Eighteen: 18

He unbuckles his belt.

“What are you doing?” I ask, really in a panic.

“Fucking you,” he says. And in my head I imagine that he says it mean, or rude, or condescending. But he doesn’t. He says it like it’s already happened.

“You can’t fuck me.”

“I can if you don’t stop me.” He grabs my hand and places it over the hard bulge under his jeans, rubbing, moving my fingers back and forth along his shaft. His eyes narrow with pleasure and then he lets go, but I continue.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, his attention back to the task of setting himself free. And a moment later his cock springs out. Long and thick, the head swollen and the tip ready. He pulls a condom out of his back pocket and rolls it down his shaft.

I gulp air.

“Unbutton your jeans, Shannon.”

I do. I unbutton them. I unzip them before he even asks. And then I lift my hips up so he can drag them down my thighs. He leaves them on, bunched up at my knees, and then he lifts my legs up towards my shoulders, dips his head under and licks my pussy.

I almost come immediately.

“Are you a virgin?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good,” he whispers back. “Because I don’t have the patience for that.”

He sucks on me, teasing my clit, swirling it around in little circles. It’s so intense my hand flies down to his head, almost ready to push him off me.

But he stops for a moment, and says, “Be still. And don’t come yet.”

I moan. I don’t know if I can control it. I’ve never had a problem achieving an orgasm, but I swear, I don’t ever remember being so turned on before. It’s the door, I think. The open door. I imagine myself walking by, getting a glimpse of his muscled body taking me this way on a makeshift desk in the middle of a classroom.

Wetness pools between my legs and he hums, “Mmmmm,” as his tongue does that dance.

He swipes over my clit and I grab his hair. Handfuls of it in my fists. I don’t know what comes over me except that I’m consumed with need. I push on his head, urging him to go deeper. And then his fingers are there and… and…

I just explode.

I’m not a screamer, I swear, but I scream.

He laughs, pulls back, pumps his dick a few times, and then enters me. And as rough as it was a few seconds ago, that’s how soft it is now. Long, slow movements. In and out, the friction of his cock spreading me. I just don’t know what to do except lie there and enjoy it.

He leans over the table and I can smell him. He smells like motorcycle oil, and leather, and sweat, and desire. He smells like me too. He smells like a man.

“I’m gonna come on that shirt,” he says. “Because it’s not yours.”

And before I can say no, he does. He pulls out, rips the condom off, and comes all over the t-shirt that isn’t even mine.

We look at each other for a few seconds and then he lets out a breath and pulls away.

I swallow down the realization of what we just did as he tucks his dick away and buckles his pants. He combs his hand over his messed-up hair and then looks me in the eye as I lie there on the desk, my legs still spread open before him. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a month.”

It takes several seconds for that sentence to register. “What?”

He takes my hand and pulls me up, then hikes my jeans back up my legs. “OK, now that we got that out of the way, we still gotta work. Go clean up and get your ass back here. You have three minutes.”

“What?”

“Now, Shannon.”

Chapter Nine

My phone dings in my backpack while I’m in the bathroom.

Sunday: What time?

Jesus Christ. I managed to stay away from boys for a whole month and then in one day, I’ve got two guys. It’s not my fault, and I should not lead Sunday on, but I need to get out of here. No way I’m staying.

Shannon: Now.

Sunday: On my way.

I can’t even go back in that classroom. I cannot believe I just let Mateo fuck me like that. Slut.

Two knocks on the door, and then Mateo peeks his head in. “Let’s go.”

I shake my head at him. “No. My boyfriend is coming to get me.”

He stares at me. Expressionless. Several seconds flash by. “You do not have a boyfriend.”

I nod, slowly. “I do. And… and… I don’t care if I fail or if I never graduate. I’m not coming back here. I’m gonna do those science tests at home this weekend and be done with this.”

He considers this for a moment. His lips purse a little and his eyes briefly fall to the floor, then recover and find mine again. “You should’ve said no if you didn’t want to.”

“I shouldn’t have had to say no. You’re a fucking teacher.”

“I’m not really a teacher, Shannon. I’m a private contractor. And you never said no.”

“I never said yes.”

“You think I raped you?”

“No,” I say, swallowing. I don’t really think that. I’m pretty sure girls who come like that aren’t getting raped. But this guy has bad written all over him. “You’ve been watching me? How long? A month, you said? You didn’t even know me until yesterday. So just what the fuck?”

He rubs his scratchy beard and I have to close my eyes as I imagine how that felt nestled between my legs. “You need a day to process? Fine. But you better be here tomorrow.”

He turns to leave, but I stop him with, “Or what?”

He doesn’t turn back. Just lets the door close in his absence.

I stay in the bathroom for a few more minutes, trying to plan my escape from the building. But it’s dumb. Mateo is gone. Probably walked straight out of the building.

And he lied. There are people here. A janitor, one class still going. A lady in the office. Jesus Christ. Did any of them hear me? See us?

I feel a little pool of wetness between my legs at that thought.

Outside it’s cool and dark, but only because it’s January. I hate the weather here in Southern California. Hate it. I can’t even explain how three hundred and sixty days of sunshine pisses me off. And that rain yesterday just fucked with my head. Made me homesick or something.

Sunday. He was a good find though.

Mateo. He was… well, a good fuck, for sure.

I spot Sunday’s black Acura and walk out into the parking lot to meet him. It’s only then that I realize Mateo is sitting in a white Mustang with double blue racing stripes running down the hood a few rows away. He’s fucking watching me.

And who drives a car like that? I mean, come on.

Sunday pulls up and I hurry to the door, pulling it open, slipping inside, and slamming it shut as fast as I can. I want to scream, Drive! But I take a breath and when he looks over and says, “Hey,” I force myself to relax.

“Hey.”

“Everything OK?”

“Yeah. Just tired, you know.”

He nods and looks down at the steering wheel. “Yeah, about that. Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”

“Um.” Fuck. I haven’t even had time to think about Jason. “No,” I finally decide. “I should go home. Patch things up.”

“You sure? Because you can stay at Phil’s. I won’t even bother you there.”