The Unrequited Read online

  “Then what name would you like me to say?”

  “Mine. Say my name.”

  I shudder thinking about yesterday when he forced me to remember his name as I sucked him off. Oh God, his cock. His taste. The length of it, the weight. I could write poems about it, and I’m not even a legit poet yet. And his words. My cunt is still wet from his filthy poetry, as if my lust never went to sleep.

  In fact, it has evolved into something stronger, angrier.

  My fingers fist his shirt and I jerk him closer to me. “I’m hungry.”

  He watches me with hooded eyes. “Is that right?”

  I hook my leg over his waist, going up on my tiptoes, and pout, “Yes. Starving. And I want to eat your cock. I promise to not use my teeth.”

  I wonder when I became so bold as to say such things. I wasn’t so courageous last night. I wasn’t this courageous even a minute ago. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s this achy feeling inside me.

  His swollen flesh jerks between our bodies. “Why should I let you do that? What’s in it for me?”

  I want to slap him. Stomp on his foot. Shake him.

  Can’t he see how mad I am right now? How fucking jealous? I’m out of control, but now I know what game to play, what game will make him lose his mind.

  I tuck my face between his shoulder and neck, and toy with the top button of his shirt. “Because I’m gonna make it good for you.”

  “Yeah? How are you gonna do that?” His lazy, indulgent voice is making me see double right now. The lust is so thick and potent in my veins.

  I become a poet in this moment and describe my filthy thoughts in detail, in my tiny voice—the voice he likes so much.

  “I’ll give it a lick first. There’s this…this groove in the middle. I’m going to pay special attention to that, and then I’ll nibble on it so that white stuff? You know the stuff that’s salty and slippery? Your pre-cum? It’ll ooze out, and then I’m gonna lick that up too. Then I’m gonna suck and suck until I get my prize at the end, and then I’m gonna swallow all of it.”

  Our breaths have escalated. His fingers on my ass flex and knead and run in circles. Every time they lift up more of my skirt. I wish I weren’t wearing my tights. I wish I were naked underneath.

  Christ, what’s wrong with me?

  It’s the middle of the day. This building is alive. There’s a tap, tap, tap of computers. The ringing of a phone somewhere. Footsteps. All of this should make me want to stop and turn back, but it just makes me even hornier. The fact that people around us are unaware of the depravity inside these four walls makes it even more appealing.

  His face is harsh, nostrils flaring. Maybe the same things are running through his head as he growls, “If this is your way of driving me crazy, then you better make it good, Layla. Because my cock is hungry too, and it won’t be full until it feeds on your pussy and eats out all your cum.”

  I want to smile with victory but I’m busy being super turned on. I move away from him and watch his body go lax, as if he’s surrendering himself to me. It’s such a surreal moment that I feel dizzy, with power, with lust.

  He knows what I want.

  He can see how hard up I am for his cock and in a very, very surprising move, he is giving it to me, letting me be in control.

  I push him back and he goes easily. I keep going until he drops into his chair, making it squeak like crazy. I almost moan out loud. I crouch on my feet, careful about my banged up knee, and tuck myself under the desk. It’s enclosed on three sides, turning it into a dark, erotically claustrophobic space.

  I rest my palms on Thomas’ thighs, bringing him closer to me. His muscles strain under my fingers and I can’t stop myself from tracing the hard patterns with my hands. Up and down. Up and down. His muscles grow tighter by the second. The bulge of his cock is thicker.

  In this moment, my hands mold him. I’m the sculptor who creates him.

  I manage to open his belt, followed by the zipper. He maneuvers himself and helps me take out his cock. He hisses as I run my hands all over it. I answer him with a long sigh.

  Last night, he took my virgin mouth and abused it, but today, I use it against him. Today my mouth is greedier, hornier, a seductive beast of teeth and tongue that sucks him and sucks him like my life depends on it.

  The veins in his forearms are ready to jump through his skin with the need to touch me, yet he doesn’t move his hands from the armrest. My body feels heavy with the power. I yank off my coat and top and expose my tits.

  Thomas almost jumps off the chair at my actions. The creak of it hits my cunt, making it pant with need. He’s mesmerized by my body, hypnotized by it, and I put on a show for him. I play with my nipples and he curses, says my name in a helpless moan.

  A rush of power douses me and the world loses its meaning. I don’t care about anything but sucking his cock forever. I never want to stop, not for anything.

  Not even for the jarring knock at his door.

  Thomas rips my mouth away from his shaft and sits upright. There’s a click and I realize I forgot to lock the door. Shit.

  “Thomas,” a man says.

  “Jake.” His voice is tight, tighter than usual, but nothing that would suggest there’s a student hiding under his desk. I put a fist over my mouth to muffle the sounds of my breathing. As if Thomas knows I’m hyperventilating, he puts a reassuring hand on my head.

  Electric current runs through my spine as he keeps talking, while maintaining contact with me at the same time. “What do you want?”

  “Whoa, is that how you talk to your boss?”

  Thomas caresses my hair, petting me as he takes a deep breath and replies, “What do you want, Jake? I’m a little busy right now.”

  “Really? Too busy for a coffee run?” There’s suspicion in his voice.

  God, I’m terrified and so fucking turned on at the same time. His wet, hard cock is right in front of my eyes, and I want to touch it so bad.

  “Aren’t you gonna die without your chocolate fix?” Professor Masters continues.

  Biting my lip, I eye the angry head of his dick, glistening with my saliva. What would Thomas do if I licked it right now? Sucked it? Would he be mad for making him lose control in front of a colleague, his boss? Or would he be as turned on as me?

  As I advance toward him, I realize I don’t care. I just want to suck his cock. I’m hungry. I need it in my mouth, and if he loses control, then so be it. He makes me feel out of control pretty much all the time.

  “I think I’ll survive,” Thomas says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got papers to grade.”

  “Why the fuck are you sweating?”

  I latch on to his shaft just as Professor Master’s suspicion-laced question reaches Thomas. A creak sounds as he jumps under the double assault caused by me and the inquiry, his hand fisting my hair.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Y-Yeah.” Thomas clears his throat and tightens his fist in my hair to the point that it hurts, and I take it out on his throbbing cock. “I’m a little tense, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “Upcoming audit,” he clips. I suck and suck and play with his balls. I feel them tightening in my hands to alert of the impending orgasm. Even though it’s my mouth that’s going to receive his cum, my pussy is getting excited, pushing out juices.

  Professor Masters says something to soothe Thomas’ fake worries and Thomas tells him he’ll be fine in a while. They talk some more but I tune them out except for Thomas’ voice. Lust is leaching into it, making it brittle, breakable.

  I’ve never been this horny in my life. Graphic images of Thomas spraying his cum on my face flash through my mind, images of him losing total control and yanking me out from under the desk, and fucking me in front of Professor Masters and the whole goddamn world like he talked about last night. I trap a furious moan in my throat. I picture his ass flexing as he drives into me and I look every single person in the eye, especially that Melanie, and tell her how good his dick f
eels inside me. He hurts me so good. Sooo good. I’m such a slut for his cock.

  It’s strange that my jealousy doesn’t extend to his wife. Maybe because I’ve always known that Thomas is hers, but seeing him with someone else messes with my crazy heart.

  I’m the only other woman in his life.

  And then my heart jumps in my throat and all thoughts are forgotten. Thomas pulls me by the hair and I’m yanked out of the dark hole I’ve been in. Panic and excitement grip me in equal measures as he turns me around and pushes me on the desk, crushing my bare tits on the surface. Professor Masters is gone. The door is closed. When did that happen?

  “Stay there,” he orders. I see him striding across the room and locking the door. Then he is behind me in a flash, his hand in my hair as he pulls me away from the desk.

  “You like playing games, Layla?” he hisses in my ear, his chest moving against my arched back. “You like making me mad, huh?”

  His voice makes my nipples throb and I have no choice but to squeeze my breasts as I answer, “I just…I just wanted to show you how I feel around you.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “L-Like a loaded gun. Like I could go off at any second. I just wanted you to know what it feels like to be so wild.”

  His bitter laugh stirs my hair. “Wild like this?” He thrusts his cock into my skirt-covered ass, letting me feel his swollen desire. His hands cover mine where I’m squeezing my breasts and smash them together. “Or like this? Like you can’t stop playing with your tits for one fucking second? You think this is what wild feels like?” He is crushing them and I arch up to my tiptoes to get closer to him. Always closer. I want to fucking crawl under his skin.

  “You have no fucking idea, do you?” he says harshly. “I’m gonna show you though. I’m going to show you what it feels like to be wild, what it feels like when you are around me.”

  A sob breaks free when he plasters me back on the desk. He flips my skirt up and pushes my tights and my panties down, exposing my ass. My cheeks are trembling with anticipation when he puts both his hands on them, and squeezes them like he did my breasts. I turn my face to the side so I can see him.

  He is bathed in sweat. It trickles down his forehead, the side of his face, and disappears down the collar of his shirt. Even his eyelashes shine with the salty fluids. They look so thick and black framing his downcast eyes.

  I release a puff of breath as he grabs a handful of my ass cheeks and pull them apart. My eyes scrunch closed, imagining what he must be looking at: my pussy and my…asshole. I go on tiptoes again, this time inching away from him as he circles a thumb on that forbidden place. It clenches and unclenches with his every stroke.

  His chuckle is dark, shiver-inducing. “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you in the ass right now? Is that why you’re winking your tight little hole at me?”

  I whimper when he presses his thumb, poised to get in. “Answer me, Layla. Is that what you want right now?”

  “No,” I whisper. “I don’t…I don’t know. It’s…It’s going to hurt.”

  “Yeah. It will.” He leans over me. “But tell you what, I won’t spoil the fun for you. I won’t take your ass right now. One day when you’re so mindless with my cock pounding into your pussy that you don’t know up from down, I’ll shove it in your tight little hole, making you scream.” I’m quaking beneath him, hypnotized by his voice, by him.

  “Remember when I told you I’ll set you on fire and won’t even look back?” He strokes my sweaty hair and whispers in my ear, “That’s how I’ll do it, while fucking your ass. I’ll pour the gasoline, light the match, and watch you burn, Layla—and trust me, you’re going to love it. I’m going to ruin you for every other man out there and you’re going to love every second of it.”

  God. God. I think I’m dead. I’m in heaven and hell. In another stratosphere. I’m everywhere. He has shattered me with his dark promises, broken me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be pieced back together.

  “Not today though.” He moves away, one hand on the nape of my neck, keeping me down. “No. Today I’m going to show you something else. Today I’m going to show you how I burn.”

  With that, he shoves his cock in me and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. He isn’t gentle. He doesn’t give me time to adjust to his size. He is hurting me—my pussy is going to be sore for a long time—but nothing matters when his hips are slapping my ass with every stab of his cock, when he is grunting over me, probably sweating and panting. I wish I could open my eyes and look at him, but the hurt is so good.

  Winding his hand in my hair, he jerks me upright, changing the angle of his thrusts. He is pressing against the upper wall of my cunt, making me feel him in my stomach. The force of his hold is so tight, so mighty that my neck is arched up and I’m looking at his fierce face upside down, my chin tucked under his.

  “I feel like I’m sick, Layla. Burning up. Sweating. Like every cell in my body is vibrating.” His teeth are gritted, his words infused with his lust and exertion. “It starts in my gut. Then it travels up to my chest and shoulders, and I feel a raging pain in the back of my skull. That’s when I know I’m going to catch fire any second if I don’t get it under control, if I don’t stop thinking about you.”

  The pressure in my stomach is unrelenting. It feels like I’m going to burst or pee or something. “Th-Thomas. Too much. It’s…” I trail off with watering eyes.

  “Not enough. It’s not enough.” He jams his cock inside, probably touching my insane heart, and rotates his hips. It’s a good thing his other hand goes to cover my mouth because I can’t keep the scream inside this time. Neither can I keep my tears held up. They stream down, wetting his palm.

  His nostrils flare at the sight but he doesn’t stop. God, he does not stop. He keeps going, keeps jackhammering, and I…

  “You love it. Yeah?” he rasps, completing my thought. “Maybe that’s why you forgot to lock the door the first time around. Maybe you wanted to get caught, wanted people to see how much you love my cock. Isn’t that right? You want everyone to see you like this.”

  I blink in agreement. That’s all I’ve got the strength for. He lets go of my hair with a grunt and drops his forehead in the crook of my neck. His strokes are erratic now, like he’s inching closer to his climax.

  Now that my neck isn’t stretched tight, I can take full breaths. My fingers sink into his hair. It’s peaceful like this. His violence, his aggression put me at ease. I never want to leave his arms, this room. I want to be with him forever.

  My eyes jerk open at the thought. No. Not forever. This is not forever.

  “Rub your clit. I want you to get yourself off.”

  All thoughts evaporate at his commanding voice and I do as he says. I flick my clit and play with my puffy nipples.

  “This is what I think about,” he bites. “It doesn’t even matter if you’re around. This. Bursting every door down so I can get to your pussy. All I can think about is fucking you, Layla. All the time. Every time. You’re in my fucking blood, and I’ll tear apart anyone who dares to fucking touch you.”

  That’s when I come. My body strains, goes rigid as I come at his confession—a confession that seems to be torn out of his very soul. It sharpens my orgasm, makes it that much more painful and fulfilling.

  I feel him come inside me. It’s only then I realize he’s wearing a condom. I was so gone in my lust that I didn’t even know when he put it on. His climax is a silent one, probably because he said too much before.

  He lets me go and strokes my sweaty spine in soothing circles. His touch finally calms me, and I smile a sleepy smile.

  Thomas was jealous. It did affect him.

  I don’t remember having been this happy for a long, long time.

  Words are powerful. Words are fucking magnificent. I love all things words.

  I’m flying today with Lana’s voice in my ears, all because Thomas gave me the words. You’re in my fucking blood, and I’ll tear apart anyone who
dares to fucking touch you.

  I never knew something as potent and ugly as jealousy could invoke such happy emotions in me. I could kiss Dylan again just to feel Thomas’ aggression. It makes me wonder if everyone is like that, if it’s normal to feel this way, to be so needy for something.

  I open the door to my apartment and all thoughts about kissing Dylan vanish when I see Emma crying on the couch. I rush to her side. “What’s wrong?”

  She sniffs. “Dylan and I broke up.”

  “What?” I give her a side hug. “B-But why?” Is it because he kissed me? I want to add, but I can’t, because it’s going to hurt her—and what if she blames me?

  “Because he’s being a jerk.”

  “What happened? What…What did he do?” I pat her back in circles. Any second now, she’ll knock my hand off and break up this friendship.

  “He accused me of cheating.” She scrunches up her face. “As if I’d ever do such a thing. I’m not a slut.”

  “With Matt?”

  “How do you know that?” Emma is suspicious.

  Shit. My big mouth. I don’t know if I should tell her what happened this morning, how I lied to her so I could meet Dylan and then he fucking kissed me. That idiot. I’m lying to her so much as it is, or rather not telling. I’m like your mom—well, I’m the female version of the man who wrecked your family. Now, can we be BFFs?

  I look at Emma’s tear-stained face and think of all the troubles she’s been having these past few days. Whose fault is that? Theirs for fighting over something that happened in the past? Or her mom’s for doing something terrible years ago? Or is it mine? Did I do a wrong thing by getting them together? But they loved each other. It was so obvious. If you love someone, you should be with them, end of story.

  God, things don’t make sense anymore. I can’t tell what’s right or wrong. Is love even worth all this trouble?

  I decide I can’t lie to Emma more than necessary. She’s my friend. “Uh, I…well, I know that because—”

  “I know he kissed you,” she informs me.