Page 38 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

I could see it vividly, the way his body would move with an unspoken grace, the taut muscles of his chest flexing as he shifted beneath my gaze.

Every detail of his form called to me; the ridges of his abs, the strength in his thighs, the way his platinum blonde hair gleamed faintly in the dim light of my imagined room.

I let my hand trail down my stomach, slick with the cold water, as the ache in my cock grew unbearable.

My fingers wrapped around myself, stroking slowly as the scene in my mind unraveled further. I could see him standing there, at first confused by my sudden appearance but too captivated to move. His lips — soft, plush, and lightly parted in that telltale expression of surprise — would tremble slightly as his eyes traced the lines of my body.

Each stroke of my hand matched the deliberate pace of my thoughts.

I could picture myself stepping closer, still nude from the shower, my cock thick and throbbing as it jutted out before me. The air would be thick with tension, his breath quickening as I approached.

His gaze would drop, just for a moment, to the length of me, and I’d feel the corner of my mouth twitch in satisfaction. He’d see everything—the hunger in my eyes, the way my hand stroked myself with slow, deliberate movements, and he’d know exactly what I intended to do.

I groaned, the sound reverberating through the tiles, as my strokes grew firmer, more insistent.

In my mind, I reached out, one hand tangling in that silken hair of his—a unique shade of silver with hints of platinum blonde at the roots. It felt like liquid moonlight beneath my fingers, impossibly soft.

He’d stiffen at first, uncertain, but then I’d tilt his head back, forcing his gaze to meet mine.

My lips would crash against his, brutal and demanding, claiming him in a way that left no room for doubt. He’d gasp into my mouth, the sound muffled as I devoured him, my tongue sweeping past his lips to taste him fully.

His hair would twist between my fingers, anchoring him to me as I deepened the kiss, not caring if I bruised those perfect lips. No, I wanted them bruised. Wanted them swollen and tender from my touch, so he’d feel the lingering ache every time he moved his mouth.

“Fuck,” I hissed, my hand tightening around my shaft as I imagined the way he’d look at me after—his eyes wide, his chest heaving, his lips reddened and glistening. My pace quickened, the water doing little to temper the heat building within me.

In my mind, I’d push him down onto his knees, his body pliant beneath my touch but his expression still filled with that stubborn fire I found so damn irresistible.

I’d guide his mouth to my cock, my other hand still tangled in his hair, and I’d watch as he took me in, inch by agonizing inch. The heat of his mouth would be exquisite, his tongue working me with a skill that sent jolts of pleasure through me.

“Faster,” I’d growl, tugging sharply at his hair to force him to pick up the pace.

His hands would grip my thighs, nails digging into my skin as he worked to please me, his throat tightening around the head of my cock as I thrust into him. The image was almost too much to bear, and I groaned again, the sound guttural and raw.

My hand moved faster now, matching the desperate rhythm of my thoughts.

In my mind, I was relentless, driving into him with a force that left him gasping and struggling to keep up. His eyes would water slightly, but he’d never look away, that stubborn glint still shining through the haze of lust.

And gods, the sounds he’d make—soft, muffled moans that vibrated around me, sending waves of pleasure spiraling through my body.

I’d be on the verge of release, my body taut and trembling, when I’d finally let myself go. The thought of spilling into his mouth, of him swallowing every drop while that defiant gaze never wavered, sent me hurtling toward the edge.

“Fuck,” I groaned again, my voice echoing off the tiles as my strokes grew frantic.

The line between fantasy and reality blurred, and I let myself drown in the imagined sensation of his lips around me, his tongue tracing along my length as I came, hard and unrelenting.

The tension snapped, and I gasped, my body convulsing as my release surged through me.

My cum splattered against the tile wall, hot and thick, and I leaned heavily against the cool surface, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

In my mind, he was still there, his lips curved in a faint, knowing smile as he swallowed the last of me.

When I finally opened my eyes, the reality of the moment hit me like a cold slap. The mess on the wall was a stark reminder of just how far I’d let myself go, and a wave of frustration surged through me.

“Pathetic,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as I worked to wash away the evidence of my weakness.

The water cascaded over me once more, cleansing my skin but doing little to ease the lingering ache within me.

The craving only “he” can tame and relieve.

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