Beautiful Torment Read Online Paige Laurens (Beautiful #1)

Categories Genre: Chick Lit, Drama, Erotic, New Adult Tags Authors: Series: Beautiful Series by Paige Laurens
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Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
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If he didn’t know I liked him before, it’s out in the open now.

On both ends.

He likes me!

Or, at least he’s attracted to me.

I laugh out loud, if he only knew what I just watched him do. Upon hearing me, he meets my eye, raising his eyebrow in that way I love. I’m still so turned on from before that the gesture makes it even worse. I’m uncomfortable, not to mention slightly embarrassed about relieving myself in the middle of school. I’m not even going to address the fact that he’s making me so crazy that I’m raring to go again. I try to control my heavy breathing, even though I’m all but squirming in my seat.

Focus on taking notes.

He approaches my desk for the first time towards the end of class. He doesn’t look at me, but he gently taps his knuckle on the wooden surface while addressing everyone, and when the bell rings, I don’t move.

“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble by calling your house.” Once the last person leaves he props himself on the corner of my desk.

“You didn’t,” I can’t look him in the eye while he’s this close without flushing red.

“Is everything okay with your sister?”

“Yes,” my voice squeaks.

“Good,” he nods and I focus on that perfectly chiseled chin of his.

“You don’t have another class?” It suddenly dawns on me that no students come in here after my class.

“Your class is my last of the day,” he answers. “9th is my free period.”

“Oh, I thought that was sixth?”

“That’s my lunch period,” he smiles. “And we can do that makeup quiz during lunch tomorrow if you’d like?”

“Okay,” my eyes now find his hand, resting on his knee. The same hand he ravished himself with earlier.

Oh God!

I get up and grab my bag. I need to get out of here before I’m forced to make another bathroom pit stop.

“Luci,” he calls, following me to the door. “I can let you know the day before if I don’t plan on coming in.” I let my head fall back in humiliation. “But I still expect to see you walk by between first and second period.”

I don’t even need to look at him; I can tell by his voice that he’s gloating.

The next day, things between Mr. Harrington and I are as normal as ever. And I guess why shouldn’t they be? I’m the only one who discovered his secret lunchtime session.

We eat, I take the quiz I missed, and we get into talking about the Stephen King book I wanted to discuss yesterday.

All is well and ordinary.

I wouldn’t have known any different if I hadn’t seen him masturbate with my own eyes yesterday. And shit, I can’t stop thinking about it.

Call me sick; call me perverted, but the next day, I go back. I have to know if it was a one-time thing or not.

It’s not.

I was less shocked the second time, but equally as turned on. Hearing my name at the end is like the conclusion to my favorite movie. That’s the part I replay in my head the most when I go to the bathroom afterwards and take care of myself.

It’s turned into a vicious pattern. Every other day I meet him for lunch, and on the ones I don’t, I watch him, like a huge creep, fueling my fantasies for another day.

Sometimes his office door is easier to push open than others. I don’t even think as to why he doesn’t lock it, because if he did, it would crush me. On the days it doesn’t open easily, I make sure the hallway is empty before I press my ear against the door. It’s always cool to the touch, or maybe that’s because I’m so hot with anticipation.

Yes, I feel silly, but what’s happening on the other side eggs me on.

I always wait for him to get to a certain point - a certain groan that I’ve grown accustom to - before gently turning the handle and letting the door fall open on it’s own.

I like how sometimes he goes about touching himself a little differently; depending on how much time he has before the bell. If he has more time he’ll pause, holding onto himself a little longer, trying to drag out the process. He’ll say my name a little more, chanting how great I make him feel, and telling me I’m doing a good job. If he’s pressed for time, he’ll tug on himself harder, rubbing it out quickly, growling my name while pretending he’s inside me.

Those are the best moments and give me the most to work with when I’m on my own.

However, no matter what, if there’s plenty of time or none at all, the ending is consistent. It’s always my name that escapes his lips as he comes. At times it’s only a whisper, and on other occasions it’s so strong that I’m amazed no one else hears.


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