Tenure

52. Kiernan

52

Kiernan

8 months later...

It’s very strange, seeing James sitting in my high school gymnasium. It’s even stranger seeing him seated beside my mom and dad.

My parents were wary when I told them I was being treated to a trip to Paris by my new boyfriend. Wariness faded into outright shock when they realized he wasn’t the valet. But James turned on the charm—schmoozed them in a way that almost made me jealous since he had never bothered to be kind to anyone but me up until that point—and had them both eating out of the palm of his hand before dessert.

My mother was half in love with him, and my father—despite his historical hatred for tenured professors—had talked physics with him late into the night in the lobby of our Parisian hotel. James had fallen into bed beside me drunk as shit, slurring about how much they loved him and how we had nothing to be worried about.

Nothing ever came of the beating in the garage. Graham was conspicuously absent from campus for a while, and when I eventually ran into him in line at Tim Horton’s he abandoned his coffee and donut order and hightailed it out of there. I didn’t bother bringing it up to James. He was moody enough already; his obsession with going to sleep and waking up with his cock inside something of mine had him soaring as high as his irritation at my music choices, and “girl shit” all over his bathroom counter had him sinking into surly lows. But he loved me, showed me the time of my life in Paris, could never be found in public without his arm around my shoulders or lips on my neck, often resulting in quickies against brick walls in alleys or dressing rooms at the mall.

We’d decided to keep quasi-quiet about our relationship while on campus, at least until I was done high school and in attendance full-time. But the current of tension tethering us together was hard to hide. I’m sure most students just assumed we were fucking and didn’t think much of it. But we kept the school property trysts to a minimum, and I didn’t attend his tutorials. Being alone together in that room was . . . a lot.

“Kiernan Baker,” they call, and I walk across the stage, shake hands with my teachers and the principal, swap my tassel to the other side . . . I know I should be paying attention to this, that people are saying things to me, and that I’m saying things to people, but all I can see is him, eyes locked on me, brimming with pride and lust and clearly itching to kiss me.

I hurry down the opposite side of the stage but instead of returning to my seat I go straight down the aisle to James who is already standing. My parents tut at us, my dad rolling his eyes, my mom misty and dabbing at her cheeks, as he steps towards me.

Fuck it. I jog at him, and he scoops me up in his arms, kissing me hard, tongue pushing into me like I know his cock is dying to, until my dad clears his throat, and we break apart.

He drops me to the ground, and I expect him to blush or look sheepish, but he just kisses me once more, soft, chaste, despite half the gymnasium openly staring at us, most of the women very openly staring at him.

He doesn’t seem to notice. Or he just doesn’t care.

“Alright, alright,” my dad says, blushing on our behalf. James smiles at me, a whopping nine thousand megawatt smile that one hundred percent has caused a tidal wave of wet panties in the immediate vicinity, and then takes his seat beside my dad. I hurry back to my spot and can feel his eyes burning a hole in my back, my neck tingling with anticipation. I barely notice when everyone tosses their caps—just turn to go back to James but bump right into his chest. He’s already come over, is already grabbing me by the cheeks and kissing me again, his enthusiasm intoxicating. He has hated keeping things quiet on campus. Has hated not being able to freely touch me at will when I’m there. And this was our milestone marker. He has free reign now.

He ducks down, and I feel his lips against the shell of my ear.

“We need to find a bathroom,” he says, voice husky and desperate.

“My parents are here,” I whisper.

“I don’t care.”

He grabs me by the hand and takes off, nobody noticing in the chaos of hugs and excitement. We slip out the doors and down the hall, and he drags me into the nearest bathroom.

He pauses for a moment, glances around, and then looks down at me.

“Which one,” he asks, his voice desperate.

I know what he’s asking, and I point to the second stall.

He shoves me in and kicks the door shut behind him while unbuckling his jeans, kisses me roughly, and then spins me around. I slap my palms to the wall just as he rips my panties to the side and—

“Fuck!” I hiss.

No preamble. No fingers. No warning. Just his cock thrust up into me so hard he almost lifts me off the ground.

“God, you’re wet,” he says, sounding extremely pleased. But I know him, and I know that catch in his throat, and he is barely holding on to his self-control.

“Always for you, daddy. I’m yours.”

He snaps, his hand finding my throat and squeezing, cock grinding into me so hard I know I’ll hurt tomorrow despite the extreme pussy workouts he regularly puts me through.

“God damn, Kiernan, fuck . . . fuck . . .”

I hear voices as people come in, but he doesn’t stop, just shuts up and covers my mouth with his other hand, his pace increasing.

“I just can’t believe the Bakers are okay with this,” someone says. I’m not really paying attention, can’t really focus on anything but James’ cock about to make me come very hard in the high school bathroom with other people in the room.

“He looks like he’s closer to their age than Kiernan’s . . .”

My body is tensing up, and he squeezes my throat harder, fucks harder. like he’s daring me to come without a sound. Like he knows that I can’t.

“Kiernan is such a sweet girl. I’m so surprised.”

Shit, shit, shit . . .

“I mean, I get it, I do. Look at him.” There’s giggling. “But doesn’t he want to be with someone his own age?”

“You mean like you?” More giggling.

James loses it first. I feel him tip over the edge, feel him filling me up, and I can’t help it—my pussy contracts, spasming all over his cock, and something about being in this bathroom again, with him inside of me this time, has me unable to hold it back.

I moan, loud, and he clamps his hand down even harder, but I feel him shaking with silent laughter. I can hear the women pause on the other side of the door, and he shakes more as my thighs start to buckle.

“Hello?” one of them says.

I slump to the side, and James releases my mouth, peppering the back of my neck with kisses.

“Say something,” he whispers.

I wave my hand at him, dizzy and spent, my head swimming and my tongue not fit for speech. He sighs heavily, kisses me again, and then loudly says, “Yes?”

I can hear the shock in the air.

“Um, this is the women’s room?”

“I’m aware.”

James slides out of me, a rush of warmth gushing everywhere , and he shoves his dick back in his pants at the same time as he lowers himself to the backs of my legs and starts kissing them tenderly, tonguing his way up my inner thighs.

“What are you doing in there?”

I shudder as he slips his tongue inside of me.

We are my favourite flavour, he told me once, in a Baskin Robbins. The girl scooping the ice cream almost dropped an entire tray of ice cream cones.

“Can you please fuck off?” I shout at them. “We are busy!”

I hear the shocked grumbles but can’t focus as he laps at my soaking pussy. I don’t even try to stay quiet this time. I come with abandon, grinding myself backwards onto his face, feeling his left hand grip my ass cheek and his right thumb slip into my asshole. It feels like I come for fucking ever.

When I am finally able to turn around he is still on his knees, looking up at me with such love I almost come again. But he doesn’t stand up right away, which is odd, since he loves to kiss me when one or both of us taste like cum . . .

“Kiernan?” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Marry me.”

My heart sputters to a stop, my brain immediately launching into a mile long list of reasons why we can’t.

I’m still seventeen.

You’re my first boyfriend.

You’re so much older.

People won’t get it.

It’s not something people do.

My parents.

And then the insecurities start scratching away.

He’ll get tired of you.

You’ll be divorced before you’re twenty.

This can never work.

But he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a little velvet box, and pops it open with a creak. Inside is a black band with beautiful gold-leaf filigree, encrusted all the way around with diamonds.

It’s dark. And different. And so unfuckingbelievably perfect that I can never imagine myself wearing anything else.

“Yes,” I breathe.

Because if anyone can prove this equation, it’s us.