He didn't leave.

That single fact looped in Delilah's mind like a lifeline as she knelt between his spread thighs, lips still swollen and tingling from sucking his fingers. He'd said we had to go back. Said class was ending. Said people would notice.

But he stayed seated—immovable, thighs parted wide, the thick, obvious ridge of his hard cock straining against his uniform pants right in front of her face.

And she stayed on her knees.

"Phei…" His name broke from her throat—raw, pleading, wrecked. "Please?"

"Please what, princess?"

She didn't know how to say it. The need was too huge, too consuming—a burning ache between her legs, her pussy clenching on nothing, panties soaked through and clinging to her swollen lips, clit throbbing so hard it hurt.

"I don't know," she whimpered, hands gripping his calves tighter, nails digging through fabric. "I just—I need—"

"Use your words, Delilah."

A frustrated, desperate whine tore out of her. Her eyes dropped—locked on the massive bulge inches from her face, the outline so thick and long it made her mouth water again, her cunt gush fresh slick down her thighs. She could see it twitch under the fabric—alive, hungry.

He'd said he is hard. He'd said it matter-of-factly, like it was nothing, like admitting to being aroused by her tears and her submission was just casual conversation.

But seeing it was different.

"I want…" She swallowed hard, voice shaking. "Can I… sit in your lap? Please? I need to be closer—need to feel you—"

Phei studied her— his purple eyes burning, lips curved in that slow, dangerous smile. His expression was unreadable—calm, patient, giving nothing away. The same face that had smiled at her in that hallway.

The same face that had just explained why he'd chosen lust over revenge. The same face she couldn't stop dreaming about.

"Come here."

Two words.

Delilah scrambled—no grace, no poise, just pure desperation. She launched herself up from her knees, legs wobbling from the stone, skirt riding high enough to flash the soaked lace of her panties clinging transparently to her shaved pussy, camel-toe perfect and glistening.

His hands caught her hips mid-stumble—palms clamping hard, yanking her forward with zero effort.

She landed straddling him with a sharp cry—knees slamming the bench on either side of his thighs, skirt bunching fully around her waist, her dripping cunt pressing directly against the steel-hard ridge of his cock through their clothes.

"Oh god—" The words exploded from her as the pressure hit her clit— his thick, scorching length grinding up between her soaked folds, the fabric barrier doing nothing to hide how fucking huge he was.

She could feel every vein, every throb, the flared head nudging her entrance through the thin layers. Her panties were ruined—drenched, clinging, slick flooding out to soak his pants where they pressed together.

He was massive—bigger than the video, bigger than her fantasies, the outline stretching the fabric so obscenely she could trace the ridge of his crown with her grinding hips.

Delilah's head fell back—tits heaving under the cashmere, nipples stabbing hard and visible—as she rocked forward instinctively, rubbing her clit along his length with a desperate whine.

He steadied her onto him.

"Phei—fuck—"

"Keep going," he growled, hands sliding to grip her ass—fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, spreading her cheeks slightly, pulling her harder against his cock so her pussy was just very well on his cock, while it settled between her ass cheeks. "Show me how bad you need it."

Permission unleashed her.

She ground down hard—hips rolling in frantic, sloppy circles, humping his trapped cock like a bitch in heat. Every drag smeared her slick through her panties onto his pants, the wet friction on her clit making her sob.

Her tits bounced with every dry humping thrust—sweater stretching tighter, nipples dragging against the knit until they ached. She was dry-humping him in the open garden—skirt around her waist, stockings and thighs on full display, pussy lips spread wide around-flat the massive bulge, clit grinding shamelessly as she chased relief.

"Delilah~" His voice was low, rough with restraint, but his eyes burned—dark, predatory hunger flickering behind the calm, matching the steel-hard cock throbbing against her soaked core. "Look at me."

She was already looking—couldn't tear her eyes away, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and parted, breath coming in desperate little pants that made her heavy tits heave.

"Tell me what you want."

"I want to kiss you." The words spilled out raw, frantic, no filter left. "Please—need your mouth—need to taste you—"

"Then kiss me."

She lunged—hands flying to his face, nails scraping his jaw as she crashed her mouth into his like a woman possessed. The kiss was messy, savage—teeth clashing, tongues battling, too much desperation and zero finesse. She devoured him—sucking his lower lip hard, biting down until he growled, tongue thrusting deep into his mouth like she was trying to fuck him with it.

She'd never kissed boys before only a lot of videos and sex lessons from her mother—but still this... felt like—like she wanted to crawl inside his skin, fuse with him, never come out.

Phei's hands clamped harder on her hips—fingers bruising deep into her soft flesh, yanking her down so her dripping cunt ground brutally against his trapped cock. He didn't push her away—held her there, let her take, let her rut like a desperate animal while he stayed rock-solid beneath her.

She ripped her mouth away, gasping—strings of spit connecting their lips, her chest heaving, tits bouncing with every pant.

"I don't—I've never felt—"

"Slow down," he rasped, thumb digging into her hip, soothing and commanding at once. "We have time."

"I don't want slow—" she whined, hips already rolling again. "I want—fuck—I need—"

"I know." That dark, filthy smile. "Slow anyway."

He kissed her this time, the first time always mattered—claiming, controlled—lips brushing hers in a ghost of contact that made her whimper pathetically and chase his mouth. He let her catch him—let her press closer, deepen it—but kept the pace torturously slow.

His tongue traced her lips—teasing the seam once, twice—before sliding inside with deliberate possession.

"More—" she gasped, hands fisting his shirt, nails scraping his chest. "I need more—need you inside me—please, take my virginity... Phei—fuck me right here— "

He growled—low, feral—one hand yanking her head forward by the hair to crush his mouth to hers, tongue thrusting deep as his hips bucked up, grinding his cock harder against her soaked cunt.

Delilah screamed into the kiss—body seizing, coming hard just from the friction, squirting messily through her panties onto his pants in hot, desperate pulses.

And he still didn't stop.

Just held her tighter, kissed her deeper, let her ride the aftershocks on his lap like the ruined, needy princess she'd finally admitted to being.

Her hands attacked his blazer like it had personally offended her—fingers clawing at the lapels, shoving it off his broad shoulders in one frantic push, nails scraping his neck as the fabric slid down his arms and crumpled onto the bench behind him. Then his tie—yanking the knot loose with desperate tugs, pulling it over his head and flinging it into the firelight without a glance, the silk whipping through the air.

Then his shirt buttons.

Her trembling fingers tore at them—popping one after another in rapid, clumsy frenzy, a couple buttons flying off into the shadows of the spectating nature. The shirt gaped open, revealing skin that made her mouth go dry.

Pale, flawless, stretched tight over muscle that hadn't been this defined before—or maybe it had and she'd been too blind, too cruel to ever look. His chest was a map of lean power—pecs firm and defined, abs forming, the deep V plunging down into his low-slung pants, a dark trail of hair arrowing straight to the bulge she was already obsessed with.

She saw now.

Gods, she fucking saw.

Her hands dropped lower—shaking, desperate—finding his belt.

"Delilah—"

"Please." The word broke from her—raw, pleading, her fingers already ripping the buckle open, yanking the leather free with a sharp snap. "Please, I need to feel you—need your cock—need to see it—"

The belt clattered aside.

Then the button—popped open with frantic force.

Then the zipper—dragged down in one rough pull, the sound loud in the quiet garden.

She tugged—hard, greedy—and he lifted his hips to help her, a low growl rumbling from his chest as his pants slid down his thighs.

He sat there in nothing but open shirt and boxers—cock straining obscenely against the thin cotton, the massive outline impossible to hide: thick, long, veined, curving up against his abs, the flared head outlined perfectly, a huge wet spot blooming at the tip where pre-come had already soaked through in a dark, spreading patch.

"Fuck," she breathed, voice completely wrecked, eyes locked on it like it was the only thing in existence. "You're—that's—huge—"

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