Bully Me: Class of 2020

by Shantel Tessier

  The change in Charlie’s temperament is swift, fierce, and borderline concerning. I’ve barely time to register the fury in his eyes before his hands wrap around my throat and he pushes me across the room, slamming my back up against the wall beside the door.

  “You know nothing, Ms. Alexander, or you’d know better than to go there.”

  My heart is pounding in my chest, and every nerve ending in my body is on high alert. Blood rushes to my head, and my panties are soaked with need as adrenaline surges through my body. Charlie presses the length of his body against me, and I feel his hard erection nudge against my stomach as he strokes my neck with his thumbs. His fingers are still wrapped around my throat, and I’m weirdly aroused where a sane woman would be scared out of her freaking mind. But Charlie’s harsh touch awakens dark desires hidden deep inside me, and I don’t want to stop this.

  He glares at me as his lips descend, slamming down on mine with brutal force. His hands leave my throat, cradling the nape of my neck firmly as he destroys my mouth with a slew of violent kisses. I know I should push him away, but my body is way too invested, and I’m kissing him back with the same fervor, my hands gripping his waist and holding him flush to my body so I can feel every inch of his ripped form.

  He pushes his tongue into my mouth, and I groan as I writhe against him, my body wired and primed to explode.

  He kisses me like he’s eating me. Tasting, biting, and sucking, and I’m clawing at him, desperate for more, unwilling to let this end. His hand around my neck is possessive as he angles my head, directing the kiss, diving even deeper, while rocking his hips against my pelvis, his need clearly as severe as my own.

  Without warning, he rips his mouth from mine, unbuckles his belt and lets his pants fall to his ankles. He drills me with a look that’s so intense I feel stripped naked. “Wrap your lips around my cock, baby. I need to feel your hot mouth on me.”

  I open my mouth, to say what I’m not sure, but he shakes his head, rubbing his thumb along my bruised lower lip. “Don’t fight it. We both want this.”

  I’m clearly insane, or high on lust, because I push off the wall, grab the band of his boxers, and shove them down his muscular thighs, freeing his impressive cock. It springs up, long, thick, and inviting, and I wet my lips in anticipation, brushing my thumb along the bead of precum covering his crown. Charlie pushes on my shoulders, forcing me to the ground. I glare at him as I settle on my knees. He grins. “Open your mouth, baby, and suck my cock.”

  I grab hold of his left thigh to steady myself before taking him into my mouth.

  He’s an impatient bastard, thrusting forward immediately, and I gag as he hits the back of my throat. Tears leak out of my eyes as I force my mouth wider to accommodate him. He starts moving in and out as I slide my lips up and down his hard length. With my free hand, I grip the base of his cock and start pumping him aggressively.

  He throws back his head, groaning as I hit my stride, sucking him harder and harder, while I frantically pump his shaft.

  “Fuck, yes, baby. Just like that.”

  He jabs his hips forward as he grabs hold of the back of my head, holding me in place. Then, he fucks my mouth with no consideration for me, and I work in tandem with his movements, ignoring the tears streaming from my eyes and the gagging sensation each time he hits the back of my throat.

  It’s filthy, degrading, and seriously fucking hot, and I suck him off with determination, wanting his cum filing my mouth.

  He growls low, and his entire body tenses, and that’s the only warning I get as he shoots warm, salty cum straight down my throat. He continues pulsing and jerking inside me until I’ve swallowed every last drop. Pulling out, he yanks his pants up before lifting me up by the hips and throwing me over his shoulder.

  Before I can protest, he drapes me across the width of his desk, shoving papers aside and bunching my skirt up to my waist. A shrill tear echoes through the electrically charged air as he rips my lace panties into shreds.

  My chest heaves, and liquid warmth rushes my core when he nudges my thighs aside, parting the folds of my pussy and diving in with his seductive lips.

  “Oh my God.” I stretch my arms up over my head, grabbing the edge of the desk to steady myself as my boss works me into a frenzy in record time with his magical fingers and tongue. When he places his thumb against the crack of my ass and pushes it in a little, I shatter explosively, biting down hard on my lip and drawing blood as I bottle up the scream dying to let loose.

  I don’t move when he withdraws, lying stretched across his desk with floppy limbs that feel incapable of working. My heart thumps behind my rib cage as I attempt to steady my breathing and recalibrate my brain.

  What the hell have I done?

  I find the strength to sit up and pull my skirt down, covering myself as I stare at the torn strips of my panties littering the floor around Charlie’s desk. I lift my head, and my gaze locks on his.

  We stare silently at one another, electricity fizzing in the air along with so many unspoken sentiments. His stoic mask is in place, and I can’t get a read on him until he clears his throat abruptly. “Grab your shit and get back to your desk,” he says in that robotic tone he uses on me sometimes. He looks away, tucking himself properly behind his pants and tightening his belt in place.

  His dismissal isn’t all that strange, but it’s hurtful in the extreme. He is so closed off. So cold after something so wickedly intimate, and I’m not the kind of girl who lets a guy do that and then reject her.

  Aren’t you? my vicious inner voice taunts, because it’s not like this is the first time I’ve let him use me.

  I want to say something, anything, but a messy ball of emotion clogs my throat, blocking any form of communication. I slide off the desk, crouching down and collecting the remnants of my panties. I round his desk, tossing the scraps in the trash can, fighting to maintain what little dignity I have left. Shame and hurt bubble inside me as I reach for my notepad and pen.

  “Demi.”

  I look up as he steps toward me, his eyes searching mine.

  “What?” I croak.

  His hypnotic green eyes bore into mine, and for a second, emotion flashes across his features, disappearing quickly when he shuts it down. “Here.” He hands me my notepad and pen, averting his eyes, and I know he’s chickened out of whatever he was going to say.

  Coward. I think it, but I don’t say it. I don’t say anything, and neither does he as I walk across the room and exit his office, praying no one is there to see my walk of shame.

  After I’ve fixed my hair and makeup in the employee bathroom, I return to my desk, trying to ignore the fact I’m now wearing no underwear. Thank fuck, no one was around to bear witness to my mistake. I seem to be fond of making those kinds of mistakes around that man, and it’s got to stop.

  My hands are shaking as I put my headphones on, returning to the report I was starting before Charlie called me in to his office.

  I try to focus on listening to the audio notes, but I’m distracted, wondering what the hell is going on between him and me. And whether this means my job is safe. I should, at least, have asked him that. But I was embarrassed at how easily I succumbed to his charms, and I just wanted to get out of there.

  I really need to get laid.

  Maybe then, I won’t be putty in his manipulative hands.

  My embarrassment soon turns to anger, and I pound my fingers over the keys as my rage seethes under the surface.

  How dare he treat me like that!

  I wonder if he was imagining I was her again. When he closed his eyes and my lips were wrapped around his dick, was he visualizing Abby sucking him off, and when he was eating me out, was it her pussy he was tasting?

  Ugh. I rip the headset off my ears and stand, needing to walk off the storm brewing inside me. I grab my coat and spin around, knocking into someone holding a carry out tray. I watch in horror as the tray drops to the floor, spilling two cups of steaming coffee all over the new gray carp
et. “Shit.”

  “At least, it didn’t spill on us,” an amused feminine voice says.

  I lift my head up, and my horror elevates to coronary-inducing territory as I stare into the warm brown eyes of Charlie’s ex.

  Chapter 7

  Demi

  SHE BLINKS EXCESSIVELY as her gaze roams my face, her eyes widening as she mentally ticks off all the similarities. She’s never been here before, at least not while I’ve been working here, so I’m guessing she has no clue who I am or that I’m practically her doppelgänger.

  “I’m so sorry,” I blurt, finally finding my voice and my place. “I’ll clean up this mess and get some replacement coffees.”

  “It was an accident, and that’s not necessary.” She glances at Charlie’s closed office door. “It was a peace offering, but I probably won’t be here long enough for you to bring fresh coffee.” She thrusts out her hand. “I’m Abby. A friend of Charlie’s, eh, Mr. Barron,” she adds, smiling.

  I shake her hand in a bit of a daze. “I’m Demi. Mr. Barron’s assistant.”

  “Nice to meet you, Demi. I was hoping to surprise Charlie. Is he free now?”

  Margaret Ann scurries past me, eyes wide, holding a wad of paper towels and a bowl of water as she lowers to the floor.

  “He’s free,” I confirm, not needing to check his schedule. I never schedule anything for the mornings because he’s usually at college. “Let me announce you.”

  I shoot Margaret Ann a grateful look as I walk to Charlie’s door and knock briefly before opening it. “Mrs. Anderson is here to see you,” I say in a clipped voice, stepping aside to let Abby enter. Charlie hops up out of his chair, running a hand through his dark hair in a nervous tell.

  Abby’s brows knit together as she glances at me, and I realize my fuckup. “Thanks, Demi. And sorry about the mess. I’d help you clean up, but Charlie would probably scale the side of the building in a bid to get away from me, and I came here today determined to say what I need to say.”

  “It’s fine, and it’s no trouble.”

  Charlie’s fearful gaze bounces between us, and awkward tension crackles in the air. Abby’s frown deepens as she looks at him and then me. Slowly, she walks toward him while I’m rooted to the spot.

  “That will be all, Ms. Alexander,” Charlie says, shooing me with a flick of his hand like I’m an annoying insect.

  Hurt blossoms in my chest.

  “Close the door, and I’m not to be disturbed.”

  I nod, shutting the door with more force than necessary. Splintering pain slams into me, but I force it to one side, dropping down beside Margaret Ann, Mr. Fleming’s PA, to help clean up the mess.

  “That’s her,” she whispers as we mop up the bitter liquid with towels. “The ex-wife.”

  “He wasn’t actually legally married to her,” I say, recalling the research I conducted online many months ago.

  When Charlie dropped the wife bombshell on me Christmas night, I was hurt, enraged, and disgusted.

  But I was also curious.

  Because, if he was newly married, why the hell wasn’t his wife consoling him over his father’s death? And why wasn’t he having sex with her instead of me? It didn’t add up, so I went online because Google is always a reliable friend. I discovered a press release confirming he had indeed married Abigail Hearst-Manning earlier that day.

  To say I was shocked when I pulled up a picture of her is an understatement. The striking resemblance between us is eerie, and though I know it’s not possible, if someone said we were long-lost twins, I’d have a hard time not believing it.

  “It might not have been legal, but they lived together as husband and wife for a while,” she says, as we continue cleaning.

  Thanks so much for the reminder.

  I keep my eyes focused on the task at hand for fear my emotion will betray me, vigorously scrubbing at the stain on the carpet.

  I was a basket case for weeks after I had sex with Charlie, fearing his new bride would show up at any time and see the truth written all over my face. The office was awash with gossip over his sudden marriage to the Manning Motors heiress, and it’s a wonder I had any nails left during that time.

  Then the news broke about what happened in Wyoming. Where the FBI raided a conference at Parkhurst, a private pharmaceutical and medical corporation servicing high-end, wealthy clients, which was a front for a supposed elitist organization comprised of powerful members from business and government.

  Charlie had been in attendance, and so had Abby and her brother and her legally-wed husband—Kaiden Anderson.

  A bomb had detonated at the conference, and people had died. Several others were injured. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. Tons of stuff emerged about illegal activities the organization was involved in. It was a global scandal and a PR nightmare for my employer. They had to issue press release after press release denying any involvement with Parkhurst or the elite.

  Charlie wasn’t around in the initial aftermath, because he was injured in the explosion. He was in the hospital for a while, and then, he spent a few weeks working from home while he recuperated.

  It was around that time Arthur Fleming pulled everyone aside and explained that Charlie was no longer married, that he hadn’t actually ever been married, and not to broach the subject with him, as it was a source of discomfort and embarrassment. So, when Charlie returned, no one mentioned Abby, and it wasn’t long before Charlie resumed his manwhore lifestyle and his bullying treatment of me.

  I was intrigued about his situation with Abby though, especially when a pretty wedding invitation arrived at the end of July. Abby and Kaiden were holding a formal wedding reception, and they’d invited him. I wanted to see his reaction, so I placed it on top of his mail that day, watching as his entire face turned red when he opened it. He immediately tore it up, letting the ragged pieces of paper flutter to the floor while he stomped out of the office, not to be seen for several days.

  That told me a lot.

  I don’t know about Abby, but Charlie was definitely in love with her.

  I suspect he probably still is.

  And that thought does nothing to help my current mood.

  I call the maintenance department when I return to my desk, asking them to send someone up because Margaret Ann and I have done everything we can, but the stain still lingers.

  Then, I walk to the kitchenette, make a pot of coffee, and load a tray with it, some cups, creamer, sugar, and some oatmeal cookies.

  Charlie hates those cookies, preferring the chocolate ones, but he’s not in my good books right now.

  He’s lucky I don’t lace his coffee with poison.

  I rap once on the door before entering without invitation. I almost drop the tray at the sight that awaits me.

  Abby is draped over Charlie in an intimate gesture that equally boils my blood and lays siege to my vulnerable heart. Her butt is propped against the front of Charlie’s desk and she’s leaning over him, her face all up in his, her arm on his shoulder, peering at him with an obvious mix of concern and adoration.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I snap, stalking across the room. “I just thought you might like some coffee.” Over your head, my gnarly inner voice says, as I slap the tray down, rattling the cups and spilling some coffee from the pot.

  Charlie wears his usual cold mask, but his lips twitch ever so slightly. “I said no interruptions.”

  I cast a quick glance at Abby, my eyes lowering to the expensive rings on her wedding finger in case she needs a reminder of her marital status. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “Leave.” Charlie stares through me, his icy tone launching a new assault on my heart.

  “Charlie!” Abby slaps his arm. “Don’t be rude.” She turns an intrusive lens my way as she pushes off the desk, standing behind Charlie. “Coffee wasn’t necessary, but it’s much appreciated. Thanks, Demi.”

  I give her a tight smile, and then, I spin on my heel and get the hell out of there before I do, or sa
y, something I regret.

  I flounce back to my desk, seething. I read over the transcript I’ve just typed, correcting the multitude of errors as I fume inside.

  I’m so mad at myself for blowing that asshole and for letting him reciprocate. Why the hell do I lose my morals and most of my brain cells the instant he touches me? And now, he’s in there with her fussing and fawning over him.

  I spend an hour typing and retyping the report that I should have finished ages ago, but I can’t concentrate for shit. Because Abby is still in there with Charlie and my mind keeps conjuring up less-than-helpful images of them together—replaying what went down between us this morning on a loop, only this time it’s Abby draped across Charlie’s desk and it’s her pussy he’s devouring.

  I’m contemplating pulling a sickie and going home when Charlie’s door opens, and Abby finally emerges. I pretend I don’t see her, feigning absorption in something on my screen. It’s rude and unprofessional, but I’ve zero fucks to give right now.

  The door snicks shut with a subtle click, and I tap away on my computer, listening for the telltale sounds of disappearing footfall when a form hovers over my workstation.

  She clears her throat, and I look up, plastering a fake congenial smile on my face. “Can I help you, Mrs. Anderson?”

  She tosses her long dark hair over one shoulder. “I was hoping we could talk.” She glances around. “Is there some place private we could go?”

  I want to talk to her as much as I want root canal surgery, but I’m intrigued enough to do it. “Of course. Follow me.” I get up, holding my shoulders back as we walk off, side by side. We don’t talk, and I hate the inquisitive stares that follow us as we make our way to the conference room.

  And I get it.

  It’s a bit like watching the Olsen twins out for a stroll.

  We reach our destination, and I check the digital calendar on the wall, to ensure the room isn’t booked, before opening the door and gesturing Abby inside.

  I close the door behind us and turn to face her. Neither of us sits. “What’s this about?” I ask, eager to get this over and done with.