, entered the class. “Hey Dean, I got a date lined up for y…” His voice trailed off when he spotted Dean standing in front of me, shielding me from prying eyes while I buttoned my shirt.

  We fixed our clothes but our flushed skin and hair gave us away. The scent of what we were doing moments ago still in the air. It didn’t take a genius to know what transpired.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Mr. Smith straightened and turned toward me and gently asked. “Lily, are you okay? Were you coerced?

  Dean stepped forward and furiously said, “Mike, you seriously think I’m capable of that.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Mr. Smith exclaimed. You do realize that you're the one in the fucking position of authority. She’s a student, for goddamn’s sake.”

  “Think, Mike, think.” Dean got into his face.

  Before it could go any further, I jumped in. “Mr. Smith, Dean—I mean Mr. Carter—did nothing wrong. It was consensual. I wasn't coerced. I was aware of everything that went on. I wanted it.”

  He scoffed. “We have a week until graduation. You couldn't keep your dick in your pants for a week longer?”

  “Dean,” I screamed when he pushed Mr. Smith against the wall and his forearm was pressed against his neck.

  “You. Do. Not. Speak. Like. That,” Dean bit out forcefully and pushed his forearms to emphasize his point.

  Mr. Smith was unfazed and stared at Dean trying to get a read on him. “Holy shit,” he muttered out, “All these months and I haven't seen you with anyone. To think all this time, you had it for her.” He gestured to me.

  “She’s it,” Dean said firmly.

  “I have to report this.”

  He pushed off Mr. Smith and started pacing. “No. You’ll ruin her reputation. This will follow her everywhere she goes.”

  “It’s protocol. I have to.”

  I pleaded. “Mr. Smith, I’m graduating next week. No one ever has to know. After that, nothing is keeping Dean and I from being together.”

  “She’s right. If you want to still report me after a week, you can do so. But not her. She remains anonymous,” he demanded.

  Mr. Smith was torn by his duty as a teacher and a friend.

  Friendship won out.

  “I can wait,” he said and turned to leave. “Be careful, next time it won’t be me walking through that door.”

  Dean and I exhaled a huge sigh when the door closed behind Mr. Smith.

  “Whew,” I said.

  Chapter 10

  “I want you to move in with me over the summer before we go to Boston.”

  After the close call with Mr. Smith two days ago, Dean and I took extra precaution.

  No more rendezvous after class.

  We strictly communicated via texting.

  We acted in our professional capacity at school but engaged in the extra-curricular activities at Dean’s apartment. Where we could bask in our passions and not feel guilty.

  No one to interrupt.

  “After you graduate,” he clarified, running his hands down my arms. “I want two blissful months where I can spend days inside you. Not hide in corners for a few precious minutes.”

  “Why after I graduate? Why not now?” I ran my fingernails across his chest. We were lying in bed after being fucked hard on my knees.

  He was built with barely any fat. He ran six miles every morning before going in for work. I showed my appreciation to his toned body. I wanted to lick him all over. This is the first we’ve seen each other completely naked.

  And we’ve made up for lost time.

  Many, many hours later, there wasn't a place where we haven't kissed or licked or nuzzled and caressed.

  “Because you’re still my student and I won’t risk your future. I can’t. I care about you too much to do that you. No matter how much I want to keep you tied to my desk and plant my seed inside of you.” His gaze grew appreciative when he removed the sheets covering me to take in my naked form. My nipples perked up for attention.

  “Which means—” he closed his lips over my nipples, lavishing attention on both, “that we have to be careful. We’re going out next Saturday. On a proper date to celebrate your graduation.” His voice brooked no argument.

  His fingers dragged up and down my hot slit and then entered in firm slippery circles. I was already wet. Little did he know that the mere sight of him laying languorously in bed relaxed and sated made me wet.

  “I’d like that,” I barely answered. Forgetting everything except that finger.

  The sheets rustled and then a hot breath was fanned at my center. My back arched. I held his hair and pulled. He was undeterred in his mission. He licked and sucked until I was taken over edge.

  He kissed me as my body was coming down from the earth-shattering orgasm I just received.

  “I can’t wait until three weeks so that I can take you however and wherever I want and as hard as I want, consequences be damned,” he deliciously promised.

  We couldn't get enough of each other.

  “On your stomach,” he ordered.

  And flipped me over. He placed a pillow under my stomach.

  He loved ordering me around. My compliance turned him on. It turned me on too when he used a domineering tone in bed.

  “God, you’re sexy,” he whooshed out and fisted my hair using it as something to hold on to.

  With no warning, he slammed into my sore cunt hard.

  My mouth fell open in pleasure.

  Whenever he retreated to slam back in, my head was pulled back from where his hand was gripping my hair.

  The pain coupled with his thrusts undid me.

  I arched and moved with his body.

  He groaned and let go of my hair to grabbed the globes of my ass and pump into me.

  I moaned and bit my lip.

  So close.

  And we both let out our breaths at the same time, our orgasms in sync. He kept thrusting to make sure all his semen was spent in me.

  He collapsed on the bed besides me and pulled me into the cradle of his arms, uncaring of the sticky juices tainting the bed.

  If he got his way, I would always have his seed in me and coating down my legs. That visual always made him hot and bothered, his caveman tendencies coming through. His seed in me turned him into a wild animal.

  When we lay like this, it was hard to think that there was a seven-year gap. Life and circumstances had shaped both of us beyond our years.

  His family kicked him out.

  My only family, my dad, passed away.

  We were two broken, lonely souls searching and wanting love without realizing it till it happened. We found that with each other.

  People would think it was a silly crush but Dean made me feel alive when I was all alone and depressed. He filled the void that was in my heart.

  Dean with his rough demeanor and soft gruffness made me crazy for him.

  In this bed, there was no teacher and student.

  We weren’t taboo.

  Or forbidden.

  We were two pieces of a puzzle that fit when we were together.

  Dean kissed my head softly and asked. “Hungry, love?”

  “Famished,” I responded.

  He chuckled. “Good to know I wore you out. Now, how about you whip us up some eggs?”

  I never responded well to orders outside of sex.

  “Yeah, right,” I said. I pushed him off the bed until he barely managed to catch himself so he wouldn't fall and snuggled into the sheets.

  “Fine. Fine,” he grumble
d, “What’s the point of having a woman around when she won’t cook?”

  My mouth fell open in outraged shock..

  He winked.

  Bastard.

  I threw a pillow at him as he walked out of the door.

  I hugged the pillow to my chests slumberously thinking about the past few months and excited for what was to come.

  I was graduating next week.

  Dean wasn’t going to be my teacher anymore.

  And I wouldn't be his student anymore.

  We didn’t have to hide.

  We were spending the next three months wrapped up in each other.

  I couldn't wait to bask in unbridled passion and love.

  THE END

  Bonus 20 of 20

  Wild and Free

  Description

  Julie never imagined that life in New York City would be so difficult. She had such big dreams when she arrived from out West. She would have it all: success, a loving husband, beautiful children. She would be looked up to by her peers. But things haven’t quite turned out like that. Yet despite the setbacks, after five years of living in the city, she is finally on the cusp of a major career breakthrough. And her relationship also seems like it is moving closer and closer to marriage.

  Little does she know that a storm is brewing. Within twenty-four hours, her entire life will be upended and she will be left in a state of despair.

  But that's when a certain sexy, tall, blonde, green-eyed professional quarterback gallops into her life. The way he looks at her, the way he smiles, the way he licks his lips, it all drives her wild with desire.

  Is this the man she's been waiting for? Is he the one that will sweep her off her feet and away from her safe, dull life and introduce her to pleasure, danger, and adventure?

  Yes! Yes! Yes!

  Chapter 1

  Trent stretched his arms high into the air and grimaced. The season had ended a couple weeks ago. He was slowly recovering from all the hits he’d taken throughout the year. But every muscle in his body still felt sore. No matter how banged up he got, he never complained, never asked to be rested. That’s not what quarterbacks did.

  “I’m glad you finally got your head out of your ass,” Glenn said. “There’s only so long that you can play the field.”

  “Is that right?” Trent said skeptically.

  As the wedding drew closer, he could feel his entire body filling with doubts. Was he really making the right decision? Was he doing this for the right reasons? Those were the questions that had swirled around his head for the last several days, weeks, months.

  So many people had pushed him into it, at least that's how he felt at the time. Everyone in his life had said that getting married would be the best thing for his career and for his life outside of football. It was time to settle down. That's what they’d said. Time to finally grow up, leave his bad boy, playboy ways behind. He was sick of hearing it.

  “Listen, I'm not going to lie to you,” Glen said.

  Trent frowned and groaned. He hated when people said things like that. In his experience, “I'm not going to lie to you,” was always followed by a lie.

  “Don't give me that look,” Glenn said. “It’s not like you’re going to jail or anything. You're getting married to a beautiful…” Glenn's voice trailed off and he turned his eyes away.

  A wry smile formed on Trent's lips. Yeah, he's not sure what she is either, he thought. Every week it seemed like she was launching herself into some new creative career: modeling, acting, photography, dance. She’d dabbled in all of them, flitting her wings from one project to the next, leaving all of them half finished, quickly losing her enthusiasm once she realized how hard she would have to work. That's how it had always been with her. Hard work, sacrifice, dedication, and commitment just weren't in her blood.

  She’d been spoiled, too damn spoiled, all her life. Parents, boyfriends, sugar daddies, everyone seemed to beg and bow before her. It was hard to blame them. There was something about the way she carried herself, head held high, long blonde hair flowing down her back, emerald green eyes, confident, imperious, alluring. She was a stunner. No question about that. The kind of woman that oozed sexual energy, especially those eyes and those full, pulpy lips. For all of her flaws, and they were certainly legion, Trent had to admit that he still found her incredibly sexy. Whenever he thought about calling off the marriage and moving on with his life, the image of her large pink nippled tits spilling out of her lingerie, as she sauntered around the house in the a.m., surged into his mind.

  Could she even be trusted to cook, clean and maintain the fort while he was at practice, working his ass off, grinding to the bone, either on the field or in the film room? Nope. It didn't take long for Trent to figure out that there was no way that he'd ever be able to trust her to do those basic traditional wifely duties.

  His mother and grandmother had both been strong-willed women who weren't afraid to speak their minds. Neither one would hesitate to put a man in his proper place if he dared step out of line. But despite their strong wills, they never raised any objection to fulfilling a woman’s more traditional role when that was called for.

  “She's out of town,” Trent said. “Another acting role.”

  There was a tinge, or maybe even a little bit more than a tinge, of bitterness and sarcasm in Trent's voice.

  It wasn't that he wanted to control her, make her submit to his will, stay in the house all day baking cookies. Nope, he wasn't that sort of guy –jealous, weak, and insecure, constantly worrying about where his woman was and what she was doing. He didn't have any problem giving her the space she needed to be herself. He just wished that there was a bit more balance in her.

  He wished that she was one of those women who took pride in how well they performed duties around the house, as well as their career ambitions and accomplishments. He’d hope that the prospect of marriage and starting a family would help Pamela slow down her fast Lane lifestyle, just a little bit. If she did, then it would make it easier for him to finally break away from his own wild, over the top ways. Everything he did made the news, the blogs, the podcasts, trended on twitter, and became a hot topic on everyone's burning tongue. He’d always loved the attention, the fame, the adoration, and of course the girls. Girls, girls, girls. They were always around, always offering, tempting, promising so much with their lust filled eyes.

  “I saw the last movie she was in,” Glen said, looking up and away from Trent's piercing eyes as if he were searching for an answer on the ceiling. “What was it called…you know the one I'm talking about.”

  Trent couldn't remember the name of the film either. There was nothing memorable about it, absolutely nothing, except for how amateurish the whole thing seemed. He couldn't remember the name, nobody could, but he had no problem remembering how enthusiastic Pamela had been when she came home with the reel. She wasn't onscreen along, barely had two lines of dialogue, but the director had made sure that she would be half-naked for the duration of the cameo.

  Trent was past the point where he would bother to get angry or annoyed about that kind of stuff. He’d always known that she had a touch of sluttiness in her. He knew that from the moment he laid eyes on her. He could see it in the way she moved her hips, could hear it in her sultry southern voice. He couldn't help himself. He'd always been attracted to those types of women. The wrong types. That's what his mother had always told him. He loved his mother but never spent much time listening to her dating advice.

  He'd always been attracted to women who vibrated with a wild, unbridled feminine energy, the type of woman who would scream, kick, hurl objects and insults, and then fuck your brains out. It was common knowledge: crazy women had the best pussy. And that's why they could get away with unpredictable, erratic behavior. They were the kind of women that men would try to break away from, only to be dragged back between their magical thighs by the undeniable power of the pussy. They were the worst and the best. They were the bane of his existence. They were also the
only type of women that seem capable of holding his attention.

  “I don’t remember what it was called either,” Trent said. “But don't worry about it. By this time, she's probably forgotten the name too.”

  “Trent, you’re becoming a little too cynical,” Glen said. “That’s not good for your image I'm afraid. The fans want you to smile and succeed. No sweat on the brow. Cool as ice. That's what they want. The fans and the sponsors.”

  That word sponsors always got a rise out of Trent. He didn't need the fucking money. Not one dime of it. He hated all that image stuff. He was sick of having to worry about his image. He just wanted to be free.

  He could feel the desire for a road trip welling up inside. Maybe he needed to get out on the open road. He was sick of having to walk around on eggshells, like the next wild stunt he pulled would bring his whole career crashing down, even though that was certainly a possibility. He couldn’t continue getting into trouble and relying on other people to drag him to safety. He'd already done that one time too many.

  “You guys are going to be a power couple,” Glen said. “I'm sure of that.”

  Trent was relieved when the meeting with his agent was finally over. Everyone in his life seemed to be saying the same thing. There was only so much that he was going to be able to tolerate.

  He spent the rest of the day at the practice facility, attending team meetings and watching a ton of film for the next game.

  He hadn’t heard from Pamela all day. He’d sent her several texts and hadn’t yet received a response. Not a word. It shouldn't have bothered him, at least that's what he tried to tell himself. But it wasn't true. All throughout the film session, he’d been checking his phone, expecting to hear from her at any moment. He was her freaking fiancé. Maybe he was getting a bit of his own medicine. Over the years, he hadn’t been the nicest in his dealings with women, ignoring them, getting on with his hectic, hedonistic life, pretending as if they didn't exist, until of course he needed something, wanted something from them again. When Trent got home that night, his two pit bulls greeted him enthusiastically, barking, wagging their tails frantically, and jumping up on him.