Mistletoe Kisses by Sam Mariano

Chapter Nine

Noelle

His gripon me tightens until it hurts, his nails biting into my skin. I don’t think it’s intentional at all, but he’s staring at me like I’ve just turned him to stone, and I have to swallow down the urge to take it all back.

“You little…”

My eyes widen at the anger in his tone, but whatever he means to say, he doesn’t finish.

He releases my thighs and begins to unbutton the sky blue dress shirt he wore to class today. He’s wearing a white tee underneath, but he reaches behind his head and yanks that off, too, angrily flinging it to join my discarded clothes on the floor.

“You think you know what you’re doing, don’t you, Noelle?” His tone makes it clear he thinks I’m a fool, but I’m having a hard time tearing my gaze from his chiseled, muscular chest to look at his face.

Is he really going to do it? I didn’t think there was any chance, but then he unzips his slacks and I can only stare, wide-eyed, as he kicks them off on the floor.

I did want him to fuck me tonight, but not like this. Not when I feel like he might actually be so cruel as to use it to teach me a lesson.

His tone is hard and cold when he speaks again. “You think there’s even a sliver of a chance this will turn out well?”

I swallow again, but don’t speak. My stomach is a mess of nerves, and now that he’s stripped down to only a pair of charcoal gray boxer briefs, he moves over me again, using his knees to kick my thighs apart and planting himself between them.

“You want my cock, Noelle?”

I nod wordlessly, but I think I must look afraid, because I don’t know how to mask it.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his tone knowing. “It looks like you’re having second thoughts.”

Second thoughts? More like third and fourth thoughts.

“It looks like you are, too,” I answer bravely. “I mean, a few minutes ago you told me you couldn’t fuck me, but here we are, so… seems like you changed your mind.”

Cal nods his head, not arguing. “It does, doesn’t it?” To further prove his desire, he rocks his hips forward and brings his hard bulge against my pussy. I cry out in surprise, reaching for him. He lets me grab his sides, allows me to hold onto him as he rocks forward again, grinding himself against me.

Oh, God, that feels so good. My eyes drift closed, my heart rate accelerating as he does it again and again, riding me with the thin barrier of his underwear still between us.

He’s making me want it more, not less. If this is meant to scare me, there must be something wrong with me, because he’s making me really horny instead.

“Cal,” I cry breathlessly, rocking my hips forward as he grinds into me, intensifying the pleasure.

“Sir,” he snaps.

“Sir,” I say quickly, my fingers flexing on his firm sides. I know he’s just dry humping me, but I never want him to stop—well, unless it’s to push his cock into me.

“Think about this tomorrow,” he demands. “When you’re in my classroom taking notes, remember how it felt to have my cock rubbing up against your needy pussy. Remember how wet you were, how desperate to be fucked.” Lowering his voice, he adds, “I certainly will.”

“Please fuck me now.” I push myself harder against his cock, craving more friction. “I don’t want to wait. Please, Sir. I need it now.”

His tone is leading, his muscles taut as he hovers above, watching me. “Yeah?”

My tone is desperate and jagged, like I’m being dragged over glass and I need relief. “Yeah.”

I should be more cautious. I would be, if he didn’t have me so tangled up with lust. It’s plain to see he’s in striking position, but I’m distracted and fail to notice. I’m so lost in all the pleasurable sensations sweeping through my body, it’s a shock when his vicious fangs sink into my flesh and rip me open.

“I would, but I can’t waste my cum on you, sweetheart. I have a date later this evening, and I wouldn’t want to leave her disappointed.”

My whole body stiffens, his venom pouring through my veins, paralyzing me. I’m so stunned, I can’t move or speak, I can only stare up at him.

He waits for his bite to do its job and kill me. Rage and hurt mingle together, filling me up until I feel a shameful stinging behind my eyes.

The horror of crying in front of him shakes me out of it.

“Date?” I ask icily.

It’s hard to control my anger, but there’s a faint sparkle of victory in his gaze, and I tell myself I should have seen this coming. He wants to scare me off, he wants to hurt me, he wants to send me away with no desire to ever come back—and after my display the other night when I caught his sister here, he knows just how to do it.

He probably doesn’t even have a date. He’s probably lying. He’ll probably sit here alone like a miserable bastard and finish reading A Christmas Carol while I lie awake in bed, tormented by thoughts of him being intimate with someone else.

As I reassure myself that he’s lying, my anger begins to subside.

The errant thought crosses my mind that just in case he does have a date, I don’t want to leave the bastard hard-up.

My tone a little sweeter, I tell him, “Well, then, I won’t keep you too late.”

His face freezes momentarily, unprepared for that response.

Then I close my eyes and rub myself against his the massive bulge in his underwear. “Won’t you let him out to play? I may not be experienced enough to satisfy you, but I’ll be a good warm-up,” I offer playfully.

His blue eyes narrow on my face and he realizes, “You don’t believe me.”

I don’t want him to know I don’t believe him. I don’t want him to take it as some kind of stupid challenge. He said he wouldn’t behave that way the other night when I thought I caught him with someone else to spite me, but this wouldn’t be out of spite. It would be out of some other thing—I’m not sure what yet.

“I believe you,” I tell him, toning down my reaction a bit.

His disbelief is clear in his tone. “You believe I’m going to fuck someone else tonight, and you’re still riding my cock?”

I shrug innocently. “The date may not go well. Surely you won’t want to fuck her then. Especially if you’ve already fucked me. I just want you to be satisfied enough to make good decisions.”

Cal stares down at me, shaking his head. “You’re fucking crazy.”

He might drive me crazy, trying to figure out how to play his stupid games.

Or, he might have, but in an unexpected move, he leaves his pieces on the board and quits the game.

I’m confused as he pushes my hands off him and climbs off the bed, bending to retrieve his clothes.

I watch with uncertainty, then start to sit up as he pulls his dress shirt back on. “What are you doing?”

“You have to go,” he says flatly.

I frown, pushing myself up to a sitting position on his bed. “Why?”

“Because I really am going out with someone tonight, and you think I’m playing games with you. I’m not. I’m done with this. It can’t go any further, and you’re clearly willing, so the intrigue is gone.” Flicking me a gaze as dismissive as it is hurtful, he says, “I thought you’d be more of a challenge.”

Hurt swells up inside me at his casual cruelty, but I shove it down. “You don’t mean that.”

He looks down as he buttons his shirt back up. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t,” I say, more annoyed. “You’re just trying to hurt me, and that’s really fucking mean, Cal.”

Lifting his gaze to mine, he says, “I never said you could call me Cal.”

Shaking my head, I ignore his comment. “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you.” He buttons the last button of his shirt. “It can’t work.”

He’s making me so angry, I’d like to smack him. I had all these fantasies of us having such a nice, pleasant evening together, and here he is, ruining everything.

I’m still wet, too. The stupid bastard had to jerk me around in every way possible, and now my body is as confused as my heart.

I sit there for a moment, debating what to do. I have rebellious fantasies of climbing underneath the soft bedding he sleeps under each night, burrowing my naked body into his spot, and getting myself off. I wonder how long he could last, standing there watching me touch myself, hearing me cry out as I pleasure myself in his bed.

I think it would probably work, but I couldn’t bear the humiliation if it didn’t. I sit there a moment longer second guessing myself, unsure when I’ll be alone with him next—if at all.

Swallowing, I ask, “What about our lessons?”

“The lessons were bullshit,” he answers, yanking up his pants and tucking himself away with some effort. “You are painfully idealistic, but you’re also hardworking and intelligent, and the paper deserved an A, which is why I gave you one.”

His sudden honesty does much more to scare me than the mean things he said before. What if he really is done with me?

“Mr. McLaren, I—I don’t know what I did. Is it something your sister said? Can’t we just talk about this? I was really enjoying getting to know you, and it seemed like you were enjoying it, too. I don’t want to play games, clearly I’m not as good at them as you and I don’t know the rules, but can we just… can we just rewind a little bit here?”

Regret flashes across his features, but he tempers it quickly. “Not this time. I’m sorry.”

“Please,” I say, putting myself out there even more, despite how vulnerable I know it makes me. “I really like you.”

I wait for my words to have some impact on him, but he simply bends and grabs my clothing, then brings the pile over and drops it in a heap on the bed beside me.

“Good,” he says indifferently. “Then don’t get me fired.”

I stare up at him, my heart in my eyes, but he looks back at me coolly, like he doesn’t even have one.

My heart feels so heavy with disappointment and I can’t look at him any longer. Suddenly fueled with anger and betrayal, I untangle my bra and panties from the clothing heap and quickly begin dressing. I’ve had it with this, with him. I hate how my fingers tremble as I button my shirt back up, but I tell myself it’s the rage and not the heartache.

He warned me he might hurt me, but I didn’t think he meant like this.

“I was right before. You are an asshole.”

I don’t wait for him to respond. I gather all the things I brought with me, save my pride and my hopes of a relationship. He stomped those into the ground, and it’ll take a while before I’m able to recover them on my own, but I will.

Following me out so he can hit the garage door opener, he says, “I’m sorry it went this way.”

“No, you’re not,” I snap, pausing just before I get to my car so I can spin around and look at him. “You’ve got some nerve pushing me to take chances, calling me a coward, saying I am too fond of the comfort zone. I was willing to blow right past my comfort zones for you. I thought you were worth it.”

He bows his head just slightly, shoving his hands into his pockets, accepting my anger since he knows he’s earned it.

“You’re the coward,” I tell him, in case he hasn’t put it together. “You’re the one who’s too afraid to trust someone and take a chance and see if maybe it could be something great.”

“Maybe,” he offers evenly. Since he must think he’s allowed me to cling to far too much of my pride, he adds, “Or maybe I just don’t think you’re worth it.”

My heart plummets all over again, falling through empty places inside me that weren’t empty before I came here tonight. I swallow down the lump in my throat, looking at him with pure loathing. “I hate you.”

He inclines his head. “Good.”

I can scarcely breathe, and I have nothing left to say to him, so I throw open my car door and drop into the driver’s seat. Now that he’s hurt me so badly, all I want to do is leave. He’s lucky he opened the garage door already, because I don’t check. I turn the engine on, throw the car in reverse, and fly out of his driveway, wishing I’d never come here to begin with.