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3

"To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves."

― Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma

oXo

I kiss Peter's nose and he gurgles happily, reaching up to grab at my hair.

"You want a coffee, lovely?" Alice calls out from the kitchen.

"Yeah," I call back, tickling my nephew's belly. "Because we're addicted to caffeine, aren't we, Pete," I coo.

He makes a happy noise, wriggling as his little legs kick up.

"I could eat you up," I murmur, kissing his head and scooping him up for a cuddle.

My sister walks into the room and smiles widely. "You are such a softie."

I wink at her. "No one will ever believe you if you try to tell."

Alice harrumphs, placing my coffee down in front of me and holding her hands out for the baby.

I carefully pass him to her and then grab the mug, sipping the hot, bitter liquid as she starts feeding Peter.

"You feeling better, 'Lis?" I ask her, fighting a yawn. I stayed over and got up with the baby last night to give her another break.

"So much better, thank you," Alice says emotionally. "I just want to know when we'll see him. Peter misses his daddy and I—" She breaks off, and I put my coffee down and kiss her head, rubbing her shoulder.

Jasper's coming home in two days, but he wanted to surprise her, so I haven't let it slip.

My phone beeps and I sigh. "I've got to go, 'Lis; you gonna be okay?"

"I'm good; I promise." Alice smiles, tucking her strawberry-blonde hair behind her dainty ear.

Peter lets out a happy coo from under the blanket she's placed over herself and I laugh.

Alice's green eyes glint. "When are you going to settle down and get yourself a little bundle of joy?"

"When I meet the right woman," I say, raising my eyebrows at her.

"And when will that be?" My sister grins at me.

"Bye, Alice!" I announce, her laughter ringing out behind me as I leave the house.

Once I get to school, I go straight to my classroom, narrowly avoiding Miss Dash in the hallway. Today she's in purple. Christ.

I'm a man with few pet peeves, but the thing I loathe above all others, is chewing gum. It's an asinine pastime, irritating, loud, causes a mess; it's even worse when I'm trying to teach, the sound of teeth mashing, sticky slaps as the gum stretches a terrible distraction for me and the rest of the class. My students are well aware that I don't tolerate chewing gum—extremely well aware—so when Isabella greets me, and then punctuates her words with a wet, chewing noise, my head flies up.

Her mouth is curved up in a wicked grin, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. I glance down at her full lips as she chews again, opening her mouth slightly so I can see the gum rolling across her tongue.

I should be disgusted. Anyone else and I'd have blown my gasket. But she could never be disgusting.

I tell her to get rid of it, and she puts two fingers into her mouth, her pink tongue flicking over them as she takes the gum, those beautiful brown eyes fixed on mine.

Today, I'm determined not to let my body react to her. I'm a grown fucking man, over thirty; I should be able to control my cock.

Isabella bends over the bin, and even though I don't let myself look, I can see her creamy skin in my peripheral and my mouth goes dry.

I launch into my lesson about symbolism, the irony of the girl at the back of my room wearing lips on her T-shirt and sucking her pen, not lost on me. I'm discussing Julia's 'anti-sex' sash, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at the way some of the students are simpering over my use of the word, when I meet Isabella's eyes and watch as she blows a pink bubble between her full lips.

The fucking audacity overwhelms me. I'm both pissed off and turned on by her tenacity.

I storm up to her desk. "I thought I made it perfectly clear, when you walked into the room, Miss Swan, that you were to dispose of that gum."

She's staring at my fucking cock, licking her full pink lips, and I clear my throat, needing her to look away before she completely destroys my sanity.

"I did sir," she says, staring up at me with an innocent expression. "This is a fresh piece."

Any other student and I'd be handing out detention, but if I'm alone in a room with her, and she acts like this, I don't think I'd be able to control myself. I would give in, taste that full, pink mouth, wrap my hands around her tiny waist and drag her into my body, feasting on her tongue. Is that truly what she wants from me though? How do I know this isn't a passing fancy? She might think she wants me, but does she truly? Is this just a game to her? I can't take the risk.

I hold out my hand, my voice rough, "Spit it out."

Isabella opens her mouth and stares straight into my eyes as her glistening tongue stretches out, the gum falling from the pink muscle and landing on my palm. My mouth goes dry. I want her to spit all over my cock, lick me and suck me, her full lips wrapped around me as she takes me deep.

She's infuriating. Beautiful. Naughty.

I want to bend her over my desk and eat her pussy until she screams, fuck her hard, tease her just like she's been teasing me.

But I can't.

I throw her gum in the bin and take a seat, my balls aching at the thought of her spit being on my hand. I've clearly lost the fucking plot, because I want to lick it.

More on Saturday ❤️ Also Wicked Games will be updating tomorrow - apologies for the delay if you're following it.