Chapter 76 Leo
The conference room air was thick with the smell of stale coffee and institutional polish. I sat rigid in the cold metal chair, my fingers gripping the edge of the table, while Dean Horowitz droned on about Kristen’s “concerning trajectory.” Mrs. Litt, the guidance counselor, or was it head of welfare? Frankly, I didn't remember . I couldn't remember anything right now.
So I nodded along, her eyes soft with pointless sympathy. They had no idea. None. Because under the table, Kristen was already there, a ghost in the space between our feet, and her hand was on the zipper of my jeans.
I adjusted slightly, a tiny shift of my hips, as I felt the metal teeth give way. The sound was a cannon shot in my head, but they just kept talking. Her fingers, cool and sure, slipped inside, tugging at the waistband of my briefs. A soft brush against my cock, which was already starting to thicken, a traitor responding before my mind could even form a protest.
“...and given the acting out since the funeral,” Horowitz was saying, his voice a distant buzz.
Her touch became deliberate. A single finger traced the length of me through the cotton, and I had to lock my jaw. She was just teasing, a slow, maddening stroke. I could feel her breath, warm through the fabric, against the head.
“Leo?” Mrs. Litt’s voice cut through. “How has she been coping at home? Since her father…”
I swallowed, my throat sandpaper dry. “Surprisingly well,” I managed, my voice surprisingly steady. “Like a champ.”
As I said it, Kristen peeled the waistband down. Her fingers wrapped around me, bare skin on bare skin, and I inhaled a sharp, silent breath through my clenched teeth. I nodded, trying to make the gesture look like it was in response to Mrs. Litt’s concern, not the electric jolt of contact.
Her hand began to move, a steady, slow drag up and down my shaft. I tried to cross my legs, to block any hypothetical view, but the movement made her grip tighten for a second, and I froze.
“We’ve noticed she seems less volatile in class lately,” Horowitz said, leaning back. “Your influence seems to be stabilizing her.”
If only he knew. Her palm pressed flat against me, a smooth, slow stroke from root to tip. My thigh muscle twitched violently under the table. I hoped the table shook.
“And her mother?” Mrs. Litt asked, her pen poised. “Any contact?”
“No,” I said, and my voice cracked on the single syllable. I cleared my throat. “I don’t think Kristen knows anything. Neither do I.”
Under the table, Kristen shifted. The denim of her jeans brushed my calf, and then I felt it—the warm, wet brush of her mouth against my hip bone. My cock jumped in her hand, swelling further, and it wasn’t from fear. It was a deep, gut-punch of need.
Then the heat was gone from my hip and centered where I needed it most. The soft, hot bloom of her breath against the head of my cock, already slick from her hand. I went rigid, my spine straightening against the chair. She didn’t make me wait. Her lips parted and she took me in, just the head, and the warm, wet suction was so intense I saw stars.
I forced my gaze up to Horowitz’s forehead, nodding absently. He was saying something about mid-term evaluations. I didn’t hear a word. Her mouth was a slow, soft prison, pulling on me with a rhythm that was already unraveling my sanity. She wasn’t trying to finish me. She was drawing it out, torturing me with it.
“Leo, would you like some water? You look flushed,” Horowitz said.
“I’m fine,” I croaked.
Then she did something with her tongue, a swirling, corkscrew motion that made my balls tighten. I gripped the underside of the table so hard I thought the particleboard might splinter. Mrs. Litt was talking about grief counseling resources. I nodded along, a puppet on a string.
Kristen found a brutal rhythm, her mouth working the top half of my shaft while her hand twisted and pumped the base. Pleasure built in a hot, coiling wave low in my gut.
Dean Horowitz leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Leo, a more delicate question. Do you think Kristen… knows who she is?”
I blinked, swimming up through the sensation. “You mean the Ares part?” I breathed. They nodded. “She knows.” The words came out as a strained whisper. “She knows everything.”
As if to punctuate my sentence, Kristen hummed softly around me. The vibration shot through my dick straight into my brain, a white-hot wire of bliss. I barely choked back a gasp.
Mrs. Litt murmured, almost to herself, “She has more in her than she realizes. Don’t you think?”
Oh, god, she did. And she was using all of it to destroy me in this fucking room.
Just as I felt the coil begin to slip, the point of no return rushing up, she stopped. She pulled her mouth off me with a soft, wet pop. The cool air hit the slick skin and I shuddered. Her tongue traced a lazy line up the underside of my cock, but she didn’t take me back in. My whole body was a live wire, trembling with denied release.
“...discipline and structure are what she needs,” I stammered, answering some question I hadn’t fully heard. My voice was fucked, rough and broken.
She flicked her tongue once, twice, against the tip, then stopped entirely. Just held me, her breath ghosting over me, while her finger dragged slowly up my length. It was pure, unadulterated cruelty.
Dean Horowitz steepled his fingers. “Final thing, Leo. Given the severity of the incident with the locker, do you think Kristen should be expelled?”
My jaw clenched. I tried to form a word, but nothing came. She was doing it on purpose, holding me on that agonizing edge. I could feel the pulse thrumming in my cock, desperate. I took a ragged breath. “No,” I finally forced out. “She’s acting out. But expulsion… it would just make it worse. She needs to be here.”
As the last word left my lips, her mouth consumed me again. Not slow, not teasing. Deep, tight, and purposeful. Her head bobbed twice, three times, with a ruthless efficiency that shattered every last shred of my control.
I came. Silently, my whole body seizing. My hand gripped my own knee hard enough to bruise, the other turned white-knuckled on the table edge. I emptied myself into her mouth in hot, pulsing stripes, my vision graying at the edges, my ears roaring. She took it all, not missing a drop, her throat working against me until I was soft and spent.
Dean Horowitz nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Thank you for your time, Leo.” He rose, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.
Mrs. Litt offered a small, pitying smile. “She’ll come out of this. You just have to let her come out of her shell.”
I coughed, a raw, painful sound. “That’s one way to put it.”
They left, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing me in the silent, stained room with the girl under the table.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of my own ragged breathing. “Get out,” I said, my voice low and hoarse.
She emerged slowly. She didn’t look at me, just swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Her face was a blank, beautiful mask.
I zipped my jeans, the motion awkward, my fingers clumsy. The wet spot inside was a cold, damning reality. “Go get your bag,” I said, not looking at her. “We’re going home.”
She finally glanced at me, her eyes dark and unreadable. “Thanks,” she said. “For not saying anything.”
“You have bigger things to worry about than me,” I replied, standing up, my legs unsteady.
She moved to the door, opened it, and was halfway into the hallway when she stopped. She turned back, her frame silhouetted in the fluorescent light. “I hope you know,” she said, her voice flat, “I only did what I had to do.”
Something in me snapped. The composure, the fear, the dizzying aftershock of pleasure—it all fused into a single, blinding impulse. I crossed the space in one long stride, my arm shooting past her to slam the door shut with a crash that echoed down the hall. I kissed her. I didn’t think, I just did it. My mouth crashed down on hers, hard and possessive, pushing her back against the wall. My tongue forced its way between her lips, tasting myself, tasting her, a filthy, electric mix. She gasped into my mouth, and her hands came up, not to push me away, but to clutch at the front of my shirt, fisting the fabric.
It was a furious, silent battle, all teeth and clashing tongues and the heavy beat of my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest. I was hard again already, pressing against the seam of my jeans, against her stomach.