Chapter 120

Lily’s POV

My lips are still swollen, tingling from the fierce, stolen kisses with Crew in the dark classroom, our breaths mingling, his tongue claiming mine with a hunger that left me trembling.

We slipped back into the hall separately, me first, my heart pounding as I glanced back, ensuring no one saw. Crew waited, his eyes dark with promise, before following, and now I’m in English class, my body humming, my panties damp from the memory of his hands, his heat.

He comes in, his smile smug, all confident, as he slide into the desk behind me, his presence a pulse at my back, a reminder of the necklace he wears—my grandmother’s heirloom, now his, a symbol of his claim. My father’s rage looms, his threats—“I’ll kill you if you’re with a boy”—a shadow over my rebellion, but Crew’s love, his fierce protection, drowns it out, making me feel alive, desired, owned in a way that thrills and terrifies me.

Fig’s absence is a shock, as his desk is empty, a rare lapse for the predatory teacher whose leering gaze has always made my skin crawl. Rumors of his affairs with students—June, others—swirl, and I pray he’s finally caught, his crimes exposed. I turn to Crew, needing his voice to ground me. “Did you turn in your paper by midnight?” I ask, my tone light, though my pulse races, the weight of our secret pressing in.

“Yep,” he says, nodding, his casual grin disarming. “Wrote it last night.”

“Crew!” I scold, half-laughing, his procrastination is mind-boggling given his effortless grades. “Are you ready for the test?”

He shrugs, his eyes glinting. “Think we’ll even have one?” He nods at Fig’s empty desk, his nonchalance a stark contrast to my anxiety, my need to please, to avoid my father’s wrath.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, my voice soft, my mind flickering to Dad’s call last night, my lies about volunteering barely holding, his suspicion is like a knife at my throat. “Even if Fig’s not here, they’d probably still give it.”

“Maybe,” he says, another shrug, his calmness is something I cling to, even as my nerves fray.

The door swings open, and Fig stumbles in as the final bell rings, frazzled, his book bag thudding onto his desk. His eyes scan the room, lingering on me too long, a chill creeping up my spine. Then I realize—he’s not looking at me, but at Crew behind me, his gaze narrowing, dark with something I can’t name. My skin prickles, a warning, and I feel Crew’s stare, intense, possessive, burning into my back. Fig clears his throat, his voice strained. “Sorry I’m late. Give me a few, then we’ll start the test.”

The class erupts in whispers, but I’m hyper-aware of Crew, his heat, his anger radiating, a silent claim that makes my core pulse. I turn slowly, meeting his eyes, and find another gaze—Fig’s, heavy, his lip curled in a sneer, disgust flashing as he watches us. He looks away when I catch him, but it’s too late. I saw it, the contempt, the hatred for me with Crew, and it twists my gut, a reminder of his predatory nature, his sins with June.

“He doesn’t like me talking to you,” I whisper to Crew, my voice trembling, fear and defiance running within me.

“Too fucking bad,” Crew growls, his hand claiming my arm, his touch firm, possessive, a public declaration in front of Fig’s watchful eyes. My breath catches, my body responding, a rush of heat flooding my core, my panties growing wetter at his dominance, his refusal to hide us.

“Crew…” I start, my voice soft, torn between caution and desire, my father’s threats echoing, urging me to stay invisible, to avoid trouble.

“No,” he cuts me off, his voice low, fierce, his eyes blazing into mine. “Don’t tell me to stop. Don’t make excuses for him.” His grip tightens, not painful but unyielding, his intensity overwhelming. “If we’re lucky, his ass is getting arrested soon. He can’t come near you, Lil. If he even looks at you and I don’t like it, I’m kicking his fucking ass.”

I gasp, shock coursing through me, his words raw, protective, laced with a violence that should scare me but doesn’t. “Are you serious?” I whisper, my voice shaking, my heart racing at the fire in his eyes, the way he’s ready to fight for me, to shield me from Fig’s leers, from my father’s fists, from the world.

“I protect what’s mine,” he says through clenched teeth, his gaze searing, and my body melts, my core throbbing, my skin flushing at his possessive claim. The necklace glints at his throat, my stolen heirloom, and I’m thrilled, owned, his words sinking into me, erasing the fear that’s defined me.

My father’s voice—“You’re nothing, a slut”—fades, drowned by Crew’s vow, his touch, the way he believes I’m his, and I love it, crave it, even as it terrifies me.

The classroom hums, but we’re in a bubble, his hand on my arm a brand, his eyes promising safety, danger, love.

I think of Vermont—his fingers inside me, his lips on my pussy, my orgasms his to claim—and my body aches, my panties soaked, my desire for him a fire that burns away my shame.

I'm glad at Crew’s intensity, his vow to protect me, to fight for me. I’m his, and he’s mine, and the thought of Fig watching, of my father’s rage, only fuels my defiance, my need to cling to Crew, to let him consume me.

I turn back to my desk, my heart pounding, my skin alive with Crew’s touch, his promise. Fig shuffles papers, his eyes darting, and I feel his disgust, his envy, but it’s nothing compared to Crew’s fire, his claim.

The test starts, but my mind is on Crew, on the necklace, on the way he kissed me, fierce and possessive, in that classroom. I’m scared— of my dad, of the consequences—but with Crew, I’m bold, ready to fight, to love, to be his.

The bell will ring, the test will pass, but Crew’s mine, and I’m his, and nothing—not Fig’s leers, not my father’s threats—can take that from me.