See Me After Class(63)

He slips the other shoulder of my top off and then flips my tank top and bra down, exposing my breasts.

Hunger fills his eyes as he scans me in broad daylight.

With any other man, I’d be self-conscious to be topless in the kitchen, the harsh morning sun exposing my bare breasts. But Arlo brings out that carnal, palpable desire that would permit him to fuck me against a window and have me not care if one of his neighbors witnessed the act.

“Your tits are exquisite.” He reaches out and squeezes one, his thumb rolling over my nipple.

“I hope you plan on finishing whatever you’re starting.”

Pausing, he looks at me and says, “You’re right. And I have no plan to finish you off.” He flips my bra and tank back up and steps away. “You have waffles waiting for you.”

When he steps away, I quickly hop off the chair and go up to him, my skin crawling, tingling, needing to feel him.

Even though he’s much stronger than I am, I push him against the wall and press one hand to his chest, warning him not to move, and because he’s the teasing bastard he is, he smirks, as if my sheer force is comical to him.

With my other hand, I cup him through his jeans, feeling how hard he is, just from those little touches.

“Who are you kidding, Arlo? You want this just as bad as I do. Why are you denying yourself?”

“I’m not denying myself,” he says, reaching down and pulling my hand away. A wave of embarrassment washes over me, but it doesn’t stay for long, because he unzips his jeans and presses my hand against his length, the only barrier being his black boxer briefs. “I’m prolonging the inevitable.”

He strokes my hand up and down his length, his head falling to the wall, his teeth pulling on his bottom lip.

“Why prolong it when you can have it now?” I ask, my thumb hitting his tip.

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Because the inevitable can still evolve.”

“That’s a contradiction.”

“Not in my book.” He removes my hand and buckles back up. Gripping my chin, he tilts my head back and says, “Get out of here, before I make you regret overstaying your welcome.”

“How could you possibly make me regret that?”

“Bringing you to the point of orgasm, but denying your release. That’s how.”

“You would never.”

“How you underestimate me, Miss Gibson. I was able to avoid your offer last night, even though my cock was aching for your lips. There’s no doubt I could edge you out, despite wanting to feel you come on my tongue again.”

God, he’s so dirty.

Stepping away, he turns me around and brings me against his chest, his hand splayed over my stomach, his mouth dropping to my ear, a feeling I’m starting to become addicted to. I’m not particularly short, but Arlo is the perfect height—his whole body encompasses mine. His delicious scent, the weight of his strong arms, the strength of his chest surrounding my back . . . I want him. More than—oh . . . that feels good.

His hand travels down my stomach and rests just above my pubic bone. “Now, be a good girl and leave my house. If you listen, you might be rewarded later, when you’re least expecting it.” He bites down on my earlobe, causing me to gasp.

“Arlo,” I say, hearing how breathless I am from his proximity. “What . . . what are you doing to me?”

“It’s called karma, and it’s coming back with a vengeance.”

“Karma from the pranks?”

He nods against me. “I told you not to fuck with me. Now, I’m going to fuck with you, on my clock, not yours.” He brings his hand to my breast and gives it a squeeze before stepping away. “Have a good day . . . Greer.”

Moving back around the island, he snags a banana from the kitchen counter and heads to his backyard. I watch him get comfortable in a lounger and, God, what I wouldn’t give to crawl into that lounger next to him, or maybe on top of him, anything to feel his touch one more time.

But if I’ve learned anything in the last twenty-four hours, it’s that Arlo means what he says. If I don’t listen to him, I have a feeling I’m not going to like the consequences. So, reluctantly, I gather my things and head out the front door. I hop into my car and lower my head to the steering wheel.

I’ve read so many books where the heroine describes this feeling of being . . . controlled, and I’ve always rolled my eyes and thought they were contrived only through authors’ boundless imaginations. Where the hero is like a conqueror of lands, where he hegemonizes and controls the heroine’s thoughts and actions. And I, of course, have likened myself to Lizzie Bennet—determined to stay my course, be comfortable in my skin—and yet, one alluring man has somehow pushed me beyond my boundaries. And I’ve let him.

“I told you not to fuck with me. Now, I’m going to fuck with you, on my clock, not yours.”

And I crave it.

What the hell is happening to me?





Greer: Why do I feel like I’m in trouble? Am I in trouble?

Stella: How the hell do I know? Principal Dewitt never calls me into her office.

Greer: My pits are sweating.

Stella: Mine are sweating for you.

Greer: Okay, I’ll text you when I’m done.

I pocket my phone and take a deep breath as I round the corner to the main office. When Principal Dewitt said she wanted to see me during lunch, I was instantly nervous that she somehow, by an act of God, found out about Arlo and me having sexual relations on Arlo’s kitchen counter.