After The Bell Rings

Chapter Three - The Noise Between Silence

Present Day

Nick’s POV

The lecture ends.

Chairs scrape back. Pages flip. Conversations fade.

I lean against the desk, watching the last few students file out—bright eyes, sharp minds, none of them knowing how little I care the moment the door clicks shut behind them.

Teaching was never the dream.

It was a means to an end.

A quiet campus. A private office. Enough space to write, to breathe, to be left the f**k alone.

But tonight?

I need more.

It’s almost laughable how quickly I’m out the door. No emails. No edits. No chapter outlines. Just the city lights pulling me out like a tide. I don’t even think about where I’m going until I’m there — a pub I’ve passed a hundred times, hidden behind vines and shadows, loud enough to drown my thoughts, dark enough to disappear.

The pub smells like whiskey, perfume, and desperation.

I wasn’t planning to stay long — just enough to kill the noise in my head. But then I saw her.

Alone.

Confident.

Wearing a dress that begged for sin and eyes that promised it.

She caught me looking. Held the stare like she wanted a challenge.

I gave her one — a tilt of my head toward the door.

She followed. No questions.

⸻

The second we’re inside my apartment, I pin her to the wall — her back hits it with a thud, and her mouth crashes into mine like we’ve done this a thousand times in another life.

She tastes like gin and recklessness.

I grip her throat — not tight, just enough to remind her who’s in charge. My other hand slips under her dress, finds heat, and f**k — she’s soaked already.

“No underwear?” I murmur against her lips.

She grins, breathless. “Didn’t think I’d need them.”

I growl low in my throat, slide two fingers through her slick folds, and press them inside without warning. Her gasp is sharp, back arching, hands gripping my shoulders like she needs something to hold onto before she falls apart.

“You’re dripping,” I mutter. “All that attitude and you’re already this wet?”

“Do something about it,” she dares.

I do.

⸻

I yank her dress off, drag her to the bed, and toss her down like she weighs nothing. She spreads her legs for me — shameless — as if she knows I’m going to wreck her and she’s begging for it.

I crawl over her, eyes locked on hers, but then they drop — and f**k me, her t**s are perfect.

Full. Tight. Begging for my mouth.

I grab them both — rough. My thumbs circle her n*****s, then pinch until she gasps. I lean down, take one into my mouth, sucking hard while my hand works the other — rolling, teasing, pulling until she’s moaning, grinding against nothing, desperate.

She tries to pull me closer.

I push her wrists above her head and hold them there with one hand.

“No,” I growl. “You don’t get to lead this.”

My free hand slides down her stomach. I tease her c**t, slow and light, just enough to make her whine.

“Nick…”

I shove two fingers inside again — deeper this time. Curl them. Her hips jerk up and I smile against her skin.

“You like being used, don’t you?” I whisper against her breast. “You wanted this the second you saw me.”

She nods fast, eyes half-closed. “Yes—f**k, yes—”

I pull away, stand up, strip without breaking eye contact. Her gaze drops when I free myself, and she bites her lip.

“Lie back. Legs wide.”

She obeys instantly.

I stroke myself once, then line up and thrust inside her in one brutal, deep push.

She cries out, fingers clawing at the sheets, head thrown back. I don’t give her time to adjust — I pull back and slam into her again, and again, faster, harder, deeper.

Every thrust punches a moan out of her. Every movement forces her body to take me, to stretch, to beg.

Her t**s bounce with every hit. I grab one, slap it lightly, then suck it into my mouth while I pound her mercilessly.

She’s babbling now — nonsense, curses, my name over and over.

I flip her onto her stomach.

“Up. Knees.”

She gets on all fours, arching her back, ass high in the air. I slam back into her, grip her hips, and pull her into every thrust until the sound of skin on skin echoes through the room.

I spank her once — she gasps.

“You like being f****d like this?” I pant, voice gravel.

“Yes,” she moans. “Yes, harder—please—”

I give it to her. Ruthless. Unrelenting.

My fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her back as I f**k her like it’s the only thing that will silence the chaos in my head.

She screams when she comes — a full-body quake that milks me as I keep going, chasing my own high.

When I finally let go, I slam into her one last time and come hard, spilling deep inside her with a groan that rips from my chest.

We collapse.

Sweaty. Breathless. Satisfied.

She lies beside me, one arm draped across her eyes, chest heaving.

I stare at the ceiling, blank. Silent.

That wasn’t love.

That wasn’t connection.

That was exactly what I needed.