by Gabi Moore
“You’re still mixing your tenses in that third paragraph,” he said.
Chapter 8 - Mr. Cain
I love it when a student has the grit to rise to a challenge. I love when writers can dig deep and confront their limits, pushing them to find what they’re really capable of. Michelle was such a student. For the next three months, I pushed her. At the same time as her words were growing, enlarging, becoming more sophisticated, her body was opening up to me, until I could access even the deepest parts of her, easily.
And she really wasn’t afraid. I hurt her. I used her body, over and over again, daring her to back down, but each time she accommodated me, somehow finding new levels of pleasure, nuances of feeling that even I, old has-been that I was, had never experienced. I admired her. And I loved completely wrecking her body, finding new ways to violate her little form, to overwhelm her, to punish her naiveté.
By the time the class came to an end, Michelle was an entirely different person. She had transformed into a noble explorer of new sexual worlds, of vast and fearsome horizons of pleasure, of new places, both profane and sublime …that I had introduced her to, but which she had become native to in no time. My body had been new territory to her, but she had soon charted and laid claim to every last inch of it, so that I could only wish her well when the class was done and we had no more natural reason to spend time together.
That was also the last class for me. She had been right all along: I was hiding behind my students, being lazy, never pushing myself to write what I truly wanted, to take risks. It was scary, to force myself to do something I had never done before, but then I just remembered Michelle, face down in a pool of her own tears, ass upturned, utterly vulnerable to me and yet not the slightest bit fearful, and I thought, why not?
After all, tension is a good thing, isn’t it?
- THE END -
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PREVIEW OF OTHER STEAMY BOOKS BY GABI MOORE
BREAK
A Bad Boy Romance Novel
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The woman in front of me was being fucked within an inch of her life.
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By getting fucked in the ass in public, I had shared myself deeply. I was Christ on the cross, who suffered for the sins of my people.
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Bruises can be romantic, in their own way…
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I looked down at the marks round my upper thigh, like the scattered blue petals of a strange flower. If they had been put there by anything other than his hands, they would have seemed ugly to me.
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"I needed an excuse to run away, and he had ‘excuse’ written all over him in big, tattooed letters…“
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Once Penelope’s good girl mask starts slipping ...she finds doesn’t want to put it back on. Viktor and Penny are both running away from something – but can they ever escape one another?
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