by R Holmes
"Tomorrow we're starting our discussion on The Scarlet Letter. Come to class prepared, and be sure to have your assigned reading done. Grades are posted for your last paper on Feminism in Literature.'' Groans ring throughout the classroom with the mention of grades, but the bell rings, dismissing everyone. One by one they file from the room, until the last student leaves and the door is shut behind them.
I walk around my desk, and as I sit in the plush desk chair, pulling the stack of ungraded papers from my folder when the heavy thud of the door slamming causes me to jump.
My eyes dart to the door as Sebastian leans against the dark wood with a bored expression on his face. My pulse quickens at the sight of him, why is he here this late?
I can’t help the desire that unfurls, slithering down my spine like a sickness, ready to swallow me whole. Against my will, I was never given the choice. My body chose for me.
"Can I help you, Sebastian?" I don’t look up from the papers in front of me.
He hums, still wearing the same bored, uninterested expression. Today his uniform is untucked, disheveled at best and it's the first time I've seen him unkempt in any way.
"You know, my whole life I've been told... 'You're a Pierce. Pierce men get what they want. One way or another it'll be yours son. All of this and more, someday, it'll be yours." His gaze finally meets mine and the intensity of his stare touches a place inside of me that's been hidden from the light for so long. It sends a shiver down my spine. It’s like he sees me, he sees who I really am. Not the one I’ve been pretending to be.
He turns back toward the door and clicks the lock behind him which causes the familiar wave of panic to creep back up my spine.
"Sebastian…” My voice shakes, with fear or anticipation, I can't tell between the two. I want to flee, and then I want to beg.
Each step he takes closer, my heart beats faster. Pounding against the frail, brittle bones of my ribcage.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
What is he doing?
I want to ask the question aloud but my lips are sealed shut. I should speak and say how inappropriate this is, but I won't. He stalks closer until he's right in front of me, the desk still dividing us, but he places both hands on the wood and leans in.
"I learned something this week… Ms. Ambrose," he whispers huskily, leaning closer. Something sinister and more laced into his words. I feel them.
My mind immediately goes to the one secret I would die to keep. The one that I've sacrificed everything to hold. But surely, he couldn't know. The idea of him unsealing a classified record was ridiculous. I have no reason to be afraid. Yet, the panic still creeps its way up to my chest making it tight. The weight sits there, restricting me from taking a full, deep breath.
The tension in the air is palpable. He's angry. Feral almost. It's written all over his face. Etched into the furrow of his brow, the tenseness off his jaw as he grits his teeth together.
I push back from the chair and stand, "I don't know what you're doing Sebastian, but this is highly inappropriate. I should report you to Fat—"
"Ella Williams. Twenty-six. New York, New York," he says, his eyes holding mine.
My blood runs cold.
Oh God.
The panic claws at my throat. I can hardly suck in a breath of air.
"You're a liar, Teach. Or should I call you… Ella?" He rounds the desk to where I stand until he's in my face. Without breaking our gaze he pulls his phone out of his pocket, and sets it on the desk, leaning it against a book, pointed directly at us.
“Why is your pho—?” he cuts me off, with a rough finger against my lips. Looking down he presses a few buttons, and then puts his finger under my chin, tugging my eyes up to his. He’s not restrained, and doesn’t pretend to be handling me with care.
The vicious pounding of my heart thrums in my ears while his eyes burn into mine with intensity I’ve never felt. Whatever transpires after this moment changes everything. Even with the world falling apart around me, I know it. Everything will shift. We can never go back from this moment and take back the things said or done.
Sebastian Pierce is ripping the safety net I'd clutched onto for dear life for so long straight from underneath my feet without a care in the world I won’t survive the fall.
"I knew something was off. You're skittish as fuck. You jump at a door slam, the panic attack when I found you in the forest. It came together when you were at the hospital. How'd you get into St. Augustine, past the background checks?” His tone is menacing and the anxiety clawing at me is so intense I might fall at his feet. He’s so close he could catch me, but he won’t.
How did he find out? Does everyone know? Tears fill my eyes as I try to think of something, anything to get me out of the hole I've found myself in. He doesn't deserve my truth. I will never give him what he hasn't earned.
"Actually, don't. I don't want to hear your reason why, because ultimately it doesn't fucking matter. The fact is, you're walking around pretending to be someone that you're not," he says, stepping closer, causing me to step back until my back hits the chalkboard behind me.
"Sebastia—"
He cuts me off before I can finish.
"Don't. I don't want to hear another lie leave those fucking lips, Presley." He invades my space until his body is pressed against mine. So close I can feel his breath against my lips as he leans down.
"It looks like the tables just turned. I told you, I fucking warned you. This is my school. I don't give a fuck if you're the one who's supposed to be in charge. Doesn't seem that way now does it?"
His long, deft fingers drag up the soft skin on the back of my knee and only then do I realize I'm shaking. Clutching on to the wall behind me, my nails digging into the sheetrock so hard there must be blood. I'm shaking so hard, he must feel it. The disgusting, shameful part is it has nothing to do with fear. Although, given his intensity, his anger, I should be afraid. I should flee. I should run straight to the headmaster and report him for his inappropriate comments and for touching me without my consent.
I know what I should do.
But I won't.
Because Sebastian Pierce has me exactly where he wants me. I'm trapped in his web, and I'll never get out alive.
He runs his nose lightly against my jaw, so gently I almost don’t feel it.
"You're crossing a line, Sebastian. I'll report you to the headmaster and then it won't matter what your grades are, you'll be expelled. It's not too late to stop this. Don't throw your future away, " I whisper
He laughs, completely unaffected by my threat.
"You should know better than to threaten me with empty, meaningless words. I have you in the palm of my hand, right fucking here." He grips my thigh roughly with his rough, calloused hand, and I whimper in response. "We both know that you aren't going to the headmaster, you're not going to anyone."
His fingers slide higher, gently skating over the sensitive skin that sets me a fire.
With anger. With unadulterated lust. With thoughts that are sinful.
I put my hands on his chest and push, but he captures my wrists in a tight grip and I can't break free from his grasp. I squeeze my eyes shut, lone tears escaping down my cheeks.
I’m overwhelmed in every way possible, fear, anger, and most of all lust. It’s irrational to trust someone you scarcely know but somewhere in the back of my mind where my demons lie, I realize he’s not going to hurt me.
"One fucking word and I'm going past the fucking headmaster, straight to the goddamn news. I'll plaster your lying ass on every news station from here to New York. We'll find out real quick what you're running from, won't we?"
A whimper tumbles from my lips in a half attempt of a response to what he’s saying.
"I see you, Presley, I see right fucking through you. You think I don't know that you avoid my eyes all hour I sit in this god forsaken fucking classroom? That you press your thighs together to lessen the ache when you sit at that desk in your perfect little pencil skirt and heels
. You'd give anything to have me between your legs, fucking that sweet little pussy, those heels digging into my back."
My breath comes in pants, unable to stop it, I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. When my eyes pop open, he's so close to my lips, a centimeter more his lips would brush against my own. Tasting mine. His grip tightens on my wrists, pulling my attention back to his eyes.
"I don't need to hear the lies from your lips, your body is just as much a liar as you are. And I see right fucking through you."
He drops my hands and I go to push him off of me, but before I can even put my hands upon his chest, he spins me around and pushes me against the chalkboard until my cheek is pressed firmly to it. My back fits tightly against him as he fists my hair. He's insane. This is insane. He is going to use my identity to blackmail me into whatever it is he wants, and I am going to let him. Because in the end, the consequences of doing it would be less than what waits on the other side of the door he threatened to open. I know that.
"Tell me to stop, Teach. Come on... spill more wicked lies from those lips. They're just begging to be wrapped around my cock. Does it turn you on? Knowing I have the power to ruin you. So much power over you. I bet if I dip my finger inside those lace panties I saw only days ago, you'd be dripping wet. Dripping down your thighs. Lie to me Presley." The filthy words send a dirty, sinful shiver down my spine. "You won't. Just like you're never going to tell anyone I have you right where I want you. Because whatever you're running from is worse than me, and that should fucking terrify you."
I whimper when his free hand travels up the back of my thighs, dangerously close to finding out if he was right. He fingers the tender skin of my inner thighs, even closer than he just was. An inch more and I'll prove him right. Because it’s the truth.
I’m more turned on than I want to even admit to myself. I know it is wrong, I know I should push him off with all my force and end this, but somewhere in the fucked up part of me is into this.
"You're going to help me pass this fucking class. Tutor me, fucking change the grade, I honestly don't give a shit how you do it. But if I flunk this class, if I lose my scholarship and get kicked off the team, I promise you everyone in this country will know exactly who you are, Presley Ambrose. Don't believe me? Fucking try me. If you think your future is worth gambling with, then it's your prerogative."
I feel his lips at the base of my spine, nipping, sucking, and I can't stop the whimper that breaks free from my disloyal lips. I wanted to beg him for more, plead with him to make me feel something more. He’d awoken this inside of me and I wanted to surrender to it. To him. But the same fear kept me from speaking. Afraid of what would truly happen, afraid if I admitted to him how I was truly feeling. Terrified of the shame for lusting after him.
"And starting today? You can lie as much as you want, but stop pretending you aren't a wet, sloppy fucking mess for me. It doesn't behoove you."
"Sebastia—"
"Stop," he commands.
He's powerful in a way that is indescribable, only felt. I feel the promise in his words. If I don't do what it is he asks, he will give me up in a heartbeat. Without even blinking, he will ruin me. And then, I'll have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide from the devil that haunts me every day of my life.
His thick, rough fingers travel upwards, inching higher and higher until he reaches the lace of my underwear, and a sharp hiss leaves his lips. He's just as affected by this as I am, the hardness digging into my back makes it apparent. I bite my lip, tasting the bitter copper twinge of blood for the second time tonight to stop myself from instinctively pushing back against him, rubbing, creating even the tiniest friction against my throbbing center.
He's playing my body, using it to his advantage, like he was made to.
"I won't have this conversation again, Presley. I hope you understand how fucking serious I am. I told you who I was. I'm an asshole, and I will show you to the ends of this goddamn Earth if it means that I keep my scholarship and my spot at St. Augustine. And that video I just took?"
My eyes dart to the phone on his desk and my blood runs cold.
He was recording? Oh god.
I go from turned on to scared, back to turned on as he dips his fingers inside the lace, finding me soaking wet and nearly dripping beneath his touch. He knew without even touching me that my body, regardless of my head, wanted him. I’m desperate for his touch.
“I won’t hesitate to use it.”
He pinches my clit between his fingers roughly, rocking his point home.
"You might know the classics, why Romeo fell at the feet of Juliet, you know consonants, grammar, punctuation, the meaning behind the stories you teach us. But I can read your body better than I can ever read a decrepit ass story from a hundred years ago." His finger slides against my clit and I moan, without worrying of the consequences, without caring that just on the other side of that door a student could pass and hear. A faculty member could come to deliver paperwork and find me pressed against the blackboard with Sebastian Pierce's fingers slick with my juices.
I can't think when he dips his forefinger and middle finger inside of me, fingering me so deeply he reaches my g-spot effortlessly that my legs weaken with each swipe of his thumb against my clit. Each time he sends me closer and closer to coming in the middle of my classroom with reckless abandon. I'm so close to a soul shattering orgasm that will render me lifeless.
How long has it been since a man has touched me, caressed me, brought me indescribable amounts of pleasure? In this moment, I push away the anxiousness that's pressed still tightly down on my chest. I let go of the fear, the hate, the reluctance and give myself to a man who broke past the walls of my soul with sheer force.
Because the truth is, I'm desperate for more.
I'm desperate in a way that I'm so ashamed of.
"You like my fingers deep inside that tight little pussy, Teach? Does it turn you on that anyone could walk in right at this very moment?"
I clench around him against my will, and he laughs haughtily in my ear.
"Fucking dirty. I like a woman who's pussy answers for her. You're so wet it's dripping down my hand."
I squeeze my eyes shut at his words, desperate to fall over the edge he keeps teasing me with. When I feel his thumb press against the sensitive bud of my asshole, I press back against him.
"Fuck, Presley." He grunts, slipping the tip of his thumb inside my ass, coated with my wetness it slips easily inside. Just as I feel the onslaught of an orgasm, he pulls his fingers from my body and flips me back around.
"How bad do you want to come?" he asks, pushing the fingers that were just inside of me in my mouth, forcing me to taste myself. He pushes down my throat when I don't suck, gagging me.
Leaning closer he whispers, "When you decide to no longer be a fucking liar, maybe then I'll give you what your pussy is begging for."
Then, he grabs his phone and leaves, slamming the door shut behind me while I pant against the blackboard, trying to catch my breath and compose myself. I'm frustrated, on edge, desperate in more ways than I can count. My pussy aches with need, and my thighs are slick with my juices from what just happened, leaving a reminder so plain and clear to see.
Sebastian Pierce will ruin me given the chance.
But the question is… will I ruin him first?
8
Sebastian
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck!" I bellow as the front door of the dorm slams shut behind me with such force it vibrates violently against the doorframe.
Goddamnit.
I need to get my head out of my ass and keep my fucking fingers out of Presley's pussy because this was not part of the plan. Using the information that proved her to be nothing but a liar? Yeah. I'm an asshole. Sure, not as broody and serial killer vibe as Rhys, but an asshole, nonetheless.
What I didn't plan is to touch her. I didn't plan to do anything but reveal I knew who she was and use it to my advantage. Not capture an amateur sex tape and also use it to threat
en her with. Now, I was fucked. I had this video on my phone that I already knew would be hours of spank bank material. Not what I needed when I was already borderline obsessed with her before I had her pussy wrapped around my fingers.
I cross the dorm to my bedroom and shut the door behind me, then quickly remove my uniform blazer, button down and slacks. I need a shower, I need to clear my fucking head and make sure Presley Ambrose is the last thing that crosses my mind tonight. Reaching inside the frosted glass panes I turn the temperature up as high as it will go, the hotter the better, then take my briefs off and toss them aside before stepping under the scalding spray. The water cascades down my face as I drop my forehead against the cool tile in front of me.
I was beyond fucked. I knew it from the moment she stood up behind that desk with a fire in her eyes I'd never seen. I wanted more of it. I wanted to be the cause of the fire. Watch it fucking burn.
Enrage her the way that she does me, if even a fraction.
I gave her the easy option. Just change the fucking grade. It would've taken five minutes, and none of this shit would be happening. But now, she’s made an enemy of a Pierce and from where I'm standing, there isn’t anything worse.
And even though she is enemy number one it doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about her in that tight pencil skirt that falls right above her knees with the slit up the side that shows more delectable skin that I want to taste—every inch until there was no part untouched by my tongue.
She is sinful.
Whether she knows it or not, she’s becoming a permanent fixture in my dreams and it only makes me hate her more. I hate the situation forcing my hand. I am a prick and I can’t stop fantasizing about her riding my cock, taking it down her throat on her knees until tears spill over her cheeks. Or the way she felt gripping my fingers with her tight, dripping pussy. Fuck, she would milk my cock for every goddamn drop.
I bring my hand to my already hard cock, fisting it roughly around the base, squeezing like I imagine her tiny hands would and let out a strangled groan. Fuck, I’m pathetic. The water is so hot my skin burns from the spray, or maybe it's the thought of Presley taking my cock down her throat with her big green eyes staring up at me, full of tears, those plump, pink lips wrapped around my cock like they were made to do so.