Chapter 124

Alison’s POV

The hallway feels like a trap as I follow the headmaster’s PA, her sharp voice “Mr. Andrews’ office now!” still ringing in my ears, snapping me out of my fantasy about Crew and Fig. My golden hair sways, my blazer tight against my curves, my skirt a daring tease, but my pulse races with unease, not the usual thrill of seduction.

I’d been plotting—Crew’s guarded smirk, Lily’s soft claim I’ll crush, Fig’s angry hunger, a fire I’ve stoked by ignoring his texts—when the PA ambushed me. The memory of Friday night pulses through me—Fig’s cock thrusting deep in my pussy at the club bathroom, my moans loud over the music, his car fogged with our frantic fucking, my pussy clenching as I rode him—but now, dread creeps in, dampening the heat between my thighs. What does Andrews want?

My steps slow, my smirk faltering, but I lift my chin, refusing to show weakness, my body still humming with the power I wield.

I enter the office, and my breath catches—my parents are there, Dad’s jaw tight, Mom’s eyes cold, their presence a punch I didn’t expect. The door shuts, and Andrews gestures to a chair, his face unreadable. “Alison, your parents have concerns,” he says, his voice clipped. My stomach twists, my mind flashing to their ignored calls, my phone silent since I landed at Manchester, dodging their control to chase my own chaos.

“Alison,” Dad snaps, his voice low, angry, “you’ve been ignoring us. No calls, no texts. We had to fly out to make sure you’re not messing around.” His eyes rake over me, judgmental, and I feel exposed, my skirt suddenly too short, my confidence a fragile mask.

Mom leans forward, her tone icy. “You’re on thin ice. One more misstep—tardiness, stupid show, anything—and we’re cutting you off. No trust fund, no allowance, nothing. You pick up our calls, or you’re done.” Her words are sharp like a blade, slicing through my rebellion, and I clench my fists, my nails biting my palms,but my pussy’s still tingling from thoughts of Crew and Fig, but fear creeps in, chilling my fire.

I nod, my voice steady despite the turmoil. “I understand. I’ll do better.” It’s a lie, my defiance buried but burning, my mind already plotting to keep my freedom, to fuck who I want, to reclaim Crew.

My mom sighs weary as she takes her purse while she looks at me slowly with a scornful look on her face. “And what the hell are you wearing Alison? Cover yourself.”

I just nod my head. I want them out of here quickly and exchanging words with them will just make them stand longer.

My parents stand, satisfied, and leave, their exit a weight lifting but leaving a new one—their threat, a leash I’ll slip.

Andrews clears his throat, his eyes softening. “Anything else, Alison?” I seize the chance, my voice smooth, calculated. “I’m struggling with some subjects, sir. Crew Manchester’s top of the class. Could he tutor me?” My lips curve, imagining Crew close, my hand on his thigh, my breath in his ear, breaking his loyalty to Lily.

“I’ll arrange it,” Andrews says, nodding, and I smile, wicked, my pussy clenching at the thought of Crew’s hands, his cock, mine again. I leave the office, my heart pounding, my body alive with purpose. My parents’ threat is a distant hum, my focus is on Crew, but Fig’s hunger calls, his unanswered texts—“Need you again”—a fire I’ll stoke. I know where to find him, his office is a den for our lust, and I move through the halls, my hips swaying, my nipples hard under my blazer, my panties soaked with anticipation.

Fig’s office door is ajar, and I slip inside, locking it behind me. He’s at his desk, papers scattered, his eyes snapping up, dark with anger and desire, my silence a sin he’s ready to punish. “Alison,” he growls, standing, his cock already straining against his pants, “you think you can ignore me?”

I step closer, my voice low, lazy. “I’ve been busy, sir.” I unbutton my blazer, revealing cleavage, my skirt riding higher as I perch on his desk, legs parted, inviting. “Miss me?”

He’s on me in a flash, his hands rough, ripping my blazer open, buttons scattering, his mouth crashing into mine, his tongue thrusting, hungry, desperate. I moan, my pussy throbbing, my nails clawing his back, his anger fueling my fire. He yanks my skirt up, my panties aside, his fingers finding me wet, slick, ready. “Fucking tease,” he snarls, thrusting two fingers inside me, stretching me, my hips bucking, my moans loud, unashamed.

I’m wild, untamed, his match, and I love it, the raw, dirty thrill of his lust, my power over him absolute crazy.

He spins me, bending me over the desk, papers crumpling, my ass exposed, my pussy dripping. His cock’s out, hard, massive, and he slams into me, no warning, his thrusts brutal, my walls clenching, my screams muffled against my arm.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his hands gripping my hips, his pace fast and relentless, each thrust a punishment for my silence, a claim I revel in. My orgasm builds, fast, fierce, and I come hard, my pussy milking him, stars bursting behind my eyes. He follows, spilling inside me, his groan low, our bodies trembling, the desk shaking.

We collapse, panting, my body marked—reddened hips, tender breasts—a canvas of our chaos. He pulls out, his cum dripping down my thigh, and I turn, smirking, my voice husky.

“Worth the wait?” He nods, dazed, but I’m already adjusting my skirt, my mind on Crew, on the tutoring, on breaking him. Fig’s a toy, a release, his hunger a leash I’ll tug when I need it, but Crew’s the prize, his body, his heart, mine to reclaim.

I leave his office, my walk deliberate, my body humming, my parents’ threat a faint echo. Crew’s tutoring looms, my chance to seduce him, to fuck him until Lily’s nothing to him anymore. Fig’s cock, his groans, Friday’s bathroom and car—they’re fuel, but Crew’s my fire, and I’ll burn through Manchester to get him, leaving Lily in ashes, Fig a fleeting thrill. The day’s young, and I’m a storm as I walk to my dorm, my pussy still pulsing, my heart set on conquest, ready to fuck, to win, to prove no one resists Alison Blake.

Ever.