She looked wrecked. Worshipful. "I just… I needed to be closer. Please—is this okay?"

Something fierce and possessive twisted in Phei's chest.

He hadn't planned this. But seeing her choose it—choose to kneel without being told, choose to lower herself for him—it hit harder than any command ever could.

"This is perfect," he said, voice low and rough with truth.

A soft, relieved sob escaped her. Her grip on his calves tightened, nails digging through his pants.

"Can I move closer?"

"You can."

She shuffled forward immediately—no hesitation, thighs parting wider as she pressed between his legs, the heat of her body radiating against his inner thighs. Her heavy tits brushed his knees as she leaned in, arms wrapping fully around his legs now, hugging them to her chest like a lifeline.

Her cheek pressed hard into his thigh—warm, tear-damp skin soaking through his uniform pants—and she nuzzled deeper, breathing him in with shaky, desperate inhales.

"Good girl."

The words struck her like a physical blow.

Her whole body shuddered violently—a full, electric ripple from shoulders to thighs, tits jiggling against his legs, nipples dragging hard against the cashmere. A raw, needy sound tore from her throat—half-moan, half-sob—and she buried her face deeper into his thigh, clinging tighter.

Phei's hand came down on her head.

He started stroking—slow, deliberate, fingers threading through those expensive, glossy waves, scraping gently over her scalp, down the delicate curve of her neck, then back up again. Possessive. Soothing. The way a man claims something precious and fragile that's finally his.

Delilah melted.

Every ounce of tension drained from her body—shoulders slumping, arms loosening from desperate clutch to soft, trusting hold. She went liquid against him, cheek nuzzling his thigh, breath hitching as fresh tears soaked the fabric.

"That's it," Phei murmured, still stroking, voice quiet and steady. "Just let go."

"I can't stop shaking," she whispered, voice muffled against him.

"You don't have to. Just feel it."

She pressed harder into his thigh—wetness spreading, tears soaking through—the proud Maxton princess reduced to a trembling, crying girl in his lap while he petted her like something rare and owned.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, words vibrating against his leg. "For everything. The paintballs. The questions. Laughing when Danton—" Her voice cracked completely. "I'm so, so sorry, Phei."

"I know."

"I was awful."

"You were."

"I don't deserve you being kind to me. Why are you kind to me, letting me be like this with you instead of shoving me away... plot a revenge? Or maybe revenge-fuck me like my friends said you'd do if I clang on you desperately, and then dump my remaining mess."

Phei was quiet a moment, hand never stopping its slow path through her hair.

"Because revenge is poison," he said finally. "And I've swallowed enough of it to last a lifetime."

She looked up at him—eyes red-rimmed, utterly vulnerable.

"I could hate you," he continued, voice calm. "Could hate every Maxton, every person who made me feel small. I could spend years breaking you the way you broke me—watch you cry, beg, fall apart."

His thumb traced her wet cheekbone—gentle, almost tender.

"But that would just drag me back into the dark. I've been there. Stood on a rooftop ready to end it because the hate had eaten everything good. I won't go back." She obviously won't understand the rooftop part.

"So, you… forgive?" Confusion laced her broken voice.

"I choose to move forward. There's a difference." His hand slid down to cup her jaw—firm, thumb pressing into the soft flesh under her chin, tilting her tear-streaked face up so their eyes locked. "And I'd be lying if I said there wasn't something else."

"Something else?" Her voice was barely a breath, lips trembling.

"You think I don't notice how you look at me now? How every last one of you looks?" A slow, dark smile curved his mouth—honest, hungry, edged with triumph. "Every girl who ever hurt me is now dripping for my attention. Every woman who treated me like trash now stares at me like I'm the only thing that matters. And you want the real secret?"

She nodded—frantic, desperate, eyes wide and wet, chest heaving so hard her tits strained the cashmere.

"It turns me on."

Her breath caught—sharp, audible, a soft whimper escaping as her thighs clenched visibly under the tiny skirt.

"Every time I think about you—about any of you—my cock gets hard. I'm hard right now, Delilah. Have been since you dropped to your knees and started crying into my lap like a desperate little girl who finally realized what she lost."

He said it flat, unashamed, voice low and filthy.

"The charity case you all tormented is now the man you all ache for. The boy you laughed at is the one making your panties soaked just from sitting close. And instead of wasting my life on revenge, I get to drown in this—in lust, in power, in watching spoiled princesses like you fall apart at my feet, begging for whatever scraps I decide to give."

His voice dropped to a growl, thumb stroking her lower lip—smearing the gloss, pressing just inside her mouth so she tasted him.

"That's a much better poison, don't you think? Turning all that hate into raw, dripping want and lust. Taking every tear, you cried laughing at me and making you cry them because you need my cock so badly it hurts."

Delilah stared up at him—eyes glazed, lips parted, body shaking with fine tremors. A fresh rush of heat flooded her cheeks, her nipples stabbing harder against the sweater, thighs pressing together as another helpless gush of slick soaked her panties.

"You're… you're actually…" she whispered, voice wrecked.

"What?"

"I thought you'd want to punish me. Make me suffer. I was ready for it. I would have taken it."

"I know." His thumb pushed deeper into her mouth—she sucked instinctively, tongue swirling, moaning soft and needy around it.

"That's part of why I won't. Punishing you would be too easy. This—watching you kneel and beg, tears running down her pretty face because she's terrified I'll walk away while she sucks my thumb—this is better."

He pulled his thumb free—slow, letting her chase it with her lips—then cupped her jaw again, tilting her face side to side like he was inspecting his property.

"I'm greedy, Delilah. I'd rather have you soft and willing and mine than broken and hating me, adding more enemies. I want you dripping, shaking, coming untouched just from my voice in your ear. I want you ruined for anyone else because no one will ever make you feel like I do."

She made a sound—half-sob, half-moan, raw and overwhelmed.

"That's still more than I deserve," she whispered.

"Probably." His smile turned sharp. "But I'm taking it anyway."

She pressed her face back into his thigh—hard, nuzzling desperately, arms locking tighter around his legs. He felt fresh tears soak through his pants, her body trembling against him.

"You smell so good," she breathed suddenly, voice muffled but thick with need. "I don't understand it—you're not wearing anything but you smell like, that is what I heard—" She inhaled deep against his thigh, nose pressing hard into the fabric, body shuddering violently. "Like sex and home and everything I've ever wanted. I want to drown in it."

"Everyone says that."

"Everyone?" A flicker of jealousy, instantly buried.

"Every girl who gets this close." He stroked her hair again. "But right now, it's just you."

She clung tighter—arms squeezing his legs like she'd never let go.

"I don't care about anyone else," she whispered. "Just let me stay here. Please."

Phei's hand moved to her cheek, tilting her face up—eyes red and devoted, lips swollen and wet.

"You look like a mess," he said softly.

"I know."

"You look fucking beautiful."

Her breath caught on a sob.

His thumb traced her lower lip again—pressing inside. She opened instantly, sucking greedily, eyes fluttering shut as she moaned around it.

He gave her two fingers next—pushing deep, stretching her lips, feeling her tongue swirl desperately between them. Drool escaped the corners almost immediately, running down her chin as she sucked like it was the only thing keeping her sane.

"Mmmmh~ Good girl," he murmured.

She shuddered hard—body arching, thighs clenching, a fresh rush of slick soaking her panties as she came untouched, just from his fingers in her mouth and his praise.

They stayed like that—her kneeling between his legs, worshipping his fingers with sloppy, desperate suction, him stroking her hair with calm possession.

When he finally withdrew, she chased his hand with a whimper.

"We have to go back," he said. "Class ends soon."

"I don't care."

"You do. You're still Delilah Maxton."

"I don't want to be." Her voice cracked. "I just want to be yours."

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