Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
He steps back and I take my legs off the sides of the chair and close them, watching as he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks.
“You taste so good,” he moans before pulling up the front of his pants and bending down to retrieve mine.
His eyes are glued to me as I get dressed, and I don’t say anything as I reach down and pick up my bag, ready to leave.
“Wait,” he says, grabbing my arm. He pulls me close and brushes his lips against mine. I automatically sink into him and next thing I know, we’re making out again.
NO LONGER INNOCENT
I don’t arrive super early the next morning, but early enough to pass by his classroom before first period. I’ve been replaying my words, and the things that I’ve said over the past couple of days in my head all night. I hate how desperate I sound when it comes to him, and I feel foolish over how he’s taken such a hold on me.
“Hey, Trouble!” He smiles, already sitting at his desk, his classroom still empty.
“Morning,” I smile back, taking a bite of my bagel, trying to act like I don’t want to jump him right now. “Want some?”
“I’m good, thanks,” he laughs.
I sink against the doorframe, wanting to come in, but also not wanting to keep throwing myself at him.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, which adds another item to the list of things I loathe about myself: How much I’ve let him get to know me.
“Nothing,” I clear my throat. “I better get to my locker.”
“Okay,” he nods, perplexed. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah, see you at lunch,” I wave.
I don’t make it more than halfway down the hall before hesitating. This isn’t how we are. We don’t dilly-dally and things don’t get weird.
I walk back into his classroom and slam the door. He looks up, confused.
“You know what, I’m not okay.” I throw my bag down and toss the bagel in the trash as I step onto the platform confidently. I grab his face and press my mouth against his, hard.
He kisses me back, shoving his fingers into my hair. His tongue meets mine and we’re melting into this terrible conundrum, because this feeling, our touch, is absolutely mind-blowing and addicting.
“Luci,” he pulls back before colliding with my mouth again, our alluring battle continuing.
“Luci,” he repeats, causing me to add yet another item to my hate list: Despising how I know; just by the way he says my name, that this is not going to be good.
“We can’t keep doing this,” he pulls back and can’t even meet my eye as he says it.
Anguish rips through me. “I thought you said you were tired of fighting it?”
“I have to,” he sighs.
“Fine!” I all but stamp my feet as I storm out.
I know, not my most mature or shining moment. Please don’t judge.
The day moves at an agonizing rate. I write a terrible essay in English, and give a horrible oral report on the Civil War in social studies. I was so prepared for it too!
I’m embarrassed, upset, and perturbed, but what else is new?
It’s hard to accept that he’s back to fighting us, as I’ve basically come apart in front of him twice now. Yet, I’m still not ready to give up.
Maybe I’m just that determined of a person, or maybe it’s because I refuse to let go.
I’m at my locker between periods, and I know he see’s me as he heads into the main office. I’m still there when the bell rings, watching his vivid blue eyes as he approaches, unsure how badly I messed up earlier and if we’re still on for lunch. He offers me a tight smile as he walks right by, not stopping.
Fuck.
“Aren’t you coming?” He looks over his shoulder as he continues his path to his classroom.
Relief washes over me as I fall in line directly behind him.
“No Madison?” I ask, I thought for sure once she knew he also had a free period she would be here all the time.
“I put a stop that quickly,” he laughs, and I can’t help the thought, just like you put a stop to us quickly.
“So, what’ve you been reading lately?” He pulls up a chair and takes out his lunch.
I answer, and we’re back to talking, like nothing’s ever happened between us.
Throughout lab he doesn’t make any eye contact with me. It stresses me out, like maybe I did something wrong after all.
Then, my mind really takes off when, during chemistry, he changes our seats. I’m taken by complete surprise when he places me in the very last row, in the very last seat, a far cry from where I was before, front and center.
I stay after school, not for math, but with him, because I’m pathetic like that, a small sliver of hope still remains that he’ll invite me into his office once everyone leaves.