K Webster

They may not be heroes to anyone else, but they’re my heroes.

I’m still glaring at him when warmth washes over me. I cut my eyes over to Willa just in time to see her wide dark green eyes fixated on me.
She immediately glances down at her paper and her skin colors to a soft pink. My unruly dick twitches. Is she embarrassed? Was she checking me out?
I try to ignore that line of thinking, but it won’t go away. A million thoughts tangle together in my mind.
How old is she?
Does she find me attractive?
Was she thinking about me inside her?
I’m out of control. A selfish fuckwit like my dad. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was supposed to be everything he’s
not. The exact opposite. Yet, here I am lusting over a girl half my age and who’s still in high school.

But I’m here, aching to bury my face in her dark brown hair so I can inhale her scent. I crave to cradle her soft jawline and taste her sweet lips.
I want her.
I just fucking want her.
With every cell in my body.
Today, like any other day, she’s wearing something plain. A fitted pair of jeans, a scuffed-up pair of black Converse, and a
gray knitted sweater. On any other person, it would make them blend in. On her, she somehow makes it sexy.
Someone fucking shoot me now.
Take me out of my misery.
As much as I want to strip this girl, bend her over her desk, and fuck her into tomorrow, I can’t.