Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
I can’t seem to catch my breath.
I can’t.
I can’t seem to form a single coherent thought. So again, I come up with something completely stupid and inane. “I-I don’t… I don’t think that’s true.”
Only, all those things kinda did happen.
I mean, not everything but some of the things. The patting, the brushing of arms. But I didn’t think they meant anything.
He runs a savage hand through his hair. “Do they stop you after class? Do they tell you they want to help you with your grades? That they have a special project for you?”
My nails dig into my calves as I try to think, which is proving to be impossible right now. But I still do it.
“A few times. But I never… I never did them,” I whisper, thinking about how Mr. Gunderson, our math teacher, would tell me that he had ideas for extra credit since I was failing that class.
Is that what he meant?
“Yeah, that’s because somewhere deep down in your naïve little brain you knew what they wanted from you. That the special project they want you to do has nothing to do with books and papers and everything to do with how fast they can get you to do things to them. How fast can they get you to sit on their desk and spread your legs, while they try to catch a peek of what’s between your thighs. And how fast they can get you to sit on their laps so they can rub up against that ass they can’t stop thinking about.”
Every nerve ending in my body is standing taut and feels raw and exposed. His words are like the air, brushing against the very tips of them, making me all hot and bothered.
On the verge of melting away.
But before I go, before I become a puddle on his couch, I ask, “Are you saying that I’m… visible?”
“No, Violet, I’m not saying that you’re visible. I’m saying that you’re the only thing that a man sees. I’m saying that you’re a thing that drives a man to distraction. You make him forget what’s right and what’s wrong. You’re a thing so terrible and beautiful and fucking breathtaking that he can’t escape you. He can’t think of anything else, not about his job, his responsibilities, his promises, his family, nothing but you. You undo him. You make him helpless. You turn him into an animal who wants to rut. You’re a girl who makes a man go bad.”
***
I walk to my room or rather the room I’m currently occupying in a daze. He’s already gone to his. He left right after he said those things to me.
Those things that are running in my veins instead of blood and life.
I’m so charged up with them, his words, that when I lie down on the bed, the sheets and the blankets scrape against my skin.
They scratch and scrape so much that I have to writhe and toss and turn in the bed.
I have to rock my hips and press my thighs together. I have to creep my hand down. I have to get it inside my panties and cup my naked core because it’s aching now.
And I have to do all of that with his words in my ears. With his face behind my closed eyelids.
I imagine him doing all those things to me, the things he talked about.
I imagine him stopping me in the school hallway and asking me to bend over and I do it. I do it with all the eagerness. Then, I imagine him calling me into his office and shutting the door.
He tells me to take a seat and I do. I sit in the chair and he stares at me from across his desk. He’s frowning, rubbing his thumb over his beard, unhappily.
I ask him what’s wrong, Mr. Edwards?
And he growls, get over here.
I go over there and he motions toward the desk. I look at him all confused and he gets impatient and angry.
He snaps, sit the fuck down.
I obey.
And then, he puts his hands on me. He grabs my thighs, the juicy part, the part high up, so close to my pussy that I’m touching right now.
He spreads my legs and my spine arches up.
He keeps his face lowered but lifts his eyes up to me and says, You don’t pay attention in class, do you? You think you’re special, Violet? Better than the rest of the students?
“No, Mr. Edwards,” I whisper out loud, in the real world as my fingers work my slippery clit.
I think you do. And I think I’ll teach you how to behave. And you’ll thank me for it, won’t you?
In the real world, my back bows at his stern tone and I get super close to coming. “I will, yes.”
What will you say?
I think about it. Again, in the real world. I think about it as I move my hips and play with my pussy. I think about what to say to him for all the things he said to me, back on the couch. All the things about how beautiful I am.