I’m not going anywhere this time, Remi.
My lips find her neck, and I pump my hips into her wet jean shorts.
“Pierce. Yes,” she says softly, breathlessly, urgently. And that’s all the permission I need. I turn around and head for the stairs, holding her with one hand on the back of her neck and one on her ass. I take the steps two at a time while her hands grip my hair and her teeth bite their way down my neck. We’re frantic and frenzied, both knowing what’s about to happen. Neither one of us speaks, afraid it will break the spell.
I kick open the door to my room and lay her down on top of my bed. My hands wrap around the waistband of her still-soaked shorts and then I’m tugging them down—along with her underwear—while she rips her shirt off, exposing the most perfect pair of tits I’ve ever seen in my life. Full and porcelain with tight nipples in the softest shade of pink. I lean down to suck her nipple into my mouth when I see it. A tattoo underneath clear wrapping.
“When did you…”
“Today.” She shrugs. My fingers graze her torso, skating up to the edge of the bandage, looking up at her for permission. She nods, holding her arms above her head. I peel it back, revealing two lines that give me an even deeper look into how Remi sees herself. Destructive. Crazy. And she is those things, but she forgot a few. Beautiful. Sensitive. Fierce. Strong. Loyal.
“You like?” she questions in a small voice.
“I love. You’re incredible, Remington Stringer.”
I step back to take a moment to brand this image into my brain.
She lies there, trembling, with her dark, wet hair spread across my stark white sheets wearing only her tennis shoes. Her tiny form looking even smaller in the middle of my king-sized bed. Her lips red and swollen. Her eyes begging me to follow through.
I’ve never been a religious man, but seeing Remington Stringer laid out on my bed like a sacrificial lamb makes me want to drop to my knees, bury my face between her thighs, and worship her. So that’s what I do.
Never breaking eye contact, I kneel in front of her, running my hands up her thighs, stopping to lick the cut on her thigh, and trail my lips to the crease in her leg. My arms keep her legs pinned straight to the bed while I part her lips with my thumbs, exposing the pink inside. Fuck, she’s gorgeous everywhere.
“Tell me you want me to taste you, Remi.” My voice is strained, but I need to know she wants this.
“God, yes,” she breathes, squirming below me. Her skin breaks in goose bumps before I even touch her.
Her eyes are still locked on mine, and I dip forward to take the first taste of what’s mine. One shallow lick grazes her clit, and as soon as my tongue makes contact, Remi’s hips buck toward my face on a gasp.
“Oh my God,” she mumbles, clenching the sheets between closed fists. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was new for her. That I’m the first man to sit between these creamy thighs and taste her on my tongue. That thought—regardless how off-base it may be—has me going back for more, and this time I’m not gentle. I suck and bite at her swollen clit, and then I split her slit with my tongue and eat her like my life depends on it. She brings her knees up, spreading herself, wanting more.
“Pierce,” she whines. “It feels so—”
I put a hand on each knee, then pin them flat to the bed, exposing her to me completely.
“Fuck,” I breathe. She’s so smooth, wet, soft, and right now, she’s mine. I flatten my tongue and lick her from her tight bundle of nerves down to her even tighter hole, and everything in between. When I fuck her with my tongue, she screams out, clenching around my tongue, and it has me rutting against the bed like a horny kid, desperately trying to relieve the ache in my cock. Her feet slide down my sides, working my sweatpants down.
When I can’t stand not being inside her any longer, I kick my sweats off and crawl up her body. I palm her tits and suck one pointed tip into my mouth. Her back arches, and she grasps the back of my head, holding me to her chest. I move up to her lips and kiss her long and hard, letting her taste herself on my tongue, while I settle between her thighs. When my cock meets her slick center, I can’t help the groan that comes from my mouth, or the way my hips thrust into her. I slide my dick in between her lips while Remington grinds against me.
“Shit. You’re so goddamn wet, I could easily slip inside you,” I rasp.
“So why don’t you?” She’s breathless, but bold as always. “I want this, Pierce. I want you,” she insists, and before I know what she’s doing, she wraps her legs around my back, angles her hips just right, and I freeze. The tip of my bare, engorged cock is just barely inside her.
Pure. Fucking heaven.
“Remington,” I warn, squeezing my eyes shut. It’s bad enough that I’m about to fuck my student. Fucking her raw is another thing entirely. Even I have limits.
“I need to feel you. Just a little bit,” she begs seductively as she starts to move against me, working me inside her. Her eyebrows are pinched together, and she bites her bottom lip.
How can I resist when she begs so prettily?
I sit back on my knees and grip the base of my dick, jacking myself off with just the tip inside her.
When I can’t take the teasing anymore, I pull out, ignoring her protesting whine and rub her clit with the head of my dick.
“Open yourself for me, Remi. Spread your pussy,” I instruct as I lean forward and blindly reach into my nightstand drawer for a condom. She complies, her timid black painted fingertips dip inside while I rip the foil open with my teeth, then roll it on in three seconds flat and position myself back at her hot entrance.
“Stop me now if you don’t want this.” I brace my forearms on either side of her head, caging her in. Those big, green eyes look up at me pleadingly with so much trust, and I take that as my answer. I thrust into her with one sharp move, causing her to scream out, and Jesus, she’s tight. So tight that it physically hurts.
“Let me in, Remington,” I grit out through clenched teeth, working my cock inside of her. When our eyes meet, I’m surprised to find pain instead of pleasure painted on her face, and I pause.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she says, digging her fingernails into my shoulders.
“I couldn’t stop now if I tried.”
I stick two of my fingers into her mouth. “Suck,” I command. And she does. Thoroughly.
I can’t wait to feel that mouth on my cock.
I pull my fingers from her mouth, and she releases them with a pop, then I bring them down to where we’re connected and rub her until she’s writhing against me, begging for more, harder, faster. I sit back on my heels to watch myself driving in and out of her, and I could come from the sight alone. Her long, lean torso, the beauty mark below her right breast, her full tits bouncing as she meets me thrust for thrust, her head thrown back in ecstasy. This girl is lethal. Somehow, I know she’ll be the end of me, but I can’t bring myself to care. Because this right here? Would be worth a thousand deaths.
When her legs start to shake, I tuck one hand under the small of her back and cover her with my body again. I bury my face in her damp neck as I finally allow myself to let go. I fuck her punishingly. And maybe I am punishing her. For walking out on me yesterday. For not coming to class today. For making me want her.
“Come with me, Remi,” I whisper into her ear before dragging the lobe between my teeth.
“Pierce, I’m coming! Fuck me, I’m coming,” she chants into my ear as she clamps down on my cock. She milks the orgasm out of me, and I drive into her one more time, burying myself to the hilt as I spill inside of her.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” I groan. Remington wraps her legs around my back, holding me inside of her. Our chests are heaving and sticking to each other, and my sheets are soaking from her wet clothes beneath her, but neither one of us makes a move to separate. I know that when we do, it will all hit me. The reality of what we did. What I did. The guilt. But I still won’t regret it.
We lie wrapped up in each othe
r, her nails tracing up and down my back while I bury my nose in her neck until the sheets turn cold and her teeth start to chatter.
“Shit, let’s get you warm,” I say apologetically.
“Mhm,” she mumbles sleepily.
“Do you want to take a hot shower?”
“Uh-uh,” she says, shaking her head, and I chuckle.
“Are you hungry?”
“I’m not anything. I don’t ever want to move.” She yawns and stretches, and I feel my cock start to harden again. I grind into her, and she winces from the move.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, pulling out.
“A little sore,” she admits. “But it’s a good kind of sore.”
“Remington, this wasn’t…” I clear my throat, unsure of how to ask.
“No,” she says simply. “But not in a long time, and it was nothing like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like us.”
I kiss her hard, because I know what she means. I feel it, too.
Twenty minutes later, I lift her onto my bathroom counter, place her heels at the edge, and feast on her swollen pussy, then I go downstairs to fix her a BLT while she takes a shower.
She comes down with one of my plain white tees on. Long, bare legs padding down my stairs. Hips swaying. Wet hair dripping. Fresh, makeup-free face making her look so young and innocent. I notice the faint freckles across her nose for the first time, and I decide right here and now that I like this version of Remington best.
She eats, and I watch her.
She drinks one of my sodas, and I watch her.
She tells me to say something, but everything I have to say is either dirty as hell or scary as fuck.
I take her hand wordlessly and lead her back to my bedroom, feeling so much more myself—my real, pre-Gwen’s death self—than I did when she first walked into my zone. Into my house. Into my domain.
She stops by my office and peeks through the slightly opened door.
“What?” I gruff out.
“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.”
She drops to her knees and crawls deeper into the room on all fours, her ass daring me somehow.
And I’m done for.
Officially and entirely hers.
I’m sitting in his office and telling him everything.
He is grading papers. He won’t let me see what I got, but it doesn’t matter. I already know I got an A. And not because I’m sleeping with my teacher, but because I’m damn good at debating, which I proved tonight when I convinced Pierce to fuck me for a third time.
The longing ache between my legs is replaced by a real one. I’m sore all over. I feel like he sliced me open and filled me with more than I can handle. My thighs are still shaking from the aftermath of every time we had sex.
Pierce is wearing his low-hanging gray sweatpants and a long white T-shirt. It’s hot outside, but Pierce keeps his house like an igloo. He still looks expensive and rich, even in things Ryan usually wears. Pierce smells clean. Like soap and cologne and a little bit of me. And like sex. A lot like sex, actually.
“So your dad doesn’t believe you?” he asks, running his hands through my hair. I am slouched under his desk, flipping through a stack of photos I recently had developed. Of our Sunday trip. Of Christian’s new look. Then random ones, like my shoes on a cracked sidewalk. The single flower brave and strong enough to grow in our yard otherwise full of dirt and weeds. And of Pierce. So many pictures of Pierce. He has no idea. I have a hundred more waiting for me at home. Of him. Looking down to his papers behind his desk. Smirking at a student who answered his question. Looking at me with those eyes—that promise to give me pleasure and pain in spades.
“Nope.” I blow a lock of hair from my face. “He believes Ryan. Even when I told him about Ryan wanting me…”
“I see.” Pierce purses his lips together, and I know that he is pissed off. “So that’s what made you run away?”
“I didn’t run away. I just…walked away from a really screwed-up situation. Yes, that, and he didn’t remember my birthday.”
Pierce wheels his office chair sideways so that I’m placed between his legs, and I look up and see him staring at me hard.
“I want you to get your things and move away from there.”
“I have nowhere to go, and before you suggest it, I can’t live on the boathouse forever. It’s too far away from school and civilization, and even though I hate how hot and cold you are toward me, even I admit that moving in together would be asking to get caught.”
“What about Christian?” he asks. I shrug.
“His family is going through a rough time. I very much doubt they’d let some white trash chick live under their roof.”
“You’re not white trash,” Pierce snaps through gritted teeth.
“That’s not what the rest of the school thinks.”
“The rest of the school can go fuck itself.”
“Very mature.” I laugh, but really, I feel a little better hearing that. He takes my hand and yanks me up to sit on his thigh. It feels so different, sitting on him instead of Ryan. I knot my arms behind his neck and stare into his too-deep blue eyes.
“I’ll figure it out.” I smooth his shirt for an excuse to touch more of him.
“No need. I will rent you a place near my house first thing tomorrow morning.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re eighteen,” he says. “You can live by yourself. All I ask is that we keep this quiet. For now.”
“You know I will.” And as I say it, I realize that I’m letting Pierce take care of me. I’m giving up something that’s completely mine and placing my trust in him. I’m being taken care of for the first time in a long time, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“We’ll get you your stuff from your place tomorrow after school.” He smacks my ass a little and I wince because everything is still sore.
“I don’t want to let go.” My voice is below a whisper. Almost non-existing. Pierce knows exactly what I mean because he shakes his head.
“I don’t want you to do this by yourself.” He brushes his thumb over my cheek. “You deserve so much more than this life.”
“I know, but I want to find ‘more’ by myself. To earn it.”
“You have earned it.” His lips are now on mine, and his fingers are in my hair. “Now let me deserve you.”
The next day, I get a phone call from Ducky Woods, the PI I hired, and know that the Ryan Anderson case is bulletproof. From a lawyer’s point of view, I can tell you straight out that I can lock this guy in jail for a long time. Nevada doesn’t take any bullshit when it comes to drug rings and weapons. And Ryan Anderson has been very busy with both. I hang up the call after arranging to meet at a coffee shop on the other side of town—as far away as possible from West Point—and even though he doesn’t ask why, I know. I know why, and it’s killing me.
It’s time to tell her. Even after everything she’s said to me about how her dad treated her, how Ryan shoved her into the fucking coffee table, I still know that she will be distraught. Guys like Ryan Anderson are not complete villains. I mean, who is? But when he doesn’t try to shove his tongue down her throat and boss her around, he also takes care of her. Gives her money and rides and talks to her about how her day has been. I try to reason with myself. To tell myself that this is the best thing that could happen to Remi. And my sister, Gwen, deserves closure. She deserves the truth. But at the end of the day, even I can’t take away one thing from Ryan Anderson that I’ll never be able to offer Remington: history.
He was the one who kissed it better when s
he scraped her knee and bandaged her wrist when she fell off a tree and took her to see the Fourth of July fireworks when she was still oblivious to how pretty things that shine in the dark are.
I pass Mikaela Stephens down the hallway. She is wearing her cheerleading uniform—white and baby blue—and looks every inch of the drone she was raised to be. The fact that she is picking on my girlfriend, who already has so much bullshit to deal with in life, rubs me the wrong way.
Jesus Christ. Did I just call Remington Stringer my girlfriend? Even in my head, it seems…off. Off, but then oddly on. I try not to think about it too much.
I don’t slow down as I pass her, leaning against her locker and clutching her books to her chest as she laughs with a couple of her friends, but when she sees me, she starts after me.
“What punishment did Remington get?” Mikaela keeps up my pace, and she’s already out of breath.
“Remind me again how it’s any of your business?”
“It’s just that I didn’t see her yesterday, and I was wondering if she got—”
“No,” I say flatly. “Stop worrying about other people and start thinking about your own future.”
“I got an acceptance letter from UCLA.” Her voice is hopeful. Like she expects me to be proud of her. If anything, it reminds me that no one took Remington to look at colleges. No one guided Remington about where she should apply. No one even considered the idea that she will go to college. It’s like her presence here, at West Point, is one big fucking joke. I make a mental note to help her with that too, even though I’ve spent the majority of my morning looking at apartments on Zillow so I can find her a place to stay. This girl is filling up every single blank moment in my life, and even though there were quite a few of those before she walked into my existence, I love how busy she makes me feel. How vital. How important.
“Good for you, Miss Stephens.”
We stop by Charles’ office. I knock twice. She flinches. I pay no attention.
“I wish you would hate me a little less, Mr. James,” Mikaela whines, and I hate this nasally, teenager-y thing that she does. She leans a shoulder against the wall and circles the floor with her toe.
Misbehaved Page 16
