See Me After Class

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Hmm, but you did. I don’t take well to disturbances, Miss Gibson.”

  “I thought it was a good—”

  “I like to run the meetings myself with very minimal input.”

  “But that’s not how—”

  “And I don’t appreciate a newbie rallying the troops to overturn one of my decisions,” I say, growing sterner with each sentence.

  “I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.”

  “And yet, you did.”

  With my foot, I kick her legs open, then reach into the nightstand to grab the vibrator. When I switch it on, her eyes widen.

  “What were you trying to do exactly?” I ask, bringing the vibrator close to her chest.

  She sucks in a harsh breath, her eyes immediately turning hungry, needy, and on her next breath, her pelvis rises and she spreads her legs even more.

  “I was . . .” She gulps. “I was trying to—”

  “Undermine me?” I bring the vibrator to her right nipple. Her teeth fall over her bottom lip and her eyes squeeze shut.

  “No.”

  “Make me look like a fool?” I run the vibrator to the other nipple, loving how the sensation seems to drive her mad.

  Just like she drives me mad.

  “No, Arlo. I was—”

  “Offering a suggestion?”

  On a sharp exhale, she nods. “Yes.”

  I lower even closer to her face and move the vibrator down her stomach to the waistline of her silk shorts. “Guess what, Miss Gibson?”

  “What?” she says, her hips rocking up as I move the vibrator even farther south, right to her pubic bone.

  “I didn’t want your suggestions.”

  Another inch, and then . . . I switch it off and stand, my cock aching in my jeans, but wanting to teach her a lesson. I toss the vibrator to the side and turn away from her.

  With a disgruntled gasp, she says, “What are you doing?”

  When I look over my shoulder, I catch her flushed cheeks, her heaving chest, and her pleading eyes.

  “Leaving. Our conversation is over. I think I got my point across.”

  “Arlo,” she calls out as I’m halfway to the door.

  “Yes?” I ask, turning toward her.

  “You realize I’m just going to finish when you’re gone.”

  “You’re right.” I walk back over to her and she smiles. Instead of finishing her off, I snag the vibrator and stick it in the back pocket of my jeans.

  “I’m aware you can still finger yourself, but you and I both know it won’t be nearly as satisfying, especially when you know my fingers could do a better job.”

  “I don’t know that,” she says with defiance.

  That defiance is going to be the death of her.

  Leaning over the bed again, one hand next to her head, I lower the other between her legs and drag my finger over the silk of her pajama bottoms. Her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head as I find her slit and feel how wet she is through the silk. I slowly slide my finger over her arousal as she lightly moans and arches her back. God, her scent. I want to bend down and taste her. Devour her pussy until she’s screaming my name and coating my tongue with her release. Fuck. I need to get laid.

  I make one more pass before pulling back, snapping my hand away.

  Looking her in the eyes, I say, “Now you know.” Lifting up, I take off toward her door, and I don’t look back. I leave.

  Leave her in a state of need.

  Leave myself in need of a cold shower.

  When I reach my car, I lower my head to my steering wheel and take a deep breath.

  Fuck.

  I think I just ruined myself.

  It was worth it, but I definitely ruined myself with that one torturous touch.

  * * *

  “Hey, bro,” Coraline says, walking into my classroom with a to-go bag and two drinks.

  I could not be more grateful for her perfect timing.

  I’m starving.

  Irritated at the lack of intelligence my students possess so far today.

  And even though it’s Monday, I’m still feeling a pent-up need from last Friday. My hand wasn’t nearly good enough. It got the job done but that was it. My body is craving so much more than just getting the job done.

  My body is craving warmth. Challenge. Defiance.

  “You look like you’re in a good mood,” Coraline says, setting the subs on my desk as I give her my chair and grab a spare one for myself.

  “Rough day dealing with morons.”

  She chuckles. “If only your students knew you speak about them with such high regard.”

  “Maybe they should, might pull their heads out of their asses.”

  She hands me my meatball parm and unravels her chicken, bacon, and ranch sub, filling the classroom with the smell of food instantaneously.

  “What have you been up to today?” I ask.

  This past weekend, Coraline and I hung out and had a movie marathon. We watched a range of movies from Indiana Jones to Bridget Jones. I fell asleep multiple times, and she poked me with a broom she kept next to her. We ate shit, and she wouldn’t let me work out either day, which meant this morning I drilled my body . . . only to eat a meatball parm for lunch.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s trying to get me to eat my feelings, feelings she doesn’t know I have.

  So maybe I’m the one doing it, eating my feelings.

  That’s most likely the actual scenario.

  “Had a two-hour conversation on the phone with my lawyer. Can’t wait to see that bill. I cleaned the house because I’m a good sister like that, and because I might have dropped a bowl of brownie batter on the floor, scattering it all over the hardwood and kitchen counter. But don’t worry”—from her purse, she takes out a single, wrapped square of brownie—“there was enough in the bowl still to make a small loaf-pan-sized brownie.” She taps the brownie. “There are marshmallows and almonds inside, just the way you like it.”

  Groaning, I say, “What are you doing to me?”

  “That six-pack of yours is annoying. I want to see it gone.” She chuckles and lifts up her sandwich, taking a bite.

  “Well I don’t want to see it go. So stop giving me sweets.” I grab the brownie. “But I’ll take this.”

  She laughs out loud. “Sucker.” She winks and then says, “I started a book today.”

  My brows raise. “Oh yeah? What did you start reading?”

  “A filthy romance. Found it on your library shelf.” She taps a wondering finger and says, “Why do you have a filthy romance on your bookshelf?”

  “I’m an English teacher. I need to understand all forms of literature.”

  She pauses, studies me, and then says, “What a load of bullshit.” She shakes her head and laughs just as there’s a knock at my door.

  I glance to the side to find Greer standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a red blouse and her hair styled in waves around her shoulders.

  Hell . . . and I thought the dresses were devastating.

  “Sorry to interrupt. I was headed to the teachers’ lounge but heard your voice and wanted to say hi, Cora.”

  Coraline waves her hand. “Come in, have lunch with us.”

  Uh, I don’t think so.

  “Oh, that’s okay, you two need your time together.” Well, at least she has a sturdy head on her shoulders.

  “I hung out with him all weekend. I want some girl time. Come, sit.”

  Greer’s eyes fall to mine and I know she’s not going to sit without me agreeing to it, and if I deny her a seat at our table, I’m going to have to hear about it from my badgering sister, so I stand and grab another chair.

  “Sit,” I say rather gruffly.

  She walks over, takes a seat, and as she sits, my hand skims her back, my ability to not touch her failing within seconds.

  Her eyes slightly widen as she looks up at me. “Thank you,” she says quietly. God, the red of her lips entices me.
>
  What would that red look like pressed all along my body?

  Would it come off?

  Would it smear along my length?

  Would it mark me as hers?

  “How are you?” Coraline asks, breaking me out of my reverie.

  “Good. Tired. Didn’t get much sleep this weekend.”

  “This lump of muscle over here did,” Coraline says, thumbing toward me. “We had a movie marathon and he slept most of the time.”

  “Not most of the time,” I correct her.

  “He snored at one point.”

  “She exaggerates for a living. Don’t trust a thing she says.”

  “Ahh, so are you going to deny the sleeping, the snoring . . . the filthy romance?”

  I feel Greer’s questioning gaze on me, waiting for an answer.

  But I don’t give it right away. I take a sip of my drink, lean back in my chair, and study the two women looking for answers.

  After a few moments, I say, “Did I fall asleep? Occasionally I drifted off. I did not fucking snore, and you know that.”

  Coraline tilts her head back and laughs.

  “And as for the filthy romance, yeah, I have one. I actually have three, because they’re a series.”

  “You read a series?” Coraline’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Oh my God.”

  “I’m nothing if not thorough in my research.”

  “Greer, these are the kind of books that get your motor revving. Trust me, I started one today and already found myself hot and bothered.”

  I feel Greer’s eyes on me again and instead of turning away, I turn toward her, making direct eye contact. She’s the first to look away, which is exactly what I wanted to happen.

  “Did you get hard reading them?” Coraline asks.

  Of course she would.

  And if she thinks she’s going to embarrass me, she’s wrong.

  “I did,” I answer honestly, causing Coraline to howl and Greer’s cheeks to redden. “There’s a scene with a vibrator in one of them that was inspiring.”

  Greer clears her throat and shifts in her seat. There’s no doubt in my mind she’s thinking about Friday, about how close how I was, how close she was to coming. How my fingers felt sliding between her legs. How bad she wanted me to finish her off . . .

  “Ew, why did you say it with a deep tone like that?”

  I glance at my sister. “You asked.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t ask for the tone.” She gives me a side-eye and turns to Greer, who finally opens her lunch bag and takes out a small salad. “We should form that book club I mentioned. We can read Arlo’s naughty books first and try to guess what parts made him hard. My guess—all of them.”

  “You’re disturbing,” I say, taking a bite of my sub.

  “Come on, I need a girl group. You can come over to my place Friday night.”

  “You have your own place?” Greer asks, finally saying something after a bout of silence.

  “Well . . . Arlo’s place.”

  I chuckle quietly and Coraline tosses a balled-up napkin at me that I catch with ease.

  “Anyway, we can have drinks and go over our first reads. What do you say?”

  “I’m all for a book club, and I’m sure Stella would be interested. I think we’d have to convince Keeks with something other than reading and friends. There’d have to be something that—” Greer snaps her fingers. “The girl loves Nilla Wafers. If we tell her there will be a box of Nilla Wafers, she’ll be there.”

  “Really?” Coraline asks. “That’s the blandest cookie ever.”

  “She’s obsessed with them.”

  “Okay, that can be arranged.” Coraline taps her finger in front of me. “Did you hear that? We’re going to need Nilla Wafers by Friday.”

  “Looks like you’re going shopping then,” I say, glancing over at Greer, catching her looking at me as well. Her eyes snap back to her salad.

  What is she thinking?

  I’d pay a good amount of money to see what’s going on in that head of hers.

  “So, it’s a date, then. You’ll let Stella and Keeks know?” Coraline asks, and even though I’m annoyed that she’s going to have a book club meeting at my house, I feel grateful that Greer wants to hang out with my sister. Not for my own selfish reasons, but because I know Coraline needs this, a friend, some real people in her life. And even though Greer drives me to distraction, I keep thinking about how she wants me to be real with her. Like she is with your sister. Someone she barely knows, yet she’s prepared to get her group together to include Coraline. That deserves my respect.

  “Yes. I’ll message them later. They’ll be so excited.”

  “Fantastic.” Coraline sips from her water and asks, “What are you dressing up as this Friday? Arlo was telling me about how you took over his meeting and got everyone to agree to dress up as their favorite literary character. Made my day, my weekend, actually.”

  “Uh, I haven’t decided yet,” Greer answers.

  “That’s hard to believe, given the ridiculous notion was all because of you.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin and then stare Greer down.

  “Ugh, he’s still bitter about it. You can hear it in his voice.”

  “I think he’s bitter about a lot of things,” Greer says, giving me a sharp once-over.

  “So true. He told me he isn’t dressing up.”

  “Coraline,” I say sternly.

  “What?” She shrugs. “That’s what you said. I think it’s fair that Greer knows.”

  Turning toward me, arms folded, Greer says, “You’re not dressing up?”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  “You have to.”

  “I actually don’t have to do anything,” I say. “Those who want to participate can participate. I am not one of those individuals.”

  “Arlo . . .”

  “Greer . . .”

  We stare each other down. Our eyes flitting back and forth, our jaws clenched. Tension rises, sucking in the air around us, and I’m almost positive if Coraline weren’t here right now, I’d be pushing Greer onto this table to help her better understand.

  “Uh . . . as much fun as this staredown is, you two look positively pained,” Coraline says. “Maybe we should stop before someone bursts a blood vessel.”

  Ignoring my sister, Greer says, “You’d set a horrible example if you don’t dress up.”

  “How so? The students don’t know about it. It’s not like they’re looking forward to me throwing together a mindless costume just for the hell of it.”

  “It isn’t for the hell of it,” Greer defends, scooting to the edge of her seat. “This is a way for you, as an educator, to teach your students about the importance of character description, of bringing a piece of their literature to life, to not look like a freaking robot at the front of the classroom all the time.”

  “I can do that without dressing up like a fool.”

  “Whoa, that’s harsh, Arlo,” Coraline says. “Maybe chill a bit.”

  “I’m chill. I’m just not dressing up.”

  Greer’s lips twist to the side. “You realize you look like a child, right?”

  “Actually”—I smile—“you’re the one dressing up, so you’re the one who’s going to look like a child.” I scoop up my wrapper and crumple it up. “I’m going to the bathroom before lunch ends. Thanks for bringing lunch, Coraline.”

  “Yeah, sure, thanks for bringing down the mood.”

  I wink at my sister. “Anytime.”

  And I leave a steaming Greer behind me.

  * * *

  “Arlo, do you have more than two wine glasses?” Coraline asks from the kitchen, where she’s been rummaging around all night, prepping for the book club at the end of the week.

  “No. I don’t have the need to accumulate excessive things.”

  “This coming from a bachelor who lives in a six-bedroom mansion by himself.”

  “It was about location, not the house,” I say, looking up f
rom my phone, where I’ve been catching up on some current events.

  “Sure, that’s what all the rich, single guys say. Do you even plan to have a family?” she asks, coming over to the couch, where she takes a seat on the armrest.

  “Someday,” I say casually.

  “Really?” she asks, excited. “Like kids and everything?”

  I glance up at her. “Maybe.”

  She clutches her heart. “Aw, I never thought you had a heart big enough for kids.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Umm, I think just a statement. Wow. So, I’ll be an aunt someday, that’s exciting. Almost as exciting as book club on Friday.” She slides down onto the couch and clutches a throw pillow to her chest. “But I can’t be a good host for book club without an adequate amount of wine glasses.”

  “Then go get some.”

  “I’ll have to.” She nudges me with her foot. “Hey, thanks for letting me invite the girls over. I’m really excited about it.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Coraline. My house is your house, too.”

  “Either way, thank you. I’m so glad I met Greer. She’s pretty awesome and real. God, is she real.” Yeah . . . Greer is real all right. Coraline lifts up and places a quick kiss to my cheek. “I’m going to check out the lighting in the backyard during this hour. I think that might be a good place to hold the meeting.”

  “Or just have it here in the living room, like I’ve said a million times.”

  “Like you know everything.” She waves her hand at me and then bounces toward the backyard just as my phone buzzes with a text message.

  Gunner: Dude, are you really not going to dress up Friday?

  Romeo: When I heard the English teachers were all dressing up, I felt a pang of jealousy I wasn’t invited to the dress-up party, but then I realized, you’d be dressing up. Quit playing games with my heart.

  Arlo: Don’t you two have something better to do with your lives?

  Gunner: Lindsay and Dylan are at his basketball practice. I’m not allowed to go just yet.

  Romeo: I don’t have a baby mama, or a child, and I already finished my workout. Not really doing much but catching the Bobbies game. So, no, needling and annoying you seems fitting.

  Arlo: Who told you?

  Romeo: Stella. She was hoping I could talk to you and convince you to dress up.