School Ties (27 page)

He pushes me to the ground and I watch from my place on the rug he strips, dropping his clothes in a heap next to him.

“Feet flat on the floor.”

I get into position and he pulls my ankles wide apart, exposing every part of me to his gaze. He's already getting hard again. He looks at me for long enough I get self-conscious. That's when he touches me, feather light on my clit. It makes me clench my whole body tight so I don't buck my hips. His other hand strokes my hip and he looks at me—those eyes that have enchanted me since the first time I saw him—and smiles.

He dips a finger inside of me and I want more than anything to close my eyes and sigh, but I don't. I keep eye contact and I'm rewarded by a second finger slipping in. He strokes me a few times, pressing against the borders of my pussy, stretching me, warning me before adding a third finger.

A harsh inhale on my part gets his attention and he soothes me with a touch of my thigh.

“That's it for today.” His fingers are easing in and out of me while he speaks and my muscles are tight with strain from trying to keep myself under control. “But someday I'm going to fist you.”

He presses my clit with his thumb and the contact electrifies an idea I'd expect to terrify me. But I'm greedy, so greedy. I'd want all of him inside of me if there were a way, so the idea of him working fingers, a thumb, his hand, slowly, gently, but inexorably up into me? “Please, Zach.”

“Please what?”

“I need to come, Zach. Please.”

His eyebrows twitch and a smile breaks across his face. “You like that idea? Me working a fist into your tight pussy?”

His thumb is circling my clit, his fingers thrusting harder. “Yes. Yes, Zach, I do. Oh, please, Zach, please.”

I'm trembling with need. If this were any other day, he'd push me over the edge, scold me for coming without permission and then take my bad behavior out on my ass, or maybe my breasts, or . . . Oh, dear, thinking about punishment isn't helping. But he's already taken his belt to me, so instead of denial I get blessed permission to give in to the inevitable.

“That's right, lamb. Come for me while you think about my whole hand inside you.”

That's it, the last tap on the glass of my arousal, and I shatter underneath him. My nails scrape the weave of the carpet, my toes curl and my hips rise. A sound like need is ripped from my throat, and my eyes squeeze so tightly shut I see stars. My chest is heaving, my breathing ragged when he leans over me and presses his cock into my still spasming pussy. I thrust up to meet him and he weaves fingers through my hair, tugging so hard I open my eyes with a gasp.

“You're going to come again with my cock in you, aren't you, naughty girl?”

“Yes, Zach,” I pant.
Oh, yes.
If this makes me a naughty girl, being so hot for him while he's got a fist in my hair, pounding into me, my red ass being rubbed raw by the friction on the carpet—so be it. I'm meeting him thrust for thrust and I can tell he's getting close, but I need something if I'm going to be able to come before he does.

“Play with your tits while I'm fucking you, you dirty girl. Twist your nipples the way I would. I know you like it hard, you greedy little thing.”

My hands fly to my chest to obey his orders, taking my breasts roughly in hand and my nipples between thumb and forefinger. It's not as good as when he's touching me, but if I close my eyes and pretend . . .

“Go on, you horny little slut. Come for me. Come on my cock.”

His hot, nasty words are all it takes to shove me off the cliff, crashing into the cold shock of my sudden orgasm. I squeeze around him and his thrusts speed up until there's one so hard it makes me moan. Then he's still, his hard body taut above me. His breath blows out in a groan and he collapses, his weight heavy on top of me.

I take the opportunity to wrap my arms around him, holding him close and threading my fingers through his hair, kissing and licking the side of his throat while running the sole of my foot up his leg. I wish there were more of me so I could touch more of him. After a minute, he pushes up on his elbows and frames my face in his hands.

He studies me, my eyes blinking slowly and my cheeks no doubt red. “I love you, Erin. You know I love you, right?”

“I do. I love you, too.”

He kisses me sweetly; once, twice, three times before he runs his nose alongside mine. “I always want you to feel loved. If I ever make you feel anything but loved—”

“I'll tell you,” I say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Pinky swear.”

He props himself up on one side and twines his little finger with mine. “Pinky swear.”

He kisses me once more before he pulls out and hands me his discarded undershirt to wipe up, which he takes when I'm through. I skitter to the bathroom and when I come back, he's under the covers, leaning up against the headboard. He holds the quilt up and invites me inside. “C'mere, lamb. I want to hold you.”

As much as I enjoy the rough stuff—and I do—I love this the best. Being in his arms, his warm, solid body circling me, his sweet words being set loose to wander around my head, pooling like drops of oil in water until my brain is swimming in his slick, precious thoughts.

Chapter Twenty-three

Shep

Erin sat naked at her kitchen table and finished her application. When she was through she asked me to read it over before she sent it in. Which I did, before I had her again. Aside from a single typo, it was perfect. She'd clearly thought about it, put some serious time into it, and then lost her nerve at the last minute. I should've checked in with her earlier, should've known she'd need a final push, but I've been distracted.

With the final press of classes, the lacrosse team being a lock for conference finals, the string of performances and ceremonies that is the end of the school year at Hawthorn, planning my proposal to Erin. And with Lana Davis.

She's been calling me since the winter dance. Even though I've been clear that I'm not interested, she won't give up. I have no clue how she got my cell number. I sure as hell didn't give it to her. I haven't mentioned it to Erin because I don't want her to freak. The look on her face when she told me about Will and Lana broke my heart and there's no way I'll put it there on purpose. Lana's been the source of enough hurt for Erin and she's got so much going on, I don't want to pile on. I keep hoping if I ignore Lana she'll go away, but that hasn't been true yet.

I wish she were a too-aggressive member at the club who Mordecai would pull aside and set straight. Or even some too-flirty girl at Northwestern I could steer toward one of my decent teammates. But it's just me and I'll need to come up with a different strategy to get her to go away. Soon, because I don't want Erin to know.

It's the night before graduation and the guys have all crammed into the athletic complex for one last night together after the final concert of the year. They're going to be rowdy, obnoxious, and out of control. My plan is to man the laundry room door half my class snuck out of to smoke up, and turn anyone who shows up right back around.
Sorry, guys, I know your tricks.
They haven't changed much in four years. But first, I'm going to grab a few things from my apartment.

I vault up the stairs, humming off-tune. I can't wait for tomorrow. Everything is set up, down to the last detail. The little black velvet box in my bedside table is burning a hole in my brain, and tomorrow I'll get to slip the ring on Erin's finger. I've had a few twinges of panic—
What if she says no?
—but mostly, I'm excited. I've wanted her since the day I saw her and now she's going to be mine.

Everything is going so well: I'm going to ask Erin to marry me, Caleb's coming to Hawthorn next year, I have a good feeling about Erin being named Chair, and I'm taking over John Phelps's place in the math department and as the JV coach for soccer and hockey. Life is good. It's really fucking good, and starting tomorrow it's going to get a whole lot better.

I grab my toothbrush and a few other things that will make tonight tolerable and when I open my door I curse.

“What are you doing here, Miss Davis?”

“It's nice to see you, too, Zach.”

Hearing her call me Zach gives me the creeps, as does the way she looks me up and down like I'm a piece of meat she'd like to sink her teeth into. She's doing her best to look edible in a short black trench coat I'd bet money on she doesn't have much underneath, and bright red on her mouth and her pointy, succubus fingernails. No, I don't like this at all.

“You shouldn't be here. How did you even—”

She lifts an eyebrow and her lips twist into a predatory grin. “I have my ways. Most Hawthorn boys don't play quite as hard to get as you.”

“I'm not playing. I don't want you here. I don't want you period. I've tried to make that very clear. If you show up here again—”

“What're you going to do? Report me? To whom?”

Goddamn English teachers and their fucking
whom
s. “I'll call campus security, and if you don't stop harassing me, I'll file a restraining order. I don't want to get either of our employers involved in this, but I will if I have to. Schools don't like teachers having a record.”

There's a flash of anger across her sharp features before it melts into a faux coy that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

“Is this about that uptight pedantic prude? What is it about Erin Brewster men find so alluring? She's not a dumbass, I'll give her that. But she's too . . . wholesome.” She sneers like it's a dirty word. “I bet after Will got her knocked up, she hasn't let anyone else in her pants since. I bet she hasn't even let you get to second base. A chaste kiss here, some handholding there. You're a red-blooded American boy, Zach. You must be horny as hell. Why don't you let me take care of that for you? You can keep dating Betty goddamn Crocker if you want, but I can give you what you actually want, what you need.”

Lana, you have no fucking clue what I want, what I need.
She might play along and, hell, she might even like getting spanked once in a while, but she wouldn't mean it. Her submission wouldn't be genuine. It would be another layer of manipulation. I'll take Erin's earnest, innocent delight in pleasing me over Lana's cynical handling any day.

“My relationship with Erin is none of your business, but if it'll get the message across, I'll tell you. I love her. I've never loved anyone but her. She's beautiful and sweet and smart. I will not be unfaithful to her. Ever. Especially not with you.”

Erin

After I say good-bye to Shep when the concert's finished, I head over to check my faculty mailbox. I don't check it often, probably once a week because there's rarely anything inside. School business is mostly done online and it's not like I get a lot of personal mail. I'm far more likely to get an Evite or a text than something with a stamp.

But today when I go up on tiptoes to peek into the narrow wooden slot, there's something inside. I have to reach to pinch the edge of the thin envelope but I manage to extract it, trying not to let anticipation get the best of me. It could be anything. It's not anything, though. It's an official Hawthorn Hill School envelope, its scarlet and royal blue crest winking at me from the corner.

They don't bother using the fancy stationery for regular faculty correspondence—most of that's done over email. No, they break this out for big important things. Things like announcing promotions or awards, like the one Shep got when he'd been made a full faculty member.

The letter is vibrating between my fingers because my hands are shaking. I should go back to my apartment in case this is bad news—I don't want anyone to see how upset I am if I've been passed over. But the idea of waiting the five minutes it'll take me to make my way back to my apartment is intolerable. Instead, I duck into an alcove and make a quick wish before ripping open the envelope.

When I unfold it I have to clap a hand over my mouth to mute my squeal—I got it! I'm going to be the new Chair of the mathematics department at Hawthorn, effective June first. It comes with a raise of several thousand dollars, too, which is great, but, ah! I'm too excited to think much about what that means. Maybe Shep and I could go on vacation before school starts. He's never left the country. I can't wait to tell him. He's going to be so proud of me.

I run down the hall and burst out the doors before I come to a halt. I don't know exactly where Shep is to give him the good news. The possibilities comprise a pretty short list, though, so I set off at a jog toward the athletic complex. But when I get there, Skip tells me Shep went back to his apartment to grab a few things before settling in for the long haul. So back up to Meyer I race.

I am so out of shape it's not even funny. I should get down to the gym more often. But running's never been my strong suit and I've been zigzagging all over campus. I haul up the flights of stairs and I'm about to turn the corner when I hear voices.

“Look, Erin cannot know you're here.”

I freeze. That's Shep, but who is he talking to?

“I told you she doesn't have to know.”

Her voice is like an inky black stain on everything good. Lana Davis. I peek around the corner. Shep's back is against the wall and Lana is leaning into him with her hands on his chest. Vomit rises in my throat as tears well in my eyes while I crush the letter between my fingers.
No, no, no.
This can't be happening.

He grabs her arms above her elbows and the way his fingers dig into the fabric of her coat . . . it's how he touches me. Or should I say, touched. He's never laying hands on me again. I might have stuck around and been Will's doormat for years, but I refuse to do it again.

And this. It hurts so much worse than it did with Will. I thought . . . But why should I be surprised? I shouldn't be. I was built to suffer and my father's warned me of it from day one. Fine. I will suffer the ripping of my heart out of my chest, but I won't let them bat it around and toy with me like two sadistic housecats.

“Get out of here before she finds out.”

To twist the knife deeper, she answers in a syrupy sweet voice, mocking me: “Yes, Zach.”

Shep

When Lana leaves, I watch her walk to her car, a red Mini with a Union Jack on the roof. Easy to identify. I call campus security and ask them to keep an eye out for her and to please escort her off campus if she shows up again. God, I hope not.

I throw my backpack over my shoulder and head down the stairs. While I'm crossing the campus, I call Erin but she doesn't pick up. Maybe she's got her music cranked up and she's dancing or maybe she's fallen asleep on the couch while she's watching TV. As the night goes on and I still don't hear from her, I'm more and more sure that's what's happened. Otherwise, she would've called me. She always calls me.

While I'd rather be hearing her ray-of-sunshine voice instead of the crazed whooping of the guys like monkeys in a goddamn zoo, I don't want to wake her up. She needs her rest; tomorrow's going to be a big day. She gets overwhelmed with so many strangers on campus, having to make small talk with people she doesn't know. She won't show it. She'll smile and make polite conversation, pulling up details about each of the guys to share with their families, but by the time we go home tomorrow night, she'll be ready to crash. She can crash into me.

Tomorrow morning, when we get to wake up in the same bed because the guys will be gone, she'll have my ring on her finger and she'll be so thrilled she can hardly stand it and I'll make her mine again and again and again. All summer. The thought of it is what gets me through the long night of keeping the guys in check.

•   •   •

In the morning I try Erin again on my way back to my apartment. She doesn't pick up. She must be in the shower, which is where I should be if I don't want to be late for the procession.

I scrub up quick, satisfied when I look in the mirror I won't be mistaken for a student in my gray suit. Probably. The clothes should tip them off because the guys will all be in Hawthorn blazers, but I'm sure some of the parents will do a double take because I went to school with their older sons. A good reminder to keep my hands off Erin until we're alone.

I join the stream of students, their families, faculty and staff headed down to the playing fields where they've set up giant tents for the festivities. I look around for Erin but don't see her. I hope she didn't sleep through her alarm. If she fell asleep on the couch, maybe she didn't set one at all . . .

We're all queued up and about to start down the aisle when she shows up and wedges into her place in line. She faces toward the stage they've set up and doesn't look back, not once. Something isn't right, but hell if I know what it is.

Oh, shit. Promotions get announced around graduation. Maybe someone else got the Chair? Erin was late and that would've dinged her chances but I can't believe Headmaster Wilson would pass her over. She's so perfect for it, and who the hell else did he get to do the job? I can't believe they'd hire someone from outside the school if they didn't have to. But that must be what's happened: she didn't get it. Nothing else would have her this upset.

I'm carried along with the stream of other teachers, feeling like any minute someone's going to turn around and say, “Take a seat, Mr. Shepherd. What are you doing marching with the faculty?” but no one does. When we reach our seats, all I pay attention to is the back of Erin's head. She's put her hair up in this shiny twist and there are pearls winking out of it. She's wearing a white dress with cutouts in it like those paper chains you make when you're a kid. It should have the opposite effect—her looking all demure—but it makes me want to drag her behind the nearest bush and push her up against one of the brick buildings, finger fuck her until her hands are twisting in the ivy and she's pleading for my cock.

My hand goes to my pants pocket where the little velvet box is waiting. It feels heavier than it ought to, like my pants have the gravity of Jupiter. It sucks she didn't get the promotion, but at least this day won't be a total loss for her.

After the ceremony I try to catch her but I get cut off by one of my seniors and his parents. Darnell was in my calculus class and my first-string goalie on the hockey team. He's going to Northwestern in the fall so I've been talking to him about Evanston and Chicago. I'm not going to shortchange my guys because my girlfriend's upset. There's no way Erin would want me to. I'm sure she's somewhere in the crowd putting on a brave face and talking to families, too, because that's what she does—my surprisingly tough girl. I'll find her when the crowds disperse and then we'll go back to her apartment where I'll make her forget.

A couple hours later, the celebratory mob has finally dissipated. I search the clumps of stragglers for Erin's white dress but don't see her. Maybe she already went back to her apartment? Heaping that amount of disappointment on an already stressful day could've done her in. Maybe she's dancing it out or collapsed in her tub with one of her books. I text her to check but I don't hear back. Her silence has been pricking me with unease but now I'm getting outright concerned.