Twisted Christmas

by Sara Cate

  His eyes narrow. “How? I’ve been so careful,” he says, sighing as he rubs his temples. “I could get fired, Wren.”

  I cross my arms and lean against the wall of the hallway. “I don’t know.” When I look over at him, he looks distraught. “But we’ll figure it out. For tonight, let’s just go get something to eat.”

  He seems to relax at my words, because he follows me down the hall to the elevator. I’m just about to press the button when he stops me, pressing the doors closed button and then the emergency stop button.

  “What are you—”

  “I won’t be able to think straight until I fuck you again,” he growls, and I whimper as he twists me around and pushes me against the glass of the elevator wall.

  “Blake—”

  “Should I stop?” he whispers into my ear, his hands roving down my back, over my hips, to the buttons of my jeans. I feel him press himself against me, and I instinctively arch my back so that he has better access. I drop my bag on the ground and shrug off my coat.

  “No. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop,” I answer, breathing heavily.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to stay away from you,” he rasps.

  I close my eyes and throw my head back as he tugs my pants down to my ankles, and then he knocks my legs apart as he gets down on his knees.

  “Blake—”

  “Tell. Me. To. Stop,” he grits. I feel him spread my cheeks and my chest flushes when I realize what he’s about to do. I don’t want him to stop, because I trust him, but I’ve also never done… that. I gasp as he inserts his middle finger into my pussy, and the other arm comes around and begins to work my clit. I twist my hips on his hands, and his finger curves inside of me to the point of causing a near instant orgasm. Whatever he does down there—the constant pressure as I move myself on him—is something he’s had practice doing. He’s playing my body like a skilled musician—like he knows all the right buttons and chords to create a harmony.

  Just as I feel my pussy tighten around his finger, his tongue dives into my ass, and I cry out as a plethora of sensations causes my orgasm to intensify tenfold. Immense waves of my climax crash through me, cleaving me in half as my body convulses and my knees go weak. Instead of the friction causing me to come, it was his technique—the way he handled me, the way his tongue darted in and out, rough yet gentle, intense yet sweet. I am still gasping for air as I feel his hands leave my pussy, and then he stands behind me, slamming into me in one push.

  I groan and close my eyes, moving against him as the sounds of my arousal fill the small, mirrored space.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he mutters, reaching under my sweater and bra so that he can pinch my nipples.

  I gasp, and again, the sensation is all new to me. I expect it to hurt, but it sends shivers down my legs and causes me to tighten yet again as I come on his cock.

  “Oh, fuck, Wren,” he whispers, driving into me roughly.

  My mouth is open against the cold mirror, and when I open my eyes, I can see us everywhere, reflected at every angle. I can see how his perfect, bare ass contracts with every thrust—how he’s plunging into me with pure abandon, with wild ferocity. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and he gives me a large, feline smile.

  “Stop,” I command, and he stills completely. “I want to swallow your come.”

  He pulls out of me, and I drop to my knees, turning to face him—and his monster cock. Taking the thick, slick shaft in my hands, I give it a few strokes before I take him in my mouth. He groans loudly, covering his face with both hands as his cock twitches against my tongue.

  “Holy… fucking… fuck…” he trails off, his voice completely shattered.

  I’ve broken him apart, piece by piece. He’s unraveling before my very eyes, and I can’t fucking get enough.

  I bob my head and ready myself to take him fully, to swallow him as deep as he’ll go. I don’t have a lot of experience giving blow jobs, but I want him to know that I appreciate him. I want him to know that he’s been the single best thing about this trip, and, if I’m being honest, the highlight of most of my days. When he’s gone, I’m in a noticeably worse mood. When we’re not bickering, life feels boring. And now that I’ve had him in bed? I could never go back to a high school boy.

  I stroke his length with one hand and swirl my tongue on the head of his dick, and my other hand gently fondles his balls. I’d read about that in a magazine once, and always wanted to try it. He twitches, letting out some sort of animalistic growl when I do, so I keep going. I take him deeper with each passing minute, sucking on him as if he’s a lollipop, as if I can’t get enough of the salty pre-cum.

  “Wren, I’m—”

  He doesn’t finish as I show him the grand finale. Bracing myself, I place my hands on his ass as I take him in fully—into the back of my throat, past my tonsils, past my gag reflex. My eyes water, but I’ve never been so turned on as I hear him roar, as he bucks against me. His cock hardens, and it makes me gag, but I hold steady as his steel rod pulses and jumps inside of my throat.

  “Oh, fuck, Wren,” he cries, slamming a hand against the railing to hold himself up. “Oh, fucking hell.”

  I swallow every drop, letting it slide directly down my throat, swallowing with each contraction—which makes him continue to spill into me, extending his orgasm. Finally, he stills—the sounds of our heaving breaths loud in the small space. When I look up at him through my lashes, he looks emotional—like he knows he just fell apart for me, and me for him.

  Like he knows this is it—and we’re choosing this path over the saner, more responsible one.

  Together.

  “I never want to forget the sight of you on your knees before me,” he mumbles, his voice soft and velvety. His hand brushes my hair out of my face, and then he fists it, pulling me up to standing. Kissing me, his tongue swirls around in my mouth, and I realize with a start that he’s tasting himself—and that I’m tasting myself, too. “We’re in dangerous territory, Ms. Chambers.”

  I nod. “What are we going to do?”

  He smiles as we clean ourselves up, and he presses the button for the elevator to continue downward.

  “I guess all we can do is eat dinner, and then tomorrow, go through the motions. There’s no point in overthinking until we’re back in New York.”

  New York.

  Real life.

  But I do as he says, and we link arms as the cold blast of the Czech air hits us all at once. Laughing, we meander to dinner, and for whatever reason, it feels… normal. I don’t think of him as my history teacher, or my best friend’s dad, or the grumpy guy I’ve known since I was fourteen. And I can tell he’s seeing me in a new light, too. Maybe Felicity was right, maybe our souls were always meant to be together, and because society deemed it inappropriate, we fought against it, and the resistance caused the abrasive relationship we’ve had for years. It wasn’t until we gave into it—into whatever’s between us—that everything righted itself.

  The server refers to me as Blake’s partner all evening, and it’s nice knowing that to the unsuspecting eye, we look like any normal couple out to eat while on vacation. Not that it really matters, or that I care about what other people think. But it cements the fact that only our small town might have an issue with it, and that gives me the courage to kiss him after dinner, to thank him for everything.

  With an arm around my shoulders, we walk into the unknown together.

  Of course, we don’t forget Felicity’s Gatorade—and we make plans for how to deal with the rest of the school year. But one hurdle is done, and we have my friend’s blessing.

  I stop in front of our hotel room door, swallowing as I sigh loudly.

  “I don’t want to go back,” I whisper. “To New York.”

  He brushes a piece of hair out of my eyes and tugs my chin up for a kiss with his rough fingers.

  “I know. But I’m not your teacher anymore, remember? So maybe we get through the rest of the school year, lay low, and wait
for the summer. At least I won’t have to see you in class every day.” He kisses me again. “I don’t know what else to do. By dating you, I could get fired. No one can know besides Felicity.”

  I nod. “Until I graduate.”

  “Can you do that?” he asks, brushing the skin underneath my jaw.

  “I can try,” I whisper back, standing on my tip toes.

  And then he pulls away and takes my hand as we enter the hotel room.

  Epilogue, Part One

  Wren

  * * *

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Cooper?” I ask innocently, my hand on the door frame of the all-too-familiar classroom. I’m wearing exactly what he asked me to—the dress from the night he dragged me out of the club in Prague. It’s against dress code, so it’s a good thing it’s Friday night and no one is around.

  “Please come inside and close the door behind you, Ms. Chambers.”

  I smirk, but do as he said, snicking the door shut and sauntering over to his desk. He’s wearing exactly what I asked him to—a white button-up, black slacks, a grey tie, and black leather shoes with a matching leather belt. My eyes graze over his corded forearms where he’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. I cross my arms and cock my head in anticipation.

  “Is there a problem?” I ask, letting my hair fall over my shoulder.

  “I think you know what the problem is, Wren. You’re…” he pauses, sneaking a glance at the clock behind me, “three minutes early.”

  I try not to smile. “I guess I learned my lesson, after all.”

  His answering, low growl makes my knees weak. “Why is it that you’re three minutes early to this class, but three minutes late to actual class, Wren?”

  I burst out laughing. “I think you’re actually butt hurt about that, aren’t you?” His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. He’s a much better actor than me. “I guess I was eager to get disciplined by my angry teacher.” I shrug. “Before, I was with Mr. Harris, and—”

  “That’s enough,” he commands, standing.

  Like most days, his presence gets my attention, but today especially, in his teaching uniform. Plus, even though we’ve been secretly dating for nearly six months, we’ve yet to fool around at school. It wasn’t worth the risk. But as of today—as of my last class, five hours ago—I’m no longer a student at Regent Charter School.

  His nostrils are flared as he shoves the papers off his desk and waits impatiently. I don’t even think he’s acting anymore. He’s never been keen on the idea of sharing me, and I know even mentioning Taylor’s name probably set him off. I twist my lips to the side and wait for him to make the first move.

  He places both of his large hands flat on the desk and looks up at me expectantly, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “Did you want me to bend over or something? Because if not, I could always go find Taylor—”

  He rushes around the desk and slams his lips against mine, his tongue claiming me as he moans. Lifting me up, he sets me on the table and stands back as I prop myself up on my elbows. I grin as I spread my legs, and his eyes flick down, narrowing and darkening when they see I’m completely bare before him.

  “Fuck,” he rasps.

  Untying his tie, he pulls it through his collar and discards it on the floor, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time. I can see the large bulge in his tight pants, and how it strains against the thick material. I spread my legs wider, and Blake audibly gasps before unzipping and freeing his cock. Panting, I lower my hand, inserting one finger into myself. His eyes blaze as I begin fucking myself before him, and he moves his hand along his shaft.

  “Can we stop playing now?” he asks, his voice desperate. “I just want to fuck my girlfriend.”

  I smile as I increase my tempo. “But it’s so much fun.”

  He snarls and climbs on top of me, kissing me as he takes both of my hands and holds them above my head. Looking down, he pushes against my opening, and then he looks into my eyes as he thrusts inside. I cry out, feeling myself clench around him.

  “You never stop feeling so damn good, Wren,” he says roughly, kissing my neck. “So damn good.”

  I moan and arch my back as he fucks me, as he claims me, as he makes love to me. Because at one point, he looks down and meets my gaze, and something potent—something powerful—moves behind his eyes. He kisses me and doesn’t pull away until we’re both coming, my nails digging into his back. One of his hands fists my hair gently, and then his mouth trails kisses along my collarbone.

  He doesn’t pull out, though. He just looks at me, completely open, completely vulnerable. Neither of us knows what the future holds, but we know we want to be together. I like myself when I’m with him, and he makes me want to be a better person. So, as he begins to thrust into me again, as I feel him harden inside of me—I let him kiss me. I let myself feel his soft hair and run my fingers along his muscled back. And a few minutes later, we both climax again—together. It’s less raw, less heady, but it feels so full of promise. Being with him feels so full of promise.

  After he cleans me up, we go back to his house, and he makes me a delicious late-night grilled cheese. We talk about history, and he tucks me into bed. I barely have enough energy to say goodnight as I doze off in his warm, strong arms.

  Epilogue, Part Two

  Blake

  * * *

  I clap slowly as the students process to the front of the stage, feeling every emotion under the sun. One, that my baby girl is a high school graduate, set to attend Lehman College in the Bronx, graduating Magna Cum Laude. And two, my girlfriend—which is still strange to say—walking down the stage like she owns the place, headed to NYU for a degree in History.

  My girlfriend, Wren Chambers.

  My ex-student.

  My daughter’s best friend.

  There were so many things stacked against us—so many obstacles to overcome. For one, keeping it all a secret. Only Felicity knows, and she’s been nothing but supportive. I credit her mom, my ex, and her unconventional outlook on love that she instilled in Felicity. Love is love is love.

  Second, we really had to make a concerted effort not to interact on campus. It felt wrong to me, and it would’ve been easy to break the rules so many times. But we only ever broke the rules once—last night, to be exact. On my desk, in her old classroom.

  Twice.

  But I digress.

  We’ve done a good job keeping it from the administration. In the fall, we plan to go “public,” with our relationship. I’ve scoured the rules, and if she’s an adult, if she’s no longer a student at Regent, we’re not technically breaking any.

  For me, the weirdest part is how not weird it all feels. Maybe because I’ve known her for so long, or maybe because we spent so much time together before, but it just feels normal. We don’t bicker anymore, and the things that used to irritate me about her are now the things I love the most about her.

  Love.

  I still haven’t said it, but I certainly feel it. And one night about a month ago, as she was falling asleep, I heard her mumble those three words. I still don’t know if she was coherent or not, but I loved hearing them, nonetheless.

  The principal congratulates the new class, and I see Wren and Felicity throw their caps into the air. I laugh when Wren ducks out of the way as several caps begin to land all around her.

  Once the crowd clears a bit, I see Regina, my ex, congratulate the girls. I stay back, not wanting to interrupt. And then Wren’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Chambers—who are only two years older than me—hug the girls and take a million pictures.

  I have my hands in my pockets as Wren meanders over in her gown.

  “Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Cooper,” she croons, not caring if anyone overhears. We’ve gotten creative with our innuendos. “I figured you’d still be lying unconscious on your desk,” she murmurs, more daring today since she’s an actual graduate.

  She’s referencing last night and how exhausted I was after fucking her for an hour s
traight. My cock is still raw.

  “Ha ha, very funny.”

  Wren’s mother walks up to me, smiling. “Mr. Cooper! So nice to see you.”

  I nod. “Hello, Yvette.”

  “I was just telling Paul that we should repay you the favor of taking Wren to Prague,” she says, smiling.

  “Mom—”

  “It really changed Wren’s whole demeanor,” she adds, smiling down at her daughter. “Maybe we can bring Felicity with us to Hawaii next summer?”

  I try not to laugh. “I’m sure she’d love that.”

  Yvette excuses herself and walks away, and Wren looks up at me with wide eyes.

  “I’m so sick of hiding you from the rest of the world,” she whines, practically whispering.

  I chuckle, resisting the urge to grab her hand. “I know,” I whisper, leaning in a tiny bit closer. “Soon, love. Soon, we can tell everyone. Shout it from the rooftops, if you want.”

  She grins, and I swear, my heart stops every time she gives me that large, genuine smile.

  “I have to go help with cleanup,” I say solemnly. “Felicity is with her mom tonight.” That’s code for come over.

  “Oh? When is she leaving?” Her lips twitch as several people pass us.

  “Seven,” I answer casually.

  “That’ll be nice.” She smiles at a couple of female students who pass by, not even giving us a second glance. “I think I might vacuum my room tonight at seven,” she adds, her eyes bright and playful. “I just got a Dyson. It sucks everything right up.”

  I choke, covering it up with a cough. “You should mop, too. Maybe at seven fifteen?”

  She pretends to deliberate. “Yeah. The floors really need to get nice and wet.”

  I smirk. “Okay. Well, have a nice night mopping.”

  She winks, walking away backwards. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and Ms. Chambers?” I ask, my voice firm and authoritative. “Don’t be tardy.”

  * * *

  THE END