Total pages in book: 174
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
He pushes his chest into mine, bumping our noses almost. “I need it before the first bell, yeah? Before you go to your class and listen to your teachers like the good girl you are. And then again, during lunch. I need you to suck my dick before you eat your lunch, so the first thing that goes into that pink mouth is me. And then I need it one more time. After the last bell and before you go back to your dorm to do your homework. Can you do that?”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?”
“I can’t… I can’t do it in school.”
His cheekbones jut out more at this. As if he’s angry at this prospect, that I can’t suck his dick at school.
As if he was looking forward to it.
Please God, let him look forward to it.
“And why not?” he asks.
“B-because someone might see us.”
His forehead drops to mine, his furious eyes ever so close. “Yeah, my fucking reputation.”
I unfurl his shirt and go up to his face, his sharp and peaked and beautiful face that I just spent a long time staring at and sketching. I touch it and I press my forehead against his as I whisper, “Yes. I know you don’t care about it but I do. I can’t… I can’t let anything happen to it. Or to you. I have to protect you.”
“Protect me.”
“Yes,” I whisper, caressing his face as softly as I can. “You’re always protecting others. Someone has to protect you. And it has to be me. Because I’m your wallflower.”
Something moves over his features at my words, something other than this tightness, this agitation that he’s displaying. Something like… softness mixed in with disbelief.
Like he can’t believe someone wants to protect him.
But it comes and goes so quickly that now I think I was imagining it. “So how about I lock my office door as soon as you drop down at my feet?”
At his words, my knees mash against the floor as I say, “But still. We can’t take the chance.”
He hums deep in his chest before proposing another idea. “How about I lock the door and hide you under the desk too? How about as soon as you come into my office and get down on your knees, I make you crawl. I make my wallflower crawl across the floor in her school girl uniform and she gets under my desk. Will she suck my dick then?”
My breasts are moving up and down his chest, my nipples scraping against his muscles. “Under your desk.”
He nods, rolling our foreheads together. “Yeah, under my desk. So if by chance someone does come in, they don’t see.”
“They don’t.”
“No.” His voice is barely human now. “They don’t see that Coach Thorne’s got a teenager under his desk. They don’t see that he’s getting his dick sucked while school’s in session. And the student who’s got her rosy mouth wrapped around his beast is none other than the good girl of St. Mary’s. Bronwyn Bailey Littleton. The wallflower. His wallflower.”
“Okay, yeah. I will.”
“Yeah?” His eyes are both bright and drugged, probably like mine. “So they don’t see how hard his wallflower is working his dick. His throbbing, beet-red dick. They don’t see how eager she looks, how her tits — tits that quite possibly belong on a milkmaid in a fucking porno — are all swollen under her schoolgirl blouse and how wet she is under that skirt. Maybe she’s dripping on the floor, making a puddle at my feet. Like she’s dripping down her chin and making a puddle at the base of her throat. Is she? Dripping, Bronwyn.”
“God, yes. She is. I am.”
“Yeah, she is,” he keeps going, rolling his forehead against mine. “She’s dripping and dripping down her chin and it keeps coming. It keeps coming because Coach Thorne doesn’t care, does he? He doesn’t care that his wallflower is slobbering all over his cock because all he cares about is going even deeper. All he cares about is going down to her throat so he can see. He can see the fat outline of his cock in her slim throat. So he can see how he’s wrecking her. Owning her. Touching her tight teenage stomach.”
My stomach spasms. “Yes. Yes, please. Conrad, I —”
“Not anyone else though.”
“No.”
“No one is allowed to see what Coach Thorne does to his wallflower under his desk. How mean he is to her. How he dumps his load in her throat and sends her to lunch everyday with her belly full of his cum.”
I nod. “No. No one.”
Suddenly the pain in my scalp goes up and my head is yanked back.
Suddenly he’s all over me, angry and fuming, his frown so big and black, his long-ish hair flicks down to his furious eyebrows.
“Stop saying yes,” he fumes.
“What?”
He shakes his fist in my hair. “Stop fucking saying yes to every dirty thing I’m saying to you.”