Hey, Mister Marshall (St. Mary’s Rebels #4) Read Online Saffron A. Kent

Categories Genre: Forbidden, Romance, Taboo, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: St. Mary’s Rebels Series by Saffron A. Kent
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Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
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Encouraged, I go on, “Like that thing they do on TV. Fuck, what is it called? When a guy takes a drag and then exhales it into a girl’s mouth.” My eyes go wide at my own idea. “Oh, let’s do that. Please. Please, Alaric. It’s so hot. And sexy and amazing.”

He keeps watching me for another few seconds.

“Please? Just once. I don’t even care about smoking. I just wanna feel what you feel. I just wanna feel close to you.”

It’s true.

That’s the only reason I want to do this.

That’s the only reason I want to do all the things.

I try to move away from him and turn around so I can make my point better. But he wraps an arm around my waist and his other comes to grip my throat and stretch my neck up even more. So he can come down and kiss my lips from above.

When he breaks it, he goes for his cigar.

He takes a big drag, his sharp cheeks hollowing out before his lips open and he sends a cloud of smoke up. With bated breath and a thumping heart I wait for him to come to me. I wait for him to give me his gray cloud of smoke.

And he does.

He comes down and with his eyes on me, he pours the rest over my lips. He exhales and God, I wish, I wish that I could keep my eyes open and watch him give me the smoke in his lungs but I have to close them because it’s too much.

It’s too intense.

So all I can do is open my mouth and suck in what he gives me, and get all heated up.

My lips, my tongue. My chest and belly.

Even my pussy.

When he’s done, I open my eyes, all drugged and high, and he rasps, “Shotgunning. It’s called shotgunning.”

I give him a drowsy smile. “Thank you.”

He responds by flexing his fingers on my throat, tightening them, and kissing me once again.

And then he proceeds to take me out of the tub, carry me in his arms out to the bedroom. He deposits me on the bed, all wet and dripping, and fucks me into oblivion.

So he gives me everything that I want.

He gives me more than what I want.

Because I’m his baby.

And because I’m his baby, I give him things too.

I pamper him back and I reward him.

For his hard work. For all the papers he writes and all the research he does. For completing the chapters of his book. For outlining his lesson plans. For working out every day of the week, for laboring over his body.

Not to mention, I reward him for all the things that he doesn’t want to do but does because they are his responsibility. All the city council meetings, all the board meetings, all the principal-y things that he has to do.

And over the past couple of weeks, I’ve realized that there are two Alarics.

Alaric number one is the one who takes my rewards with all the gusto.

He’s the one who draws baths for me, watches TV with me, pampers me and spoils me. He helps me with my assignments and tests, and when I get things right, he smiles and calls me baby. He also calls me baby when I don’t get things right though. But it’s more of an exasperated endearment because I’m not listening to him while he’s explaining things to me.

He’s the one who poses with me for our selfies. For the record, he completely hates it but when I get in the mood, I grab his phone, cuddle with him and just go for it. And since he likes to indulge me, he doesn’t protest. But neither does he smile. He simply stares at the camera in all his grumpy glory but I love it.

He’s also the one who I tell about my designs and sketches. All the fabrics and colors that I’m thinking. All the new stuff that I make on my new purple sewing machine.

Oh and he’s the one I seduce while wearing only his tweed jacket.

Remember the jacket he gave me that one time at the bar, when I was all provocatively dressed for Jimmy, I still have it. Sometimes I sleep in it to feel close to him and sometimes I wear it – and only it – to crawl up to him when he’s all focused in his work. I like to push his books and files aside so I can get up in his lap and open the buttons one by one.

I’ve tried to strip for him like he did for me that first night.

But by the third button, he gets so impatient that I never get a chance to. So all I can do is hold onto him as he goes for my tits. As he sucks and sucks on the nipples, drinking from them, making them all hurt-y and sore and swollen.


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