“You’re not heavy.”
She starts to protest, but I cut her off.
“If I don’t lift you, will you be a good girl, and do as I say?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I release her, and let her slide slowly down between my body and the glass. Then I step back.
There’s a large bench that she has put her clothes on, and I sweep them off onto the floor in one motion.
“Lie there.” The hoarse request almost tips into a command.
Her eyes are as big as dishes as she stumbles over and lowers herself onto the bench, then eases horizontal, looking up at me.
“Good girl. Lift your skirt to your waist.” It’s definitely an order this time.
If I thought she was scared, the shy smile that tugs ather lips squashes that thought. She’s turned on. No question. Her cheeks go pink and she smiles as she slides the silky fabric up her naked thighs and reveals her white cotton knickers. Soaked through with her cream, and stretched from my hand.
“Lovely. Now put your arms above your head.”
Slowly, she does as I say.
“Fuck,” I mutter. She has no idea how tempting she is. “That’s it.”
I undo my belt and trousers. She watches my every movement as I free my aching cock, then shift and kneel over her, pushing one of my knees between her soft thighs.
“I love you… spread for me like this.” My brain stutters halfway through that sentence, because yes, I just love her too.
I adore her, and I’m going to defile her.
She hears it too, and the conflict that flickers across her face makes my heart crack uncomfortably. I want her to know I love her, but this isn’t the right time or place. Not when we need to go to the bloody Maths Club event.
I grip my length, and slide my hand up and down, the pleasure spiralling out.
“My good girl, Callie. My sweetheart.”
It doesn’t take much. I drag my gaze over her. That pretty face.
I can’t see her pussy, but I don’t need to. It’s not about seeing her body, although that’s stunning. It’s about having her. Making her mine.
There’s no way to hold on. My balls pull up. The helmet of my cock tingles and another bead of pre-come squeezes out with my increasingly frantic pace of jerkingoff.
“Reid.” She gazes up at me, and the trust in her expression is what tips me over. It’s unwarranted.
Because I’m going to be a beast to her.
As my orgasm barrels up, I point my tip between her legs. I paint her thighs, her knickers, and the inner lining of her dress with my come. Stripe after stripe.
It’s ecstasy.
It’s possessive, and so wrong it’s right. I’m going to keep her forever.
16
CALLIE
Reid smirks as he lifts me onto my feet, and I think I’m in shock. He came all over me. My knickers—which were already soaked from my own wetness, are sticky. And the dress is too. Only the underskirt lining, I see that the liquid hasn’t made it through to the upper layers of fabric, but oh my.
