Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 13 I'm a fucking sadist. What the fuck am I still doing here? Why haven't I called the cops on Rooke? On myself? The wrongness of this moment, of our actions, it's radiating through my entire body like a preternatural fever. Or is it need? Because, fuck, I need release so bad I might die without it. Is that why I watch Rooke as he traces his fingers down Haven's belly, as he strokes her pussy? Like I'll get what I need through some bullshit vicarious thrill. Can't stop watching though.

Can't stop trying to get blood pumping through my dick, because this feels like a race, and I'm lagging way, way behind. Rooke's been hard since he showed me how to tie Haven to the headboard. I'm surprised he's still got his cock in his pants. I'd be inside Haven already, making her scream again, but in a different way. Like I wish I'd done three years ago, when she'd wanted me to. Before I'd pussied out. But, fuck, man, she was sixteen, and I'd turned twenty less than two months before that. People get locked up for that. A senior in our frat had just been in court for that shit.

I knew she wouldn't tell. But it still felt wrong. Maybe because I'd known Haven since she was a little girl, and sometimes, when she grinned just right, I could still see that blond-haired, blue eyed little nymph dancing in the wildflowers. She was trying to make me feel better, saying it was just sex. That just made it worse. How could I fuck my best friend and not have it mean something? Of course it meant something⁠- everything -it meant fucking everything. When my family moved out of the trailer park, when me and Haven weren't in the same school anymore, we lost contact.

And I thought it was a great time to move on. To make friends. Maybe even to date. Ha. What a fucking joke. I was a loner. A loser. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ fіndnovel.net Haven got me. I got her. We were connected on a deeper level than best friends, girlfriend, boyfriend. I couldn't get her out of my head. She was a constant presence that commented on everything I did with her unique blend of naiveté and cynicism. She thought my choice in women was pathetic. That I went for looks when we both knew it wasn't about that. That voice in my head would call me a loser.

Any I couldn't shake it, even when I got a chance at a girl I thought I could learn to like. That's why I never committed to anything more than a hand job. That's why I had to come up with a lie about a girlfriend in Cambridge so people wouldn't think I was gay. A loser. That's what I am. What I've always been. A loser who can't even get my dick up when the only girl I've ever loved is naked in front of me, about to get fucked by a man older, more experienced, better at everything. But then Rooke slides two fingers inside Haven's pussy, and all those awful thoughts dissipate.

Because her back arches, and she moans into her gag, and her hands clench, and it's so fucking obvious... How much she loves this. Haven gasps when I dig my fingers into her thigh, when I stop rubbing my dick and instead grab her tit, pawing roughly at it, kneading it so hard her creamy flesh oozes between my fingers. Rooke slides closer, his leg now keeping her other thigh braced, leaving his hand free to grasp her tit.

She writhes under us, gasping and moaning, body shaking as the steady thrust of his fingers urges her into a climax that makes her hips buck violently, leaving the bed entirely as she forces him deeper inside. There's a thump when her hips land again. A faint metallic rattle from her collar as her head lolls to the side. Then only the drumming rain until she takes a ragged breath through the gag. I feel Rooke looking at me, and when I glance at him, he moves his eyes to the gag. So I tug it free. Haven's mouth trembles.

She licks her lips, wincing as her tongue glides over the bruised flesh of her bottom lip. "Someone kiss me," she whispers. Pleads. Rooke drops forward on top of her, grabbing her hair and wrenching her head back until her neck arches. But I couldn't care if he punches me, kicks me, or pulls his gun on me. Haven's mouth is mine. I've been waiting my whole life to kiss her. I seize his throat, shoving him up and away. And damn, the flicker of surprise on his face, that brief calculation gleaming in his eyes, it fills me up like nothing I've ever felt.

Until I duck down and press my lips to Haven's. It could be one last roll from the molly, but I'm sure that's out of my system by now. So the wave of euphoria that swells up inside me has to be something else. Is this what love feels like? It's only ever hurt before. My angle is wrong, and I want to⁠- need to -intensify this without hurting her lip, so I slide my leg in beside Rooke's, forcing Haven's legs open even wider, forcing him to give me space above her. Rooke's shoulder is flush with mine, skin on skin, friction building as our bodies slide against each other.

And Haven moans⁠- because he's fucking her? -and I break off our kiss just long enough to see, but Rooke's teasing her nipple with his teeth, one hand in her hair, the other cupping her tit. "Fuck..." Haven whispers, but then she's silent, because I'm kissing her again. My tongue slides between her teeth, forcing its way in when she hesitates like she doesn't realize this is the next step. How can anything feel this right when everything about this is so fucking wrong?

I'm panting, grinding my sweatpants against her hip, wishing I was hard enough so I could be inside her instead, but fuck, this is doing it for me too. And Jesus, I'm building up to a climax or something, because I'm going faster, panting harder, and Haven's moaning against my mouth like she's encouraging me⁠- "Try as hard as you want, it's not going to happen, boy," Rooke grates into my ear. I break off the kiss, the heat on my face intensifying, and it has nothing to do with friction or lust-it's shame. Haven's lips tremble, her breath sighing out of her in disappointment.

Rooke grabs my hair like he's grabbing hers, and he starts pushing me down, and Jesus, now he wants me to suck his dick? Is that the price I have to pay for this? I'm fighting him, because I don't know if I want it, if I want him, if I want anything but Haven's sweet mouth and the pussy I've been fantasizing about since⁠- But he's still wearing his sweatpants, and he's pushing me between Haven's legs, not his. And then wrenching me up when I go too low, because what the fuck do I know about eating pussy? I've never fucking done it before.

Haven's gasp when my mouth closes over what I assume is her clit feels like a pleasure punch right in my fucking groin. I moan at her taste, at her slippery skin, at the way she rolls her hips. "Start slow, no teeth. Use your tongue," Rooke whispers above me, a sex therapist who's sold his soul to the devil. "Listen to her. Let her tell you what she likes." And fuck, he's right. She's silent, barely moving until I flick my tongue against the little engorged bud above her cunt, and she bucks into me, moaning, her collar rattling. Clink. So I do it again, and again.

Until her legs are quivering beside me, and her moans are strangled and weak. My one hand was still on her breast, but Rooke lays his hand on top of mine and drags it down her body, between her legs. "Add a finger up to the second knuckle. Slow, not hard. She'll tell you if she likes that." His voice is so seductive, so authoritative, that I don't even think to question him. I follow his instruction to the letter, and Haven rewards me with a little kitten mewl of pleasure, her head rolling from side to side. Clink, clink. "She likes that," Rooke murmurs. I glance up without stopping.

Rooke runs a thumb over Haven's bottom lip and slides his thumb inside her mouth, then switches it out with all four of his fingers. Haven gags, turns her head away, and Rooke's smiling darkly when he looks down at me and our eyes lock. "Is she wet?" I nod. "Are you hard yet?" I push up onto my elbows, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth. Shake my head. Rooke tsks. "Then I guess you'll just have to watch."