Misbehaved

by Charleigh Rose

His eyes aren’t wavering from my legs, and his expression morphs into one of…anger? I glance down and immediately know exactly what he’s looking at. Fuck. Ryan left a little present in the shape of his goddamn hand on my thigh.

“Put your palm flat against the mark,” he orders. My first thought is, fuck, he knows it’s a handprint. My second thought is even more alarming. His demanding tone is turning me on.

“What’s wrong with your shoes?” Ryan puts his hands on his hips, scanning her legs. He stares at her in a way I can easily decode, even from across the street. I know this look because I sometimes give it to women, two seconds before I rip off their underwear with my teeth.

but the way he looks at me—like I’m every rule he’s ever wanted to break

Because that’s the reality of things. Remington Stringer is going to be stuck here forever if she doesn’t snap out of it, and she does have a crush on me. The fact that the feeling is mutual is beside the point.

“What are we?” I whisper. I inch closer to him. Just a tad. Lean forward. Feel him. Smell him. I can almost taste him. This man…this man is salvation. “I don’t know,” he admits, the tip of his nose touching mine for a brief moment. “Me neither.” “But whatever it is,” his hand moves in my peripheral, but I don’t dare disconnect my gaze from his, “it’s already happening, and I can’t make it stop.” Just like that, his mouth comes crushing down on mine.

“I’m going to hell for this,” he says. “I’ll follow you down.”

He reaches a hand to the side of his seat and presses a button. His seat moves back a few more inches from the steering wheel. He pats his lap. “Come.” It’s an order. Don’t mind if I do.

“You can leave, now, Mikaela. It seems Miss Stringer wants her punishment right now.” He says it almost playfully, and despite my outrage, my panties are damp again. Oh, shit.

Me: Are you spying on me now, Teach? My phone pings not even ten seconds later. Pierce: Yes. I figured our relationship wasn’t dramatic enough, so I’ve decided to add stalking to the list. Reluctantly, I crack a smile at that. Me: What relationship? You’re just my teacher, remember? Pierce: The fact that I can still smell you on my fingers says differently.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck on your desk.” She shrugs with a grin. “At school?” She nods. “I want to feel my bare ass grinding against the papers from Mikaela and her stupid crew as you fuck me senseless.” I shouldn’t be as hard as I am to hear it. That is for sure. I kick the door open wider and cock my head to the side. “Miss Stringer,” I say. “On my desk.”

“I can’t promise you forever, Remi girl. I can’t even promise that one of us won’t get hurt. But I can promise a few things,” I whisper roughly into her ear. She arches back into me. “I promise to take care of you, even when you won’t let me. I promise that while I’m with you, I won’t so much as think of another woman, and I promise to fuck you good, and to love every minute of it.” She wiggles against me again, her breathing turning ragged. I reach down and flip up her skirt. I palm her ass and squeeze before giving it a sharp slap, which earns me a yelp. “Is that enough for you?” “Yes,” she whispers.

“Good. Because I’d like to fuck you now.” I tug at her panties, sliding them down just far enough. I unzip my slacks and pull myself out. I slide the head of my cock through her slit, making sure she’s wet enough—of course, she is; she’s always ready for me—before shoving inside her in one hard thrust. “Shit!” she yells on a gasp, lurching forward. I pull her back by her hips and hold her in place. “Don’t run from my dick, baby. Keep your ass up.”

My present is a secret, but not for long, I decide. She craves normalcy. She needs stability. We’d never be normal, but the best things never are. I will be her constant. Her safety net. Someone she will learn to trust and not be afraid to depend on.