Chapter 3 Lecture Heat
1347 Words
Sheila’s POV
The classroom makes me feel small.
Everyone looks so polished, so perfect, like they were born for this place.
The girls glide into their seats with their glossy hair and designer bags.
The guys joke with each other like they have been friends since birth.
I sit at the back with my notebook, clutching my pen too tightly, wishing I could disappear.
I know I am the scholarship girl.
The swimmer with callused hands and shoulders too broad for the silk tops they wear.
The girl who doesn’t belong.
I keep my head down, pretending to read the first line of my notes even though the words blur.
I tell myself I will just survive the hour.
One quiet lecture.
No drama.
No Brendan.
The chair beside me scrapes.
The air shifts.
I don’t even have to look up to know.
He sits next to me like he owns the seat, owns the row, owns me.
Brendan.
His scent hits first, clean soap mixed with something darker, richer, something that makes my stomach twist.
I look up and find those stormy grey eyes locked on mine.
He is smirking.
Of course, he is smirking.
“What the hell are you doing here,” I whisper, my voice sharp, trying to keep steady.
He leans in so close that his lips brush the shell of my ear.
“Finishing what I started.”
The way he says it makes my thighs clench under the desk.
“You didn’t really think I’d let you hide, did you?”
The professor starts talking at the front.
Everyone bends over their laptops and notebooks.
No one notices the way Brendan’s hand slides onto my thigh.
I freeze.
“Stop,” I hiss, grabbing my pen tighter, pretending to write.
But my voice shakes.
My pulse betrays me.
His palm presses harder, warm and sure.
“You want me to stop,” he murmurs, “then tell me like you mean it.”
His breath drags over my skin.
My cheeks burn hot.
I should tell him no.
I should shove his hand away.
Instead, my legs press together.
He notices.
Of course, he notices.
His hand slides higher, under the hem of my skirt.
I catch his wrist but he doesn’t even flinch.
He moves anyway, like my resistance is a game he already knows he’ll win.
His fingers press against my panties.
The thin cotton is already damp and I hate myself for it.
He grins like he has proof.
“You’re soaked and class just started,” he whispers.
I bite down on my lip so hard it almost hurts.
The professor is still lecturing about limits and functions.
My classmates are scribbling notes.
And under the desk, Brendan pushes my panties aside.
One finger slides through my slick folds.
I gasp and slam my notebook shut to cover the sound.
He chuckles low in his throat.
“You like this, don’t you?”
I shake my head but my body gives me away.
My hips lift off the chair.
His finger circles my cl*t, slow, teasing, cruel.
“You’re trembling for me,” he whispers.
I press my forehead to my palm like I am exhausted, hiding my flushed face.
My thighs quiver as he pushes a finger inside me.
The stretch makes me clench around him.
My breath stutters.
The sound of his finger sliding into my wetness feels deafening to me but no one else notices.
He pumps slow, then faster.
I grip the edge of my seat until my knuckles turn white.
“Brendan, stop,” I whisper, desperate, but my voice is weak.
He adds a second finger and I choke on a gasp.
He curls them just right and I nearly drop my pen.
“You’re mine,” he says.
“Say it.”
I shake my head furiously.
He twists his fingers deeper and my back arches against the chair.
“Say it, Sheila.”
His tone is dark, demanding, commanding.
“You’re mine and you’re going to c*m on my hand right here in front of everyone.”
I squeeze my thighs around his wrist but he doesn’t slow.
My chest heaves.
I can’t stop it.
The pressure builds sharply and becomes unbearable.
He rubs my cl*t with his thumb, relentless.
The orgasm slams into me so hard I bite my lip to keep from screaming.
My whole body shakes as wetness gushes over his hand.
He smirks, pulls his fingers out, and slips them into his mouth.
He licks them clean like he has all the time in the world.
“Sweet,” he murmurs.
I stare at him, shocked, humiliated, throbbing with heat.
The professor is still scribbling formulas.
My classmates are still typing.
No one knows.
Brendan leans close again, his mouth brushing my ear.
“We’re not done.”
Then he unzips his jeans.
My eyes go wide.
“No,” I whisper, panic rising.
But he pulls my hand under the desk and wraps it around his thick, hard length.
The heat of him, the size, makes my pulse race.
“Stroke me,” he orders.
I shake my head, but his hand closes over mine, forcing me.
I feel the veins under my palm as he guides me up and down his shaft.
He groans low, deep in his chest, like it is the best thing in the world.
“You feel that,” he whispers.
“That’s what you do to me. You make me this hard. You’re going to take it, Sheila.”
He shifts in his seat, grabs my thigh, and pulls me closer.
Before I can protest he pushes my panties aside again.
The head of his c*ck presses against me.
I nearly choke on my own breath.
“Brendan, no, not here,” I plead, my voice barely audible.
He smirks like I am amusing him.
“Exactly here.”
And then he thrusts inside me.
I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
The stretch is brutal, deep, filling me to the point of pain and pleasure tangled together.
My eyes squeeze shut.
My nails dig into the desk.
He holds me down on his c*ck, buried to the hilt.
“You take me so tight,” he whispers against my cheek.
“You were made for this.”
He starts to move, slow at first, grinding deep.
My chair rocks.
The wood creaks.
I pray no one hears.
My heart slams against my ribs like it is trying to escape.
He f**ks me harder.
Each thrust forces a broken breath from my lips.
I bury my face in my arm, pretending to rest, hiding the truth.
His hand is on my waist, dragging me back onto him again and again.
“You’re mine,” he growls.
“Say it.”
Tears sting my eyes as my body betrays me.
Every thrust hits that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
I clamp my thighs around him, trying to stay silent, but the moan rips out anyway.
His fingers grip my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“I want to see your face when you come on my cck in front of all of them.”
His eyes burn into me.
Hungry.
Obsessed.
The pleasure coils tight, merciless.
I can’t stop it.
My nails claw the desk.
The orgasm tears through me, violent and hot, my walls clenching around him.
He groans, low and rough.
He slams deep one last time and I feel him spill inside me, hot and thick.
His jaw clenches, his breath ragged in my ear.
“Now you’ll never forget who owns you.”
I collapse against the desk, trembling, my body ruined.
He zips his jeans like nothing happened, smirking at me as if I am already branded.
The professor keeps writing on the board.
The students keep typing.
No one knows what just happened at the back of the classroom.
But I know.
And Brendan knows.
And he isn’t going to stop.
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