Page 182 of Broken by my Bully

What should I bring?

@lee.haven

Your appetite.

Jesus, girl.

I laugh, my head pushing back into the pillow as cum pumps up my shaft and into my trembling hand.

“Fuuuck,” I groan, mentally grasping onto every wave of pleasure pulsating through my lower body.

Her name is on my tongue, but I bite it back.

Can’t lose myself to her just yet. Not until she’s so deep in my web she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to.

And she won’t want to.

They never do.

My thumb swipes gently over my crown, and I shudder at the intensity of that light touch.

The laughing face emoji she sends a second later completely ruins my fucking afterglow.

Oh, she’ll pay for that.

Haven

I shouldn’t be nervous. Why am I nervous? It’s just lunch. Lunch at a damn taco stand.

With my professor.

Who I’m crushing on so hard it hurts.

But that’s why I’m doing this.

I thought about it long and hard after our DMs this morning.

Sliding over that line is getting easier and easier. What will happen if one of us does something wholly inappropriate? Something we can’t take back?

We’ll both be stuck with the repercussions of that deed for the rest of my college years at AHC.

Maybe I’m overthinking this. God knows where I get the bandwidth, though. I spent the entire morning trying to get back on schedule with my studies. I’m mostly caught up on Professor Rooke’s course, but I’ve fallen really far behind on my Social Work and Urban Study classes.

Thankfully, both subjects are pretty easy. And I’m finding the research fascinating. Especially the section in my Social Workmaterial about how a person’s surroundings affect their behavior and development.

Then I got to the Social Work assignment. It’s due in a couple of weeks, right before midterms.

Now the knot in my stomach has nothing to do with Professor Rooke.

That assignment included a case study of the Smiths. A make-believe family living in a fictional shantytown in some imaginary state. They’re dealing with issues like poverty, substance abuse, and domestic violence.

It might as well have been a blow-by-blow of myentirechildhood.

I huff out a laugh as I pull into a parking spot inside the small strip mall just off Hollow Way. It’s only a short walk from here to the diner, and was one place I used to park my car overnight until I discovered Lookout Point.

I’m early.

And too nervous to wait in the car.