“This is bad,” Sloth mumbles.
“He hit me, and I just took him down. I didn’t…I don’t…”
“Breathe,” Micah steps in, nodding. “You’re not alone in this.”
“We’ll get rid of the body.” Envy shrugs a shoulder, like he’s talking about moving a fucking couch. “The swamp. Gators will take care of it.”
“It’s not an it. It’s a fucking person. Christ,” Wrath grinds out, sifting a hand through his hair.
Think…
Think…
As the alpha, I need to do something. Rhett doesn’t deserve to go to jail because he was protecting himself from a fucking abuser. I don’t need to know the reason to know it still ain’t right to hit your kid. Too many times in the system have I taken a fist, wishing I could fight back. Do exactly what he did.
“No, Envy is right. We protect our brother. We get rid of the evidence,” I say, earning a few raised brows. A round of silence falls upon us until we all snap into action and get down to business.
Dead body.
Bury.
Brotherhood.
Fuck! This is not where I saw my night going.
Megan
Eighteen…
Eighteen…
Eighteen!
I had sex with my eighteen-year-old student!
No, not just sex. Dirty, kinky, mind-blowing sex with my eighteen-year-old student!
“Ahhh!” I cry, throwing myself face first onto my bed, groaning at the soreness of being on my feet all day. How did I not think to ask? And what the hell should I have said? Oh, hey, by the way, you’re of age and not my student before I test out my fantasies on you, right? I start kicking and banging my fists, having a five-year-old tantrum. I knew I shouldn’t have gone through with it. Those damn romance books! I blame all of them. For years I’ve ached to try something spontaneous. Feed those cravings. I needed to just try. Kink, role playing. Toys. I’d been reading those sweet romance novels ever since I was a kid. But as of late, my tastes have changed. The forbidden books no one talks about. Taboos, BDSM. God, my blood warms just at the mention. It was bringing out a side of me I was unfamiliar with. I had a taste for something dark. I wasn’t a virgin by any means, but I just never pushed anything beyond the typical missionary experience. It was nice, sure. But it wasn’t hot. It wasn’t fulfilling for me. I had a boyfriend once who I tried going just a step further than the typical vanilla sex route. I’d gone online and bought some lotions and went as far as a butt plug. I’d presented it to him on our six-month anniversary, dressed in red see-through lingerie. My gift to him was my body and allowing him free range. I hoped he would pick up what I was throwing down, but the only thing he picked up was his minimal things around my apartment when he dumped me.
I realized maybe I was being silly with my urges and returned the items I bought. I stored those dirty books away and tried to alter my reading back to the lighter, fluffier stuff. But that hunger didn’t go away. I would sit in class and imagine myself being spanked. Daydream while at the laundry mat, a stranger tying me up and taking me in all my intimate spots. God, I practically had an orgasm while grocery shopping mentally visualizing being down on my knees and gagging on a large cock. What had been wrong with me! Then, one day I decided to take the plunge. If this was an itch that was never going away, I had to scratch it and move on.
So, I bought a bunch of toys.
I started small, like hand cuffs, a ball gag, and butt plugs. I shopped at an online kink store for an outfit, and when the weekend came, I searched out the dingiest bar in town. Not only was I a teacher, but the daughter of a prestigious Real Estate Tycoon. My family was heavily involved at the university. Not only was my aunt a high ranked counselor, my uncle was the dean! If I ever got caught, it would not only hurt my reputation, but my family’s. And what would it do to my father?
So, I played it smart. But not smart enough. Who would ever imagine, the first time I go out and test my deepest, naughtiest desires, I end up having sex with a student? But how was I really supposed to know he was only eighteen? He perceived to be at least twenty-five. His build and large frame. No doubt anyone would mistake him for a man. “Oh god,” I moan, shoving my face harder into my comforter. He’s not a man. He’s a boy. A boy with a cock bigger than any dick you’ve ever had inside you. Not to mention how well he knew how to use that bad boy. Thank god it was Sunday when I snuck out of that motel room. I had been so sore from the wild ride he gave me, I doubt I would’ve been able to stand all day and teach.
Even thinking back to that night, there was nothing that would have triggered my acknowledgement that he was so young. He held himself with such fierceness. He was rugged, all muscle, and not to mention the added bonus of his sexy tattoos covering both his arms. If there was anyone that fit my fantasy of a wild night of raunchy sex, it was him. And there was no doubt I picked right. His stamina was exactly what I craved. He worked me, fucked me, devoured me in every way I could have ever asked for.
“Ugh,” I moan, curling into the fetal position. My sex begins to pulsate at the memory. My hand strokes between my legs, in hopes to dull the ache, but it only intensifies it. I picture his thick fingers as I pull up my skirt and rub against my clit. His tongue inside me as he licks away my arousal. I push my panties to the side at the mental visual of his cock, his deep voice demanding I watch as the tip of him slides inside me. “Jesus…” I moan again, inserting a finger, my eyes tightly shut. I begin to fuck myself, masturbating to the image of his hard features staring down at me, his cock inside me and the smell of him, tequila and all man, in the air. “Yes…yes…” I praise, working myself faster and faster, until my walls close in around my finger, my stomach tightens, and I orgasm, soaking my finger with my release.
Slowly removing my hand, I roll over onto my back. “What in the hell am I doing?” I ask myself, still feeling the high of my fantasy orgasm. I just masturbated to the thought of my sexy student—my student, who I shouldn’t be thinking of while I masturbate. “God, I’m in trouble,” I groan, rolling off the bed to shower. The problem is, the first thing I think about when I undress and start the shower is us back in the motel, him taking me in the bathroom and thoroughly fucking me hard against the bathroom counter before bringing me under the warm spray, using his mouth to lick all intimate parts of me clean.
The second the warm water hits my body, my hands find their way back to my aching folds.
“Dammit. I have no willpower,” I moan as I go for another solo mission.
Mason
Alive.
He was fucking alive.
We were seconds away from dumping Rhett’s father’s body into a marsh to be ripped into shreds by the alligators, thinking he was dead. The anger still flows through me at how careless we all were. But that night, besides all the fucked-up shit that went down, something else happened. We bonded. Truly became brothers. The Elite shit may have brought us together, but watching every single brother step up to protect their own, it gave me a small sense of pride, funny as that may be, that I had them all at my back.
I push the rest of that night, and the clear threat I made to Rhett’s father out of my head, I refocus on my current task at hand.
Megan Benedict.
I’m scribbling down notes on my pad of paper, trying to keep up with her as she speed-talks, the passion in her voice hot as fuck. I keep losing my train of thought every time I think about the other night, but the eyeful I get of her taut little ass in that skirt sets me right.
Before class, she grabbed my attention, addressing me by Mr. Blackwell, which turned me on and made her rosy cheeks flush, and invited me to a study session after class if I was available. I had to be insane not to accept. Even though her cute, yet professional invitation was unneeded. I’d been deep inside her. There was no need to be so formal.
Since learning her relationship with Lillian, I’ve started my research. Googling and trying to find a connection between her and The Elite, but nothing. Everything that had her name attached to it was positive. Perfect grades, perfect background. Perfect family. There was nothing that stated Megan Benedict was anything but what she perceived to be. And that was innocent. I needed to find out the story behind her and Lillian’s relationship. Why would she want to do this to her own family? I needed answers—and fast. It was only a matter of time before Lillian beckoned me, demanding a finished task.
Megan turns from the chalkboard, comes to sit next to me, and leans over to see what I’ve accomplished. “You know, I’m not sure why you think you need my help. You seem to be picking this all up pretty quickly.” She uses the back of her hand to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face, and I get a whiff of her floral shampoo.
“You can tell all that from my chicken scratch?” I examine the last hour of notes I took. My writing is horrible, and half the shit she wrote on the board, I don’t understand what it means.
“Sure. It shows you’re working hard to understand it. Sometimes taking notes in your own writing helps. When I was in college, I had to rewrite them at least three times before the information sunk in.” My brows crease at the thought of having to do this shit over three more times. “Hulk no like taking notes?” she jokes, but her laughter quickly dies off when she realizes what she just called me. “Oh, I’m…shoot, I didn’t mean—”