Everything builds inside me, my head no longer able to form an argument, my mouth no longer capable of forming words. His fingers stroke me, each movement closer to my sensitive clit until it builds into a crescendo, and I come, struggling, eyes streaming with tears, muscles clenching and convulsing around his cock.
My eyes close, then startle open as I hear the click of the shutter again. Hear the whirr of another photo being pushed from the Polaroids wide mouth as his lips press against my ear. “Instead of trying to make things right for you, I hurt you again just to cover my sorry arse. I’m the one who’s weak.”
His arms wrap around to trap mine as he comes, driving his release deep inside me. His mouth is open, breath panting against my back, then he’s gone, his weight falling away from me as he drops to his knees.
I try to turn, to cover myself.
“Don’t you dare move an inch until I get this shot. My cum dripping out of your gorgeous, battered pussy.”
He takes photo after photo before hissing through his teeth, outraged that the camera ran out of film. Then he stands, his naked body pressing against mine, the touch of his hot skin a treat I’ll never grow tired of.
“Look at you,” he says when he finally pulls away. Not to get dressed or clean us but to reach for the scattered photos, showing me image after image of myself. So many at such different angles that I drown in a wave of blushes.
“Beautiful. Strong. Courageous.” He intersperses the words with long kisses, hands roaming me, stroking me, treating me with care. “With every passing day, I find something new to adore.”
My limbs tremble and he folds me into his arms, swaying from side to side like we’re slowly dancing.
“You’re the one. The only one for me and I can’t stand to hear you badmouth the girl I’m infatuated with.”
My heart swells with his words as he kisses me, long, languorous, his hands seeking the places where he’s been rough and soothing them while I rest my forehead against his chest.
A phone buzzes and it barely registers, but Zane moves and that prompts a soft cry.
He chuckles low in his throat at the sound, and I spread my fingers across his collarbones, chasing the vibration.
Then his body tenses, muscles tightening to rock.
He shifts away. An instant abandonment. Pushing my phone screen into my face.
“Why the fuck is our art teacher texting you about meeting him in class tomorrow?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
ZANE
She grabs for her phone,eyes wide but not with confusion. There’s nothing in my question she doesn’t instantly understand. My emotions switch from fury to outrage to a deep-seated fear that makes my nerve endings jangle.
The text would be alarming if the text was all, but I’ve seen how attentive the teacher is in class. To all the female students, but to Avon especially.
Her deep love of art. Her distorted self-view. The years of bullying. They combine to make her uniquely vulnerable to a predator.
I should know.
“You call himLionel?”
“He told me to.” This time, Avon succeeds in snatching the phone from my fingers, face colouring a deep red. The same as the worst of her blushes if I overlook the flames dancing in her eyes. “You shouldn’t read my messages.”
“Your phone doesn’t even have a passcode. If you didn’t want me to look, why’d you make it so easy?”
“I don’t have a passcode because Mum wouldn’t buy me a smartphone unless she could see what I was using it for at any time.”
Which sounds like a massive invasion of privacy, but I understand why her mother wanted that reassurance. Avon flat-out told me the reason. And I’m uncomfortably aware it was how Ant was able to rig her phone so easily in the first place.
If I push her, she’ll become more defensive.
“Sorry, I…” My hand is shaking as I wave at the device. “It was just sitting on the screen, but I shouldn’t have looked.”
Her mouth twists while her eyes appear mollified. The high colour drains from her cheeks.
