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"Time to get up," Carlisle said softly against the ticklish spot where my jaw ties into neck. I tucked my chin, rolling away tiredly, but when I reached a lazy hand toward his side of the bed, I found the sheets empty, cold.
It wasn't for another couple of seconds that I realized, after waking up a bit more, that he was sitting on my other side, on the very edge of the bed. I rolled over again, curling against the warmth of his lap.
"Wake up," he encouraged quietly, sliding his fingers through my hair. That was going to put me right back to sleep, and he knew it.
"Come back to bed," I mumbled tiredly.
"I have work, you have school, and that is not an option, love. Come on, get up."
I gripped tightly onto the bottom of his shirt, knowing he was going to move away and go about his day, taking his warmth with him. He easily worked himself loose and I groaned into the pillows as he stood. It was too cold and too early, and morning sex sounded a whole hell of a lot better than school or work or anything else, really.
I heard the click as he slid the alarm clock setting to 'off' and hummed contentedly. At least I wouldn't have to listen to that annoying thing go off. He walked away and I knew I should get up, but the comfort of the bed was too good to leave.
"Now, Edward," Carlisle said sharply, some time later.
The blankets were pulled harshly from the bed, exposing my bare skin to the cool air. I shivered and curled into a ball.
"You're going to be late for school. Get up."
Wasn't the whole point of being a college student staying up late, sleeping 'til noon, and skipping any class that interfered with that schedule? Dating a professor was supposed to be beneficial, not the exact opposite.
I heard him coming around the side of the bed again and clung tightly to my pillow. He yanked it from of my arms, and at my glare, threw it to the ground.
"If you're not ready when I go, you're walking to class," he reminded me plainly.
"I'm not going," I said, defiant.
He dropped down over me, one hand placed on either side of my head. I spread out beneath him, lips curling up unintentionally at the warning on his face.
"Yes you are," he replied. "Now get out of my bed."
Before he could stand up, I hooked a leg over his back, holding him where he was braced over me.
"I'm horny," I said, arching up to rub my cock against him.
He broke my hold, standing up without a second glance in my direction before walking away. "You have twenty minutes."
Honestly, I thought he meant to jerk off. Twenty minutes was plenty of time, and watching him strip on the other side of the room was good enough material for me to get the job done in about half that, maybe less if he stood there and watched.
"Twenty minutes," he repeated. "Don't forget to make the bed."
With that, he disappeared into the bathroom, and moments later, I heard the shower start up. I glanced over my shoulder at the clock and groaned to myself, roughly palming my cock. It was almost eight o'clock already, and I literally had twenty minutes to jack off, shower, eat breakfast, and make the bed, apparently. That wasn't nearly enough time at all.
"Fuck," I muttered to myself, sitting upright and ignoring the ache in my balls.
Making the bed did nothing to calm me down, and at that point, the shower was still running. Half-formed thoughts of getting fucked in shower flitted through my mind. It would make us both late, but it would be worth it, so worth it.
Biting my lip, I pushed the bathroom door open. He was still washing his hair, but he never took very long in the shower, which meant he was probably nearly finished. I had to hurry.
He showed no sign of noticing my presence as I slipped inside with him. His eyes were closed, but I knew that he had to know I was there. He always knew, he was just good at pretending.
"I made the bed," I said as I pressed myself up against him.
His skin was warm and slick, fresh with the smell of his soap. It made my dick throb against his thick thigh. He pushed me back slightly, turning around to face the spray of water, but not before I noticed the way his dick was responding to me. He could ignore me, but he couldn't hide the fact that he wanted me.
I reached around him, circling my hand around the half-hard length of his cock just as I stepped up behind him, rutting shamelessly against his ass. He gripped my wrist in his hand, pulling me off of him.
"I don't have time for you this morning, Edward," he muttered before stepping out of the shower to towel himself off.
I wanted to cry out in frustration, throw a fucking tantrum, beg him to fuck me ― but I knew none of that would be effective. His mind was made and there was nothing I could do to change it. He was so fucking stubborn.
Growling angrily, I turned the water to cold and shivered my way through the rest of my shower.
He was getting ready to leave when I made it to the kitchen after dressing. There was cold toast and a mug of tepid coffee waiting for me on the table, both of which I had to throw out. I shoveled spoonfuls of cereal into my mouth as quickly as I could while gathering my books. I heard his car start as I was forcing my shoes onto my feet.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I cursed, fighting to get the door open while juggling a handful of books.
My shoelace snagged as I was rushing through the door, sending me sprawling across the patio and my books flying down the front steps. By the time I was up and had collected my books, his car had already disappeared down the street.
"Fuck you," I growled as I stomped back up the front steps. "Fuck you and your stupid fucking priorities."
I slammed the front door shut, hoping one of his expensive fucking professional paintings fell off the goddamn wall. I ran the whole way to class, but still managed to be late, walking in after the lecture had already started.
―
He would be home for lunch, I knew.
I had another class starting in half an hour, and the walk home wasn't worth it. Still, I found myself standing at the front door, books in hand. I left my shoes kicked off in the middle of the hallway and my school work dumped on the couch.
"What are you doing back?" he asked, not even looking up from the paper he was reading.
"No more classes today, my last lecture was canceled," I lied.
He saw right through it, I'm sure. He knew my schedule as well as I did. He was good friends with my composition professor, and likely knew without a doubt that I was lying.
"Hm," he hummed. He said nothing else, and I smirked, thinking perhaps I'd gotten away with it.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and crossed the room to stand beside him, waiting for him to turn his attention to me. When he didn't, I straddled him, kissing along the line of stubble coming in across his jaw.
"Would you like a ride back to campus?" he asked calmly.
"Nope," I answered, working my way up to his mouth.
He kissed me back once, chastely, before standing, causing me to slide awkwardly from his lap back to my feet.
"You better run then. Your class starts in ten minutes."
"I told you, it's canceled," I said brusquely.
He frowned at me, clearly disappointed. "I'll be sure to let Alistair know you decided to skip his lecture today, though I do hope you'll change your mind."
Resolutely, I stood my ground while he collected his things to go. Of course he knew I was lying, and his disapproval was palpable. Stubbornly, I refused to give in and do what I knew would save me a lot of trouble. I didn't go to class, I skipped, and Carlisle would know.
I could run to class, make it a couple minutes late again, and avoid Carlisle's ire, but I had no desire to. Even though most days he was home hours after my final class, he would know that I wasn't there. I always stopped by his office after my last class to spend the twenty minutes of free time he had between classes with him. Always.
But not today.
―
My books were still scattered across the couch when he got home, and he grumbled as he moved them into a neat pile on the floor. He sat down on the couch, opening his briefcase, as he always did when he got home. He had a routine. He had to finish with his day before he gave me any of his time. Priorities and focus and whatever-the-fuck else he used as excuses to ignore me.
I was wearing nothing but a grin when I stepped into the room. He pretended not to notice, as usual; he never noticed until he wanted to. I would just have to make him notice. I was sick of waiting.
He sighed as I pushed him against the back of the couch, once again straddling his lap. I kept my hands braced against his shoulders, kneeling over him. My cock was hard already, again, had been most of the day, sore and hurting from the lack of release. I whimpered against his ear as it rubbed against the material of his shirt, leaving a trail of wet that would stain.
"Edward," he groaned ― not the good kind of groan, the kind that meant he was exasperated with me, growing tired of my need for his attention.
"I want you to fuck me," I begged. "I need it."
I was surprised when his hands moved to touch me. He gripped my ass, squeezing it roughly in his hands, spreading me apart wide and pushing dry fingers against my hole.
"You need me?" he asked.
"Yes," I panted. I bit my lip to keep from crying out as he pressed his thumb in slightly, the burn so sharp without any lubricant to ease the way.
"You want me to fuck you?" he asked.
"Yes," I repeated desperately. "Please, please. Make me yours."
His hands were gone then, shoving me back so quickly I had to grip onto his shirt to keep from falling backwards onto the floor. I opened my eyes, expecting to see anger, displeasure all over his face.
Instead, he looked amused. A smile titled his lips, there was laughter in his eyes. "You are mine," he stated simply.
"Yes," I agreed, nodding adamantly. "I'm yours, I know."
"Do you?" he asked with a tilt of his head.
I kept nodding, fighting back the sobs of frustration that I could feel starting. "Yes, of course. Please, fuck me, show me."
"Stand up," he said tersely.
I tightened my grip on his shirt. "N– no. Carlisle, fuck me."
"No," he said firmly. "Stand up."
"No," I begged.
"Yes," he demanded.
"No!" I shoved myself forward, up against him.
"You leave me no choice," he said resignedly.
He caught both of my wrists, pulling my hands off of him before transferring his hold to one of his hands, his long fingers holding my wrists together tightly. He shoved me to the side, off of his lap, and I tried to break away from him to catch myself, but he was stronger.
"Carlisle," I cried.
"No," he said simply, gripping one of thighs tightly enough to make me gasp.
He resituated me over his knees, laying me across his lap, and then held me there. The first smack was hard, punishing. I was so shocked that I managed to do nothing but squeak. The next one was even more forceful.
"Ow, stop," I yelled.
He acted as though he didn't hear me, bringing his hand down against my ass again with a resounding slap. I begged him to stop, but his hand came down again and again against my sore bottom, spanking me until I was numb.
My hard cock was trapped against the silky fabric of his pants, the unforgiving muscle beneath, shifting me against it with every blow. He warned me continually not to come, I would regret it if I did. There was no room to disobey him, but with every hit I was closer, closer, so close to losing it despite his warnings.
He slowed once my sobs turned to nothing but pitiful whimpers. "Edward?" he asked. I gurgled in response, capable of nothing more. "Say it," he said.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I repeated over and over.
"You were a bad boy, Edward. Say it," he demanded more forcefully.
"I'm sorry," I choked out.
"Edward." His tone was clearly a warning.
I was sweating, shaking, tears streaming from my eyes in the wrong direction up my forehead. I could barely breathe. I knew what he wanted and I felt myself flushing even darker at the thought of giving in to his demand.
"Edward," he said sharply.
"Daddy, please," I whined.
"Yes," he whispered, urging me to keep going.
"Please, Daddy, I'll be a good boy."
"Will you now?" he questioned lightly.
"Yes. Yes. I was a naughty boy, but I can be good for you now, Daddy."
He practically purred with pleasure, carefully pulling me up to sit in his lap. My ass was so sore, it was painful to sit against him, and I tried not to squirm, though mostly I couldn't help it. The cool air against my heated, sweat-slick skin felt good, as did the much needed air in my lungs as he held me to him.
"Do you want to come?" he asked, spreading my legs wide with his knees, his fingers tickling up and down the inside of my thighs.
"Yes," I whimpered helplessly.
Without a moment's hesitation, he wrapped his fingers around my cock, making me arch into his touch. My raw, sore bottom protested to the movement, but I continued to thrust desperately into the circle of his fist.
"Do you want to come before I fuck you?" he asked.
I faltered at his question, the needy twist of my hips stuttering to an uneasy stop. I knew what the question probably meant. I had a choice. I could come just like that, fucking into his hand, but that would likely mean that he wouldn't fuck me. Or I could wait. Wait even longer for what I'd been waiting for all day; wait until he decided to give in and fuck me.
"What do you say?" His question was accompanied by a slow, delicious twist of his wrists. I was so close, just a few touches away from getting off, and I needed it.
But I shook my head. I needed to feel him inside of me more; it would be so much better with him fucking me when I came.
"Good boy," he said, releasing his hold on my cock.
I couldn't bite back my pained whimper.
"Shh, it's okay. Soon, baby. You're being so good, Daddy will take care of you."
I threw my head back on his shoulder, gasping as my cock throbbed. He knew what he was doing to me; he always knew.
"Go get yourself ready for me. I'll be in as soon as I'm finished here. Keep being a good boy for me, I'll take care of you, any way you want," he whispered huskily.
He helped me to stand on my shaky legs, fingers brushing over his handiwork as I stepped away.
"Beautiful," I heard him say, causing a shiver to run down my spine.
"Thank you, Daddy," I said, knowing it would elicit the same response from him.
The walk to the bedroom was a short one, and it was pure torture preparing myself for him to fuck me without giving in to the desire to come. I drew it out, making it last for close to twenty minutes, almost pushing myself too far. And still, it was another half an hour after that before he finally came in, undressing tortuously slow pace.
I kneeled facing the headboard, using it to brace myself as he crawled in behind me.
"You look so good. Such a good boy," he murmured. The head of his cock pressed against my opening, sliding in with one quick push forward, and then I was settled against his lap, moaning desperately at every shift of him inside of me. "Do you want it slow?"
"No," I pleaded. "Please, fast. Do it hard, please. Just want to– Need to come, please."
"Beg your daddy," he whispered harshly against my ear.
"Please, Daddy," I cried, gripping tightly onto the headboard, pushing my ass back against him as hard as I could, arching my back. "Daddy, please, do it now. Fuck me."
"Good boy," he groaned, holding onto my hips with a bruising grasp.
He set a ruthless pace, pounding into me as hard and fast as he could. I wouldn't sit without feeling the night's activities for weeks, that much I knew, but it was too good to care. The spanking, the fucking, it was everything I needed. I couldn't help throwing my head back into it, gasping, "Daddy, yes. Daddy. Daddy."
He had a tenuous hold on his own control, mouth pressed between my shoulder blades as he fucked me, swearing constantly, biting bruises into my skin. He didn't slow until he couldn't hold me in place anymore, one hand reaching between my legs to wrap his fingers around my aching cock.
My arms were about to give out, I was ready to collapse from exhaustion, from being overwhelmed, and my ass was screaming hot, tender bruised flesh that couldn't take any more. Just one thrust while he had his hand on my cock and hours, days worth of frustration poured out of me.
He held me up then, as my body locked down. He slowed, working me through it, drawing it out. I could hear myself crying, gasping for breath; I almost thought I would shake apart in his arms, but it was the single greatest feeling I'd ever felt.
―
"You okay, love?" he asked gently, pushing my hair up off my forehead.
I nodded sleepily, nuzzling into his chest.
"You made a mess," he said lightly, and I cracked an eye open to look at him. He didn't look cross, fond, maybe, amused. I'm sure he expected the mess, after the hell he put me through. I wouldn't be surprised if I'd managed to shoot all over the wall.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
He stroked my hair soothingly. "It's alright. Do you want a shower before supper?"
"Mm hmm," I replied lazily.
"You go shower, then. I'll make something to eat and we can turn in early. Maybe you'll manage to wake up without a fight in the morning."
I tried to hide my smirk, but I knew he felt it when he huffed out an irritated breath. "Don't even think about it," he growled threateningly.
I tilted my head up to kiss him to keep from laughing, though I wasn't entirely successful, snorting against his lips.
He just shook his head at me, saying, "Get in the shower, love."