Tirone (The Night Skulls MC #2)(29)

“How do you expect me to sleep next to you after I knew what you did to me?”

“Jesus Christ. All right, baby. I’m sorry. I promise I won’t touch or smell you in your sleep again…even though somnophilia is one of your favorite smutty kinks.”

“It’s a book, Tirone. Fictional! It doesn’t mean I want what’s written in it to be done to me in real life.”

“That’s why I’m asking you what you like in bed, but you’re not answering.”

She blew out a rapid sigh.

“You’re leaving me no choice but to rely on your kindle, baby. So tell me, and be honest like I am with you, deep down, do you think it’s hot if I touch you in your sleep or not?”

Another sigh. Long and staggering, though.

“Now, I have one more thing to add to the list.”





CHAPTER 17


Jo



A Few Months Ago



I should have never allowed Tirone to stay after what he’d done to me in my sleep, but I let him. His presence in my apartment, in my bed was wrong and depraved, but I was too weak to resist or deny how much I loved it. How much I now needed it.

Then there was the inexplicable gush between my thighs after I’d learned he’d smelled my vagina and spoke so openly and crassly about it. I shouldn’t be turned on by such violation, but I was. The idea of a forbidden man in my bed, unable to hold his urges that he had to behave in such a debauched way, breaking all rules, even taking advantage of me, sent my heart hammering and my folds wet.

I was a hypocrite for yelling at him for it, and that was sugarcoating it. I was more than just a hypocrite. I was a criminal. I allowed a seventeen-year-old boy in my bed every night while I was hyper aware of the hardness he nestled under my butt that reached my opening and teased my sensitive flesh over my pajama pants.

The next night, our routine was the same. I took off my contacts, hid them, made the room black with darkness and climbed into bed where he hugged me to sleep.

I simulated the calm breath rhythm of sleep to convince him I was out. Would he keep his promise and behave? Part of me didn’t want him to, in spite of how forbidden that was. The majority of me was more worried he’d find out something else about me—like the gun I kept in the nightstand drawer or the hidden shelf in my closet where I kept my wigs—than his touching me in my sleep. Besides, how could I trust myself not to spill any of my secrets in my unconscious mumblings?

Needed him or not, Tirone had to go. The nightmares were far more tolerable than the danger I might put him in if he figured out who I was.

He stirred behind me. Then the sound of a zipper pulled down—or up—penetrated the silence. I scowled, listening for another sound, strange and continuous in the room, and his breath that was growing into loud pants by the second.

Then it was clear what the strange sound was. It was him, rubbing himself.

My heart banged against my ribs, but I froze, pretending to be dead, not just asleep. He had his cock out in my bed and stroked it while he thought I was sleeping next to him. My student was masturbating in my own bed, and he wasn’t afraid I caught him red-handed, if anything, I believed he’d be glad if I did, as though he wanted me to know. He wanted me to see, to witness, and maybe even take part.

He started to groan, quietly at first, but then louder with the growing speed of his strokes. Then he was gasping my name. Over and over.

This was sick on so many levels, but also so hot on many more. Tirone Wisely, the hottest boy in school, who had slept with pretty much every girl, every cheerleader, every diva out there, was masturbating to me. A wild teenage boy had been sacrificing every chance to get laid for the past week or so and settled for jerking off alone in the dark just so he could be close to me and help me sleep.

His breath fell on my temple. “I wish I could kiss you goodnight like I’d been doing all this time. Yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you. I made you a promise, though, and I’ll keep it. You know why? Because I love you, Jo. So much.” He stroked my wig. “Goodnight, baby.”

My heart skipped a beat. I’d always thought his feelings for me were nothing but taboo lust enhanced by the forbidden nature of us. A horny teenager who was hot for teacher. Nothing more, nothing less. But what he said and done begged to differ. I wasn’t ready for the sincerity of his confession. It rocked and throbbed through my whole being, harder than the arousal drenching my panties, but I couldn’t help the grin stretching my lips.

I wished I could have touched myself the same way he had or, better yet, had him do it.

The next night, he did it again. Then the next. I couldn’t take all that building, unattended to arousal anymore.

I bolted upright with a gasp. “What are you doing? Are you…”

“Yes,” he panted, no remorse in his voice.

“You promised.”

“I promised not to touch you. I didn’t say anything about touching myself,” he groaned, the sound of his rubbing faster. “So here I am, sleeping next to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, the only woman I’ve ever really wanted, and yet I can’t touch her. All I can do is jack off, thinking about the kisses I’ve stolen from her and the forbidden smell of her sweet pussy. The way I’ll sneak and bend her over her desk to plunge deep into her wetness until we’ll both be crying out with pleasure. The way only I will know when she’ll stand in class, teaching us about dramatic monologue, she’ll have my cum in her pussy from our morning sex.”