Chapter 116

Alison’s POV

Sunday morning light filters through my dorm’s curtains, a soft glow that does nothing to soothe the restless heat still simmering in my veins from Friday night’s reckless escapade with Fig.

My body is a map of that night—tender hips, sensitive skin, an ache between my thighs that pulses with every memory of his touch. I sprawled across my bed, the sheets tangled around my legs, my phone buzzing on the nightstand, pulling me from a half-sleep.

I groan tiredly as I grab the phone, expecting a nagging text from my dad—another call I’ve ignored since landing at Manchester—but it’s Fig, and my pulse spikes as I sit upright, a mix of surprise and irritation flaring as I read his message:

“You okay, Alison? Can’t get you out of my head. Still dying to bang you again.”

His words are a spark, igniting memories that flood me with vivid, searing detail. Friday night was a wildfire, a deliberate act to drown my boredom and the sting of Crew’s rejection.

Fig’s text pulls me back to the club bathroom, the bass thumping through the walls, his hands pinning me against the gritty tile, my black dress hiked up, no panties to slow him down. I’d smirked, spreading my legs, my pussy already wet from his hungry stare, and he’d growled, “Fucking hell, Alison,” before thrusting into me, hard and relentless, his cock stretching me, my moans echoing over the music. My nails clawed his back, my body arching, the orgasm hitting fast, my walls clenching around him as he spilled on my laps, his groan a roar that made me feel powerful, untouchable.

Later, in his car, I’d climbed onto his lap, my dress a useless scrap, my cleavage in his face as I unzipped him, riding him slow then frantic, my breasts bouncing, his hands gripping my ass, his mouth sucking my nipple until I came again, my pussy milking him, our breaths fogging the windows.

The memories send a shiver through me, my core tightening, my fingers itching to slip between my thighs, to chase that high feeling again. Fig was a conquest, his lust like a mirror to my own, a way to feel desired while I plot to seduce Crew, to steal him from Lily’s innocent grip. But his text—“Can’t get you out of my head”—sets my teeth on edge, a warning bell ringing.

I hope to hell he hasn’t caught feelings, hasn’t mistaken our dirty, fleeting fuck for something more. He’s a predator, a teacher who screws students, and I’m no fool—I used him, let him think he was in control, but I’m the one calling the shots. I want Crew, his body, his heart, the fire we had before I fucked it up with Javier. Fig’s a distraction, a toy to sate my hunger, not a complication I need.

I toss the phone onto the bed, ignoring his text, my lips curling in a smirk as I stretch, my tank top riding up, my skin prickling with the ghost of his hands.

Let him stew, let him crave me—I’m not his to keep. My mind drifts to Crew, his arm around Lily in the cafeteria, her soft vulnerability a challenge I’m burning to crush. I picture catching him alone, my lips grazing his ear, my hand stroking his cock through his jeans, his resolve crumbling as he pins me against a wall, fucking me with the intensity I know he’s capable of. The fantasy is vivid, my nipples hardening, my breath shallow, and I shift, pressing my thighs together, the ache growing, tempting me to touch myself, to imagine Crew’s fingers, not Fig’s, driving me to release.

But I’m too tired, the night’s high fading slowing. I pull the covers higher, my body sinking into the mattress, my eyes fluttering closed. Fig’s text lingers, a faint irritation, but I push it aside, focusing on Crew—the way he looked at me in English class, ignoring my greeting, his loyalty to Lily, a wall I’ll tear down.

I’m Alison Blake, a storm of seduction, and I don’t lose. Fig was a means to an end, a way to feel alive, to drown the pain of Crew’s rejection, but he’s not the goal. His cock, his groans, the way he fucked me in that bathroom and car—they were fuel, a reminder of my power, but Crew’s the fire I’m chasing, the one I’ll claim.

I imagine the club again, the heat of Fig’s body, the way I rode him, my moans loud, I was in absolute control. It was raw, rough, dirty, a perfect rebellion against Manchester’s suffocating routine,my parents’ ignored calls, against Lily’s hold on Crew.

But Fig’s text hints at clinginess, a mistake I won’t indulge and tolerate.

He’s a teacher, a risk, and I’m not naive—he’ll want more, think he can own me, but I’m untouchable, a siren who bends men to her will. I’ll see him in class on Monday, tease him with a glance, keep him hungry but from a distance, I will make him starve and beg. while my focus will be on Crew, on the seduction I’m plotting—my body, my lips, my fire, all aimed at breaking his loyalty, making him mine again.

My phone buzzes again, probably Fig, but I don’t check. I roll over, my hair spilling across the pillow, my body still humming, my mind drifting to Crew’s hands, his mouth, the way he’ll fuck me when I win him back.

Fig’s just a plan. A fleeting excitement, but Crew’s the prize, and I’ll burn through this school to get him, leaving Lily in ashes. Fig will be my forgotten fling who I'll toss away once I've Crew but I think I should keep Fig in case I need a little fun.. Sleep pulls me under, my dreams a tangle of lust and conquest, my body aching for the next move, the next victory, the moment I reclaim Crew and prove no one can resist me, not even the boy who thinks he’s moved on.