“Fuck, yes, Snowflake. Inside and out.” I touch the side of her wrist. “Now stop deflecting.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A tap against her bag returns a dull clink, and my eyes briefly burn. “The supervising teachers here, they’re not Phillip. They’ll call the police.”
“Luckily, I have a clean record and a sob story.”
She tries to push past, and I grab her wrist, swinging her into the disabled cubicle, pressing her flat against the door the moment it closes.
It’s larger than its counterparts but still cramped. The sink and countertop take up one wall, the oversize stall fills the other, barely a foot of free space around them.
“Damien, I’m here with Basil.” The jut of her chin has never looked so adorable. “Go back to your table.”
“You’re my date tonight, and we both know it.”
Her eyes roll. “What do you want?”
I laugh softly, tracing the line of her collarbone, enjoying the coolness of her skin under my fingertips. “You know what I want. You want it too or you wouldn’t have followed me.”
Gripping her hips, I lift her onto the counter, and sink onto my knees, burrowing into the voluminous transparency of her skirt until I find the base fabric and shove it higher, staring at her cheap cotton panties.
“Mm. Fancy knickers for a special occasion.”
Before she can spout her indignation, I press a kiss to her inner thigh, grazing my teeth against the tender skin, resisting the urge to bite deep into her flesh, to devour her whole.
“Let me down.”
“Never.” My fingers curl over the elastic waistband either side, dragging the skimpy fabric down her legs, leaving it hanging from one delicate ankle.
“Stop,” she whispers, but the hands that push against my shoulders have no strength behind them. Her body is already responding, a tremor running through her limbs.
I stare up into her face. Her eyes are closed, the lashes paler than her delicate lids. “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.”
She does, and the vulnerability in her pale irises undoes me.
“You know you’re just a blur,” she says, then gives a soft moan as I ease her legs wider and lower my mouth.
Her body opens to me, already wet, the taste of her utterly addictive. My tongue sweeps along her folds, working at her entrance before I suck her swelling clit, loving its subtle throbs.
My fingertips dig into her thighs as I hold them apart, tracing patterns that make her body jerk, unleashing a soft moan. Her hands tangle in my hair, not pushing me away but holding on, guiding me as her hips gently roll, allowing easier access.
I love the control, the power to reduce her to this, a shaking, pleading mess.
But I’m also devouring her like she’s an antidote for the rest of the world, a medicine that can finally save me.
Her hips buck harder against my mouth and I intensify my efforts, balancing the softness of my mouth with the hardness of my fingers until her movements become urgent, her whimpers growing louder. The grip on my head turns into a vice, fixing me in place as her orgasm shakes through her. New sweetness releases onto my tongue, and I continue, sucking, licking at her tender flesh until the last tremor fades.
I tuck her panties into my pocket and rise; my cock painfully constricted in my tuxedo pants.
Ophelia’s face is flushed, her lips swollen pink. She looks wrecked and beautiful.
“Now,” I say, my voice rough. “Against the wall.”
I settle her on her feet, and she spins, bracing her hands against the cool tiles, her back lightly arched. I carefully lift her skirt, inch by inch, exposing her completely, my palms rubbing smooth circles on her round arse until the urgency grows.
Freeing myself, I enter her in one thrust, feeling her sweet wet warmth surround me, walls gripping me tightly. Pleasure wipes my mind clean of all thought.
My pace is frantic, desperate. My body pumps into hers with an intensity that borders on violence, my hands gripping her hips so tightly, I’ll leave marks. But I’m still aware, careful not to hurt her, not like that.
