Page 43 of Wicked Little Secret
In the coming days, Nyssa makes a habit of remaining behind after the rest of the class clears out. She always approaches my desk in the same hesitant manner, clutching her books, wearing such an inquisitive look on her beautiful face that I’m powerless to turn her away.
How can I when she’s begun to take up more and more space in my head?
In the coming nights, I make habits of my own.
As Nyssa dozes peacefully, out cold after hours of late-night studying, I creep closer to her bed and gently lay a blanket over her. Her books are splayed out around her. Peaches has found her spot closer to Nyssa’s head, nestled between some throw pillows.
The room’s dark enough that I slink back into the shadows.
She stirs minutes later as if suddenly remembering she had been in the middle of reading. She sits up and rubs at her eyes before snapping shut the books and twisting off the reading lamp by her bed.
I stay still, hidden by the window drapes, as she wanders the dark space confidently, having memorized the placement of every stick of furniture. She’s awake but notentirely so by how she shuffles into the bathroom to pee and quickly wrap up her hair.
She returns to dig out a pair of pajamas from a drawer in her dresser.
I resist the urge to make myself obvious as she changes mere feet away from me.
The skirt she’d worn today and fallen asleep in slides to the ground. She steps out of it and slips on a pair of pajama pants. The same happens with the sweater she’s had on. It crumples to the ground as she stands so close by, completely topless.
Hot arousal rushes me and I become a little lightheaded. I blink through it, standing firm as I drink in the beautifully erotic sight.
The situation might be mundane—Nyssa Oliver changing before bedtime—but I’ve begun to find everything she does fascinating in some way.
Her body would fit mine so perfectly. Her supple curves flush against my straight, lean frame. I would worship her ample, teardrop-shaped breasts and rounded hips. I’d appreciate her in ways an oaf like Samson Wicker never could…
I’m practically erect in my pants as Nyssa tugs her pajama top over her head.
She sets aside the legal books she’s been reading and crawls into bed next to her ginger cat. Peaches seems to be much more situationally aware than her mother; her bright green eyes blink over at the window as if she’s aware I’m in the room with them.
Luckily, we’ve become friends.
The purr she makes has Nyssa giving off a small sleepy laugh. The last dim light in the room, the lamp on the other bedside table, gets turned off and total darkness follows.
I wait another twenty minutes, until I’m sure Nyssa’s deeply asleep, before I finally leave her bedroom.
The key to her apartment, along with my other methods of tracking her, have made it incredibly easy to do what I’m doing.
Arrive minutes before she does and then spend the evening watching her.
Even on nights I’m not inside her apartment doing it, I’m miles away doing so from her iCloud and AirTag and the camera I’ve installed.
All things I rationalized as being for her benefit. For her safety and well-being considering her douchebag boyfriend couldn’t be trusted.
But things, if I’m being honest, I’ve done for my pleasure.
To feed this…infatuationthat’s quickly growing.
By the next faculty meeting, I launch my next endeavor I’ve aptly titled: Ruin Samson Wicker’s Life.
“Most of you are aware of what we will be discussing,” says Pamela Williamson, our faculty head. She peers around the room with a grim tightness about her face. “We received screenshots of messages between two students about their plans for this Halloween party. These students have been identified as Samson Wicker and Lucas Cummings. Neither one has been notified their private messages have been anonymously sent to faculty.”
“I would think they deserve to know,” pipes up Professor Burrows. “Their speech is their own. It is a violation of their First Amendment rights?—”
“We are aware of what rights the students do and don’t have, Professor Burrows. However, that goes out the window the minute we have reason to believe they areparticipating in illegal and illicit activities. Drug use is one of those activities.”
“My boys don’t do dope,” pipes up Coach Shanks, folding his veiny arms. “They know better than that. They’re aware they’re off the team if they pop positive.”
“We would like to think they are. But if these messages are true, we must act.”