Climb on My Stepfather (Ashley and Alex)

13: Stella.

I'm not the only one waiting outside of the test room.

Half the school is here in red and gold, our official colors. Some people even have their faces painted or hold signs with encouraging messages for Gage.

When it was just the two of us studying, the pressure to help him pass was more than enough, but this? So much is on the line. If Gage doesn't pass, he won't play in the championship and we will lose. It's a given.

No. He's going to pass. Not only that, he's going to get an A.

He worked so hard and he's a lot smarter than he gives himself credit for.

Remembering his directions to me before we left the apartment, I close my eyes and recall him beneath me last night, the way he rode me on his bucking hips, sweat dripping off his abs, jaw clenched tight, shuddering, trying not to come. How he groaned my name so brokenly. How he threw himself off the bed and took a cold shower while I lay panting, my underwear clinging to my skin. It's almost over. The waiting is almost-

My thoughts burst like a bubble when II hear a door creak. Slam.

My eyes fly open. The mass of students is deadly silent as Gage walks out, backpack slung over one shoulder, a backwards hat on his head. He's holding a paper in his hand, but I can't read his expression. Oh God, he's not smiling.

What happened?

He's focused on me, jaw set.

He stops in the center of the courtyard, holds up the paper. "I got an A."

Utter pandemonium breaks out. Deafening cheers, screams of joy. Male students chest bump as they watch their hero stride toward me. Somewhere in the distance, a marching band begins to play, but my heartbeat drowns out the noise almost immediately. Because my boyfriend very clearly does not care about the fanfare whatsoever. And if I had any doubt about that fact, he rids me of it a second later when I'm thrown over his shoulder and carried out of the courtyard.

that it actually hurts

muscular swells of his butt.

doesn't slow down until

the stapled papers into the footwell, then sets me down on the seat, buckling me in with shaking hands. It's impossible to miss the growing ridge behind the fly of his jeans. Or the way his restless touch scrubs up and down

"T-Gage? Are you okay?"

No answer.

me. They pin me through the windshield like a hundred-mile-per- hour wind. My legs scoot together on the seat in an attempt to suppress the spreading ache there. I'm growing hotter by the second, muscles tightening like the cogs of an engine. And the wetness. It comes on so fast, it's almost embarrassing. By the time he climbs into the driver's side of the truck and starts the engine with a violent twist of his wrist, my nails are clawing the seat on either side of my hips. "Don't say another word. Your innocent voice is too much when I'm this hard," he rasps, gunning the truck in reverse and peeling

five minutes away,"

clips. "Pull them down or I'll tear them straight

to follow his orders. Some undiscovered part of me is thrilled by the fact that I've pushed him to the edge, even if his intensity concerns

I reach up beneath my skirt and work the panties down my thighs, his groan rending the

forest. We go bouncing across uneven terrain before he skids to a stop in a shaded clearing, the sound of wind and the nearby ocean filling the cab of the truck, along with his harsh panting. I twist the panties in my hands nervously, but he takes them from me, shoving them up against his nose, inhaling, groaning. Keeping them pressed there as he exits the truck and prowls around the rear

into his arms, carried around to the rear bed of the truck. He settles me on the

"Gage?"

He doesn't answer me.

drags me closer to the blanket and pushes me down, so I'm looking

the towering trees above us.

starting on the button

my

"Like what?"

Or scared of me. Please go back to being me as soon as I can get this one fuck, honey. I'm dying. I

I could