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  His green eyes darken, and a hint of the fire that burned inside of me this morning glows again.

  “I know you want this as much as I do, Miss Gray.” The walls close in on us. “We’ll figure things out. No one has to find out until we want them to.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but he places his hand over my lips.

  “I won’t make it through the rest of this day without being inside of you.” He closes the distance between our bodies, and I’m right back to where I was this morning. “Not when I was so close earlier.”

  The strap of my dress falls over my shoulder, as if on command.

  He cups my pussy in the palm of his hand and says, “Don’t ever wear underwear around me.”

  Breathlessly, I reply, “I can’t afford to have you steal them all.”

  His lips brush along my jawbone as he palms my mound. I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he works me into a trance. We have unfinished business, and there’s no way in hell we’re leaving this closet until we’ve resolved it.

  “After what you taught me Friday, I needed them to get through the weekend,” he says, hitching my leg over his waist.

  “Are you sure the door is locked?” I ask, tilting my head so he can leave open-mouthed kisses on my neck.

  “Yeah,” he whispers raggedly.

  “And that condom?” I lift my other leg, hooking my ankles together around the back of his thighs.

  “Back pocket,” he says.

  Troy carries me to a free-standing shelf storing cleaning supplies, knocking the bottles to the ground with one swipe of his arm. A dozen or so bottles of lemon-scented floor cleaner and disinfectant tumble to the floor. He situates me upon the top shelf, settling perfectly between my legs as if this damn thing was made just for us.

  He pulls down the top of my dress, while I work to unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. Troy unfastens my bra, and I push his jeans and boxers down far enough to release his cock. It’s as glorious as I imagined, so hard and large for me. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I wrap my hand around his manhood and pump him, just to watch his eyelids lower and his mouth pout.

  "You've done this before, right?" I ask with an extra bite in my tone, daring him to give me everything he's got.

  His only reply is to roll the condom over his erection and impale me without warning. He grips my hair at the nape of my neck, jerking my head back in the most wonderful way. Troy fills me all the way up, stretching me open to accommodate his fit. My breasts bounce as he drives into me. My nipples harden, brushing against his cotton shirt, and goosebumps spread across my skin.

  “Still wondering if I’ve ever done this before?” Troy asks, rolling his hips.

  Digging my nails into his ass, I guide him in and out of me, urging him to go harder and faster. I’m soaking wet around his manhood, causing the sting after our skin slaps together so much better.

  "You've never fucked anyone like this." I clench his earlobe between my teeth. He hisses. “Those girls you’ve been with couldn’t handle it.”

  We’re tension and frustration all in one, unable to meet deep enough, tough enough, quick enough. But we try, scratching and ripping and stroking until the slow upturn in the pit of my stomach blooms into a burst of iridescence that erupts through me in waves. I come so hard, I can’t breathe. I curl my body around his, piercing my fingernails into his back, arrested in a state of overwhelming bliss.

  Ripples of ecstasy pulse through me and all I can do is hold on and enjoy the ride.

  Troy drops his forehead to my shoulder as his strokes become shorter and harder, and his breathing more ragged. I feel his heartbeat against my chest—the only other sensation available to me outside of my own trance. We hold each other so hard and fuck each other so hard, and when Troy exhales and shudders, we fall hard, too.

  It seems to go on and on and on, and I decide that’s okay with me. Let’s stay trapped in our closet, wrapped up in one another this way for the rest of our lives. No one else can possibly make me feel as good as I do right now, so what’s the point in trying?

  “Wow,” I say when my voice returns to me.

  Troy laughs against my throat, still slowly pushing in and out of me, enjoying every bit of harmony he can.

  “Nice, right?” he asks. He presses his lips against my pulse point.

  I close my eyes and drop my head back. Over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, I say, “I wasn’t expecting that. That was—”

  “Fucking amazing,” he says, finishing my sentence.

  “Fucking amazing,” I agree.

  6

  "Don't call me that," I say as I correct the last question on Troy’s test from earlier today and pass it for him to see.

  “Your name is Samantha.” He smirks at his perfect score. “I think we’re past formalities.”

  For the last month, Troy’s kept up with his part of our deal. I’ll give him after school tutoring—with specific perks—for as long as he completes his classwork and passes his tests. He isn’t letting me down, intellectually or sexually. He hasn’t asked for my phone number again since I told him to forget about it, and he hasn’t shown up unannounced on my doorstep. But, Troy does keep acknowledging me by my first name.

  It’s an issue.

  At this point in our relationship, we should keep to as many “rights” as we can.

  “We’re not past formalities, Troy,” I argue. I snatch the test from his hand to pass it back during class with the other students tomorrow. “Getting too comfortable can be dangerous. It’s important we have boundaries and stick to them.”

  Troy scoffs, running his fingers through his hair. “You just had my cock down your throat, but I can’t call you by your first name?”

  I shove my chair away from my desk and stand to my feet, offended because of course, he's right. I'm a teacher, and he's my student; how we address each other when we're not having sex is the least of our worries. I’m pulling at strings, but the way my heart flutters when my name leaves his lips terrifies me.

  I avoid things I’m scared of.

  “We’re not doing this,” I say, leaving the stack of graded tests on my desk and grabbing my purse to leave. “I’m going home.”

  He follows me toward the door, grabbing my elbow before I can exit the classroom. “Miss Gray, I’m sorry, okay? Don’t go. Not yet.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “Maybe we need to take a break, Troy. For perspective.”

  Despite living in a "hook-up culture", where courting and genuine relationships seem to be a thing of the past, replaced by dating apps and reality TV love shows, that’s not me. I convinced myself going into this with Troy that it’s strictly sex. Sneaking around and breaking the code of conduct is addicting, but so is Troy Murillo. Now I find myself wondering when I’ll see him next and wishing I’d given him a way to contact me during the weekend.

  We’ve rendezvoused in what feels like every closet and vacant classroom in this entire school, and I want to know what it’ll be like to be with him in a room and on a bed. Every day that goes by, he becomes less of a student and more of an equal to me.

  That’s not allowed.

  That will get us caught.

  So, I’m holding on to one of the only things I have left: my name.

  I pull my arm free from his grasp. “I’ll see you tomorrow during class. I don’t have the energy to argue with you right now.”

  He follows me into the hallway, following at a safe distance not to stir suspicion from any lingering faculty or student body. We part ways once we’re outside, heading to different parking lots. I expect to feel relief once I’m in my car surrounded by my own things, but loneliness only settles deeper into the pit of my stomach.

  I start the car and reverse out of my parking spot, determined to put distance between myself and Troy. Once I get home, I’ll have a bath and a drink to reset. I’ll return to school tomorrow with stronger determination and a mean game face.

  Troy won�
��t call me by my first name. He won’t try to hold my hand, or rub my back, or ask me how my fucking day was. I won’t allow these things anymore. If he wants to carry on with our arrangement, he’s going to follow the damn rules.

  Strictly sex.

  We need to leave our feelings at the door.

  When I happen to pull onto the street right behind Troy’s truck, forgetting my developing feelings is easier said than done. I smack the palm of my hand against the steering wheel and whisper, “Go home, Samantha. Do not follow him. Don’t you dare follow him.”

  Our eyes meet in his rear-view mirror, and it’s in this exact moment, I know I’ll follow this guy anywhere. I’m grateful I filled up my gas tank this morning when he drives out of town, toward the beach.

  Every few miles, Troy checks to make sure I’m on his tail.

  Every few miles, I dismiss the tiny nagging voice inside of me that says to turn around and head home.

  Troy leads me to the tree-covered cliffs above town, beyond the closest neighborhood and far away from prying eyes. Prickling nervousness eases as mountainsides replace coffee chains and gas stations. As we climb in elevation, the weight I’ve carried on my shoulders for the last month rises too. A long way away from the ruckus at school, it’s easy to zero in on the reasons why I like Mr. Murillo so much. It’s also very simple to dismiss the reasons why I shouldn’t.

  At the top of the world, overlooking the never-ending ocean and the city we live in, I finally exhale. We waste no time, parking inside the veil of trees before running into each other’s arms. But this is no romantic tryst. We don’t embrace longingly or kiss softly. There’s no apologizing or explaining.

  Troy is angry.

  He’s assertive.

  He takes what’s his.

  I taste sea salt on his lips and rage on his tongue. He holds me around my waist with one hand and yanks the pencil holding my hair in a bun with the other. Dark tresses cascade down my back and Troy wraps his fingers in them, pulling my head back to suck on my neck.

  “No marks,” I say with a betraying moan as my eyes roll back.

  “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, Miss Gray,” he replies.

  Troy pushes me backward until the back of my legs hit the front bumper of my car. The grill is warm from the drive here, and the hood bends under my weight as I lay back. Under the late afternoon sun, Troy drags his hands down my body and reaches under my skirt for my underwear. He pulls satin and lace down my legs, leaving them hanging from my ankle.

  My skin burns from the heat of the engine and the heat of my wanting. I open my legs for him, allowing him to see how wet he makes me. His eyes are disloyal to his haste, unmoving and memorizing while the rest of his body moves hurriedly to unbutton his jeans and roll a condom on his hard cock.

  Hooking my ankles around the back of his thighs, I pull him against me. But we’re not in my classroom, and I’m not in charge this time. Troy thrusts within me, but not inside of me. He holds my wrists above my head, hovering over me, blocking out the sky.

  “Do you like it when I fuck you, Miss Gray?" he asks, bucking against me.

  I circle my hips, hoping to trap him, hoping to trick him inside of me to no use. He’s stronger and bigger than in me in all ways, and I’m at his mercy.

  “Answer me,” he growls. Troy bites my nipple over my shirt, and I cry out. “Do you like it when my tongue is in your pussy? My fingers? My dick?”

  “Please,” I beg, curving my back and tightening my legs around him.

  Troy’s length slides between my folds, rubbing against my clit. It’s so, so, so good, but it’s not even close to being enough. No amount of effort convinces him to end the foreplay and drive into me like I want.

  “Do you like it when we fuck at school knowing we can be caught at any moment? Do you like it when I’m inside of you, holding my hand over your mouth so the other teachers don’t hear you moan?”

  “Yes!” I say.

  I am a livewire.

  I am energy, tethered and sizzling.

  Unleash me, and I’ll make him pay for this.

  “Do you want me to fuck you right now?” Troy asks with a dangerous smirk on his lips. Green eyes dilate as he takes in my struggle. His cock unbelievably hardens as I fight against his hold, massive amid my soaking arousal.

  "Troy, please," I beg again. My chest heaves up and down, and my hands go numb from the loss of circulation.

  “Your hand is already raised, Miss Gray,” Troy says. He circles his pelvis against me. “Call me Mr. Murillo and ask for permission to be fucked.”

  Tingles flood my nervous system, and I don’t need him inside of me to come. But it would be so much better. The need for him to satisfy me is stronger than my need to be in control. The instructor in me takes a seat, and I give in.

  “Please, Mr. Murillo, may I be fucked?” I ask.

  Troy drops his head, tightening his grip on my wrists. He shudders, but he doesn’t give me what I want yet.

  “We have to hurry,” I continue, feeding his ego. “We have to be quiet, Mr. Murillo. The other students might hear. We might be caught.”

  Troy looks up at me with a smile on his lips, and I can’t take it anymore. He does insane things to me with his eyes and lips and unwavering determination to be with me. And right now, at the very top of the world, we can pretend to be in a classroom if that’s what he wants, but he won’t be covering my mouth to keep me quiet. Not this time.

  “Troy,” I whisper settling down my fight and handing myself over completely. “I need you.”

  It’s in my submission that he finally slides into me and releases his grasp on my wrists. Blood floods into my hands as he pours into me, and I cry out loud enough to scare the birds from branches.

  He’s unforgiving, and I’m uncontained.

  Cooling metal bows under the pressure of our bodies. Bare skin skids against the dented hood as I urge him to give me more of what he has. I couldn’t care less about my car as Troy slams his pelvis into me, stroking as hard and as deep as his body will allow.

  Messing around on school grounds is tantalizing and dangerous. Fucking under the clear blue sky is freeing.

  Tutoring is my favorite.

  7

  “Please don’t tell me you pulled the fire alarm so we can mess around in here?” Outside of our janitorial supply closet, the school fire alarm wails up and down the hallway and in every classroom and office. “You’ll get expelled if you get caught, Troy.”

  He hums against my neck and slips his hands under my shirt and bra, cupping my bare breasts. My nipples harden against the palms of his hands, and he gently nibbles the soft skin atop my shoulder.

  “I’ve been hard since first period,” he says. He pushes himself against my leg to prove it. “Had a dream about you last night, Miss Gray.”

  Smiling at the possibilities, I say, “I want details.”

  Troy pulls down the shoulder of my top, dragging my bra strap with it. He exposes my breast, groaning as he eyes my hard, pink nipple. He flicks the little nub with his tongue.

  “I was in a tux,” he says. He takes me into his mouth and sucks, and I hold his head to my chest. “You were in a dress.”

  “Sounds like you have prom on the brain,” I reply breathlessly.

  “I was ripping the fucking thing off of you,” he adds with a growl as if he'd like nothing more than to make his dreams come true right now.

  The noises of evacuation go on just outside our closet door. I hear the distinct sound of Mrs. Chopra’s voice over the alarm and chatter from curious teenagers. I can picture her with a walkie-talkie, using it as a pointer stick, directing the way out the doors.

  “If there was really a fire, you’d all burn down at this pace,” she says. “The fire drill procedure does not include grabbing your cell phones before evacuation. I promise your Snapgrams and Twitters won’t go up in flames without your electronic devices.”

  The fact that they’re not rounded up outside yet means everyone�
�s well aware the alarm was pulled by a naughty individual. Every student and faculty on payroll will need to be accounted for before Mrs. Chopra will allow us back inside the building. We have ten minutes max before she realizes I’m not with my class. I need to show my face before she calls for help.

  Normally, I wouldn’t object a search and rescue from the local fire department, but I don’t want to be caught with my shirt down.

  "As much as I'd like to help with your predicament, Mr. Murillo, I need to get outside. You shouldn’t have pulled the fire alarm.”

  “I needed to see you,” he insists.

  “Graduation is in a month,” I remind him. “Don’t risk anything that can keep you from getting that diploma.”

  A troublemaker’s smile spreads across his face, and I know I asked for what he’s about to say.

  “Like getting a blow job from my English teacher?”

  I shove him away and correct my shirt, unable to keep from the small grin from bending my lips. “There’s no time for that now.”

  He drops his head back. “You’re killing me, Miss Gray.”

  “Schools out in thirty minutes. You’ll be fine, Troy.”

  Impatience leans against the door with the nerve to look like a dark-haired James Dean. If our entire futures weren’t on the line, I’d gladly drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. Watching the way his lips part and his long eyelashes brush across his cheekbones as I suck every inch of him is my favorite thing to do. He never takes his eyes off me, and it makes me feel … stellar.

  “Go to prom with me,” he blurts out.

  I throw my hands in the air. “Are you high? Did you smoke a joint at lunch today?”

  Scrubbing his hands up and down his face, Troy laughs. “Will you at least be there?”

  “I didn’t sign up to chaperone.” The truth is, I didn’t want to stand around and watch Troy spend an evening with someone else. Jealously shocks my heart by simply thinking about him dancing with someone besides myself.

  Prom posters have been on the walls for over a month. The dance is mentioned in the morning announcements, and it’s all the kids talk about during class. Girls discuss their dresses and whether they’ll wear their hair up or down, and the boys want to know where the after party is. One week until the big event.