Page 10 of Speak

They could put me in a fucking shack and I’d live in it to be close to her.

I fill out the application, send a personal email to their hiring director and get started on packing. I’m over-qualified as an OxfordandHarvard graduate. They may skip over me, but they won’t. They’d be insane to skip over my application. Besides, I sent an email that shows my photo. Not that I’m cocky. I just know I’m… on the more handsome side of the spectrum than not. No, women haven’t been a problem for me since I was past my acne years in high school. Except… since meeting her… nobody had piqued my interest whatsoever. It has now been three years and counting since Raven has taken over every waking thought in my mind.

There was just something so…intriguingabout Raven Monroe. From her light brown eyes to those little skirts barely covering her generous ass that she loves to tease me with. No, she wouldn’t get far from me. Not now. Not ever. Raven belonged to me. I mean she gestured TWICE to her mother about going back to Rayne-Moore, that in itself shows we’ve made progress with our therapy sessions. My little bird was up to something and I’m going to find out what exactly.

I turn on the screen of my laptop, then watch as she flutters about her room, looking at little knickknacks and whatsits, settling them back down and only putting in what she thinks is absolutely necessary. Like all those little skirts I mentioned before. I log into my desktop; into the archived little slivers of recordings I’ve kept over the years while treating her and open up my favorite one.

One of the only birthday visits she was allotted before I approved the bi-weekend home visits that take her away from me for seventy-two hours every eleven days.

In the video, she’s twenty-one, in her room, the one in her parent’s home, and she’s having a nightmare. When she sleeps at the mansion, she sleeps in a large t-shirt I’ve assumed is Axel’s and the skimpiest thongs. But this evening, she wore white, lacy cheeky panties. She’s kicked off the blanket, and her shirt has ridden up to her belly button. She wakes after a series of twitches, but as soon as she does, her fingers immediately dig into the front of her panties, spreading her thighs wide.

She wiggles around, and soon the panties are off, too and her fingers go back to her pussy, circling her clit and the sight of her exposed slit is wondrous. Her hips buck and her knees come up to her chest, her other hand goes to the hem of the shirt and she tears it off as well, letting it land on the floor. One hand between her thighs, the other on her breast, pinching and pulling hard, knees to the sides of her chest, she bucks wildly against her palm, riding her finger, switching between dipping one in and then circling it around her clit, until her back arches, lost in her own ecstasy, she doesn’t know she’s done it, but I do.

One. Gasp.

I groan as I cum in my hand.

Every. Time.

Thisis the video that began my unshakeable obsession with Raven Monroe.

I’ve been treating her for almost four years and I’ve only heardonegasp come from her delectable lips and it was when she was in the throes of her own passion. Not a nightmare, not a fight when she could have screamed out for help. No.One single gaspin an upwards of over fifteen hundred days while orgasming in her sleep.

I often wonder if she was dreaming of me and I’m demented enough to imagine she was.

I’ve kept my professionalism, knowing if I brought up her masturbation session and that sexy little gasp, she’d probably request to never see me again and I couldn’t have that, no. No, I wanted to be the cause of her next gasp, her moans, her ecstasy. To be the reason those lace panties were on the floor along with her brother’s T-shirt. But it’ll bemyT-shirt next time. I couldn’t exactly do that if she were to be over eighty miles away from me now could I?

I exit out of the video, the thing I’ve used as a source of porn for the last three years, turn off the desktop, head to the bathroom, and shower, leaving my laptop to play the live feed in her room, where she’s slipped underneath the blankets and gone to bed. I should be in bed as well, but I have more things to do if my plan is going to work out the way I need it to.

______

It's not even six in the morning when my phone rings. I’m pleased but not surprised to find out it’s Charles Wimberly, the hiring director for RMU, asking if I’m still interested in the position I applied for only hours ago as if I’ve changed my mind between the hours of eleven PM and five-forty-five AM. I roll my eyes at the insipid question and do an impromptu interview over the phone. They’re offering me twenty thousand dollars less than what I make now, but again, they’re offering free room and board, and discounted meals.

I roll my eyes again, trying to sound humble when I mumble some reply that I know will please him.

Good thing I’ve already packed up most of my belongings and sent in my immediate resignation to Lorne Wood last night. Classes start Monday, I’m to take the campus tour Sunday with a Rita Overly, head of administration and I’ll be settled into my office by Tuesday.

I’m coming, Raven.

Chapter Two

Jonas.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t love the view from the gothic bell tower looming above the entirety of Rayne-Moore. The flying buttresses, the spires, the ribbed vaults – even with all of the cobwebs, it’s fucking beautiful in here. I’ve never felt more at home than inside the decrepit tower, watching the last of the arriving students, the faculty, like little human ants and I’m the giant and I can squash them all with my shoe. I love that feeling. A little lonely at the top, sure, but I love it, nonetheless.

“So, George, see anyone that sparks your interest yet?” I ask the ancient stone gargoyle to my left. He stays silent, of course.

I turn to the roundabout as the last, super-shiny cherry-red sports car pulls in. A familiar guy with dirty blonde hair hops out and opens the passenger door to let out… I pull up my binoculars so I can see better when I see he’s helping a thick-thighed brunette out of the car. She’s wearing a skater skirt, and she pushes it down against the wind. Her hair blows wildly in the breeze and she turns away as he shuts the door, going to the trunk, pulling out a suitcase and an instrument case of some sort.

There’s a pang in my chest that dives straight to my groin.

“Jesus. C’mon baby, turn around.”

She does, but the wind blows her hair into her face, and she keeps her head bowed. I stare as they make their way to the dorms.Oh, goody. I stay in the dorms, too so I’ll probably be getting her name sooner rather than later if that guy isn’t her boyfriend. Even then…

I chuckle. “Don’t let her boyfriend keep you from making her your wife, am I right, George?”

Silence.

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