by L.J. Shen
He followed me and dipped his head, biting my neck before straightening and snapping his fingers. “Get in your car and drive home. I’ll join you soon.” He smacked my ass, turned around, and left, leaving a whiff of his singularly masculine scent.
I stood there, mouth agape, his taste still on my lips, the tingling of his touch still between my thighs as I rolled one thought around in my head: Oh, Melody, you are so fucked.
Luckily for me, I was about to get fucked even harder.
I DIDN’T GO HOME.
Going home would be admitting defeat. I might technically have let Jaime take the blame for the car, but I hadn’t initiated anything sexual with him. That was all on him.
What made my decision even easier was bumping into his mother on my way out.
I was headed to the parking lot when I spotted Principal Followhill watching me through her office window. I stabbed the entry remote, hysteria controlling my movements as I considered making a dash for my car when her icy voice seeped from the open window.
“Ms. Greene. A word?”
There was a soundless moment when I saw my life flash in front of me, and sadly, it was a short, shitty movie consisting of me sprawled out on my old couch watching American Ninja Warrior, showing up to family events dateless, and attending a weekly support group for former athletes (most of us were in various stages of drunkenness).
Ya know, fun times.
If Principal Followhill knew what had happened in detention, she was going to remove every internal organ in my body, restuff it with dynamite, and blow up the whole school. That’s how much she hated me.
“Sure.” I smiled big, throwing my arms in a why-not gesture and walking back toward All Saints.
Why not? Because she wants to kill you and because you just made out with her teenage son.
The minute I entered her office, I knew she was onto something. Her usually smooth Botoxed forehead looked like it had collapsed into a heap of extra skin.
“Sit.”
I did.
“Ms. Greene, do you know why you’re here?”
I was so nervous I couldn’t breathe but somehow managed to shake my head no. Her office alone scared the shit out of me. It was so big, yet suffocating, with its heavy furniture of cherry-stained wood and burgundy leather and its ox-blood walls, everything a deep red, like Carrie had paid a visit there on prom night and lost.
Principal Followhill stood near a painting that probably cost more than my rent, her arms behind her back, and closed her eyes, exhaling. “The incident with my son, James.”
Oh no. Please, no. I wasn’t ready to die. I had so many things to see and experience. Most of them between the sheets with her barely-legal son, but still.
Jokes aside—I was pretty sure I peed myself a little. I was terrified. Not of getting fired, but of the consequences of pissing off someone with Principal Followhill’s clout. My parents taught in the school district adjacent to Todos Santos. This was their home, and they were a vital part of this small, judgmental community.
I was about to screw my family because of a brief kiss.
“Principal Followhill, I can explain,” I rushed to say, jumping up from my seat.
She launched in my direction and shoved me back into the chair. If I wasn’t so consumed with guilt, I would’ve been floored that she touched me.
She held up her hand, her face pale. “No, you listen to me. James is a brat. Don’t you think I know that? What he did to your car… he should have left a note after he hit you, not driven away. It looks bad, but he simply panicked. He explained it all to me. No need to file a police report. I assure you he’s very, very sorry, and he’s going back to the student-parking lot from now on. I’ll write you a check for your repairs, and I’ll, of course, compensate you for the inconvenience as well. I’ll be damned if I’ll allow one reckless decision to tarnish my son’s reputation.” She reached for her Hermès bag and plucked out a checkbook.
My eyes followed her movements like she was performing some trick of dark magic. Of course, I was a problem. She wanted it fixed, so she threw money at it. At me.
She didn’t know about the kiss. All she knew was that Jaime came back home yesterday with a banged-up Range Rover and his own version of what happened in the parking lot. He’d kept his side of our deal.
“This little car mishap is not to leave these walls. Do you understand, Ms. Greene?” Principal Followhill bent down and scribbled on the check, her mouth twitching in annoyance. “You have a mouth, in case you didn’t notice. You could use it and say something.”
Why do you hate me? I wanted to scream. What have I done to you? Though I already knew the answer. She hated me because I wasn’t royalty. I wasn’t someone who was born and bred in Todos Santos. I was an outsider, contaminated and mortal, with middle-class parents. On top of that, I was a weak link who—because of my above-mentioned disadvantages—couldn’t control my classes.
“Understood,” I sniffed.
She fingered the check she’d written for me. Despite my best intentions, I plucked it from between her French-manicured nails and peeked. Ten K. Way, way more than necessary. Bribe.
We were all corrupted now. It made me a little less remorseful about making out with her son.
Jaime was blackmailing me.
And I was blackmailing his mother.
My parents always said money made people twisted and immoral. I used to think they were exaggerating. I was starting to believe that they weren’t.
I stood up, smoothing my dress and jutting out my chin. Principal Followhill held my gaze but tugged at her ear. Nervous. Desperate. Clueless.
“All is forgotten?” Her lips barely moved.
“All is forgotten.” I nodded, walking out of her office $10,000 richer.
I drove straight to a local bar.
After all, I had some money to burn. And dirty little secrets to forget.
I WOBBLED BACK TO MY apartment building at midnight, my breath stinking of Bud Light and stale peanuts. Trying to fish for my keys, I halted in front of my door in the darkened hallway, rummaging through my loaded handbag. When I finally felt the sharp edge of the key, I jerked out my Pointe shoe keychain and it clunked to the floor. Blowing a lock of my hair from my face in frustration, I sighed. It was going to be a bitch to retrieve. I was getting too old to get tanked.
But I didn’t even have to bend down.
Because someone else picked my keys up for me. From behind.
My heart throbbed faster, yet I stilled, feeling the warmth of another body pressing against mine. The air pulsated with the vitality of an impending fantasy that was about to be fulfilled.
Fear and lust filled my veins with adrenaline and dopamine. The overlapping feelings made me heady, excited and aroused.
Crap. I couldn’t resist him in my current state. His erection dug into my ass, and I swallowed.
I watched his hand unlocking my door from behind. His warm lips whispered into my ear. “Get in and get naked.” It was an order.
The door flung open with a little push from his hand. I wanted to cry in excitement. Correction: I did actually cry in excitement. There were tears of joy in my eyes. What can I say? Booze and eighteen-year-old jocks who are hung like a horse made this girl hella happy.
I practically skipped into my living room/kitchen, which was decorated with brown boxes and my old couch. I had to move to hell-knows-where next month and was already starting to pack. Seeing my life crumbling, stuffed into half-filled cardboard containers, only made my decision to have sex with my student easier. It wasn’t like I was ruining anything substantial I’d built. I was a loser, practically homeless and soon-to-be unemployed. An outcast. Jaime took the edge off of the reality of my future.
I felt his huge form pacing behind me, ready to pounce at any moment.
I pulled off my polka-dot dress and threw it on the floor. Turning around, I looked at him for the first time, smiling under my lashes. Jaime did not return the playful smile. In
fact, his brows were knit tightly together and his jaw so clenched, it looked like it was about to snap. He had a cut lip and dried blood coating his nostrils.
He fought. Again. Probably with Vicious, judging from the nasty welts and purple bruises.
“What happened to you?” I swallowed.
He ignored my question. “This is how you repay me for fixing up your shit, Ms. Greene?” His voice was dark and serious. Not at all like an eighteen-year-old’s student.
“Jaime.” My tone danced unevenly. Jaime…what? I stood him up. Even though I never did agree to meet him at my place. How long had he been waiting, anyway?
I was standing in my bra and underwear in my living room, dealing with a cranky teenager and was pretty fucking sauced. Another low I didn’t think I was going to stoop to. I hugged my own waist, covering some of my skin.
“I like your bra,” he said hoarsely, but it did not sound like a compliment. It sounded like a threat.
I looked down to examine the pink lace.
“It’s my favorite. Victoria’s Secret.” I licked my lips, sounding dumber than an Adam Sandler character. I was so out of my element. Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Come here,” he demanded, pointing at the floor.
I paced in his direction, my eyes bugging out at the thrill. He was wearing dark Diesel jeans and a black muscle shirt with his gym’s name on it. And flip-flops. I loved men who could pull off flip-flops. His bun was spectacularly messy, too.
When I got to him, I looked down. No toe hair. A keeper.
“Down on your knees, Greene.” His voice still had a menacing edge to it.
Where did that come from? He was usually a pretty playful guy. In an I’ll-fuck-you-over kind of way. I did as I was told, because…well, because at this point, I was pretty much the Followhills’ bitch. Sit, bend, cash checks, forget secrets, kneel down. I was lucky they hadn’t asked me to scoop dog poop from their front lawn.
“I have a blow job with your name on it for making me wait here like a soft dick.” He brushed a brown curl from my face.
“I don’t do blow jobs. I have a really bad gag reflex,” I answered truthfully. Seriously, I’d found out about it the hard way during high school. Never had a corn dog or a banana since.
Calm and collected, he unzipped and lowered his jeans, releasing his hard, swollen cock out of his Calvin Klein black briefs.
Holy shit, it was beautiful. Not nine inches like the cheerleaders were whispering about in class (they sucked at geometry, that should’ve been my first clue) but almost—it was just picture-perfect. Postcards-and-stamps worthy. He had the sleekest, smoothest shaft, a prominent head, and a thick velvety vein. And a tilt. To the right.
Perfect, perfect, perfect.
And he fucking knew it, the bastard. That was why he displayed his dick to me like it was the Mona Lisa.
I took a brief moment to process the fact that I had my student’s one-eyed snake staring right back at me in the middle of my tiny empty apartment. Worst part? Still giddy and excited.
My throat bobbed.
“Maybe I can make an exception, since you took a bullet for me and all.” I rolled my eyes, feigning amusement. But there was nothing amusing about that cock. It was serious. Things were about to go down, literally and figuratively.
The only problem was…I didn’t know how to give head. I think Jaime figured it out himself, because he tugged at my hair toward his groin.
“Start licking,” he instructed.
I did. His flesh was hot and silky under my keen tongue. I circled his cock’s head hungrily with my eyes closed, feeling it jumping in delight to the movements of my mouth. After a minute, Jaime picked up my hand and curled my fingers around the base of his shaft. Would you look at that? My Lit student was giving me a sex-ed lesson.
“Pump,” he groaned.
I did. I wondered how many of my female students had sucked him off. Probably a lot. I wished I could say I didn’t care, but that would be a lie, so I tried to convince myself I cared because it made me feel inexperienced.
“Now suck, in and out,” he whispered, grabbing the back of my head and moving it back and forth.
Every time I went in, his cock hit the back of my throat and I struggled for air…but I loved it. My underwear was once again damp with want. Logically, I knew this wasn’t okay. But if it was so wrong…why did it feel so right?
Jaime kicked one of his flip-flops off and dug his toe into the fabric of my underwear. It was humiliating…and so fucking hot. He used his toe to lower the waistband of my undies with a loud growl. Once my sex was exposed, his toe honed in on my clit.
“Shit, fuck, Jaime.” I did not sound like his teacher. Didn’t feel like one, either. “What are you doing?”
“Making you come. Keep sucking, Greene.”
I licked and sucked and got addicted to the sounds that left Jaime’s mouth. I gave in and gave it my all. He kept on rubbing his toe against my swollen clit, and the feeling of an impending orgasm fired every nerve-ending in my body. My knees shook with pleasure, and I greedily rubbed my pussy against his toe. I was sure my OB/GYN would have a lot to say about the hygiene of this act, but at that moment, none of that mattered.
Not even the nagging suspicion that he might’ve done this so he could brag to his friends and humiliate me in front of the whole school.
“I’m going to come in your mouth, and you’re going to come on my toe.”
He was so filthy.
It was beautiful.
Just when the warm liquid shot into my throat, I felt a sharp pain as my bra was torn from my body from behind. I gasped in horror, swallowing his salty hot cum and opening my eyes at once, shocked.
He fucking tore my favorite bra. On purpose.
Jaime used his toe to nudge me to a reclining position on the floor, and I collapsed, rubbing the pink skin where he’d pulled off my bra.
“What the hell!” I screamed but was silenced by a kiss. A dazzling kiss that was followed by the two strong fingers he shoved into my pussy. I clenched around him, watching him move his head south and graze my hard nipples with his teeth.
“That’s for keeping me waiting. I don’t take well to tardiness.”
The fucker was late to ninety percent of the classes I taught him!
“Well, I don’t take well to assholeness,” I muttered.
“I’ll make it up to you. I’m a master at oral sex.” Jaime’s perfect skillful mouth said, his serene blues scanning me earnestly.
“How so?” I raised an eyebrow as he inched closer to my pussy, still pumping his fingers to the rhythm of my thudding heartbeat.
He gave a light shrug. “Spent summer camp last year eating pussy at Park City, Utah’s most exclusive teen retreat. Campers, counselors, even a fucking park ranger. Twenty-six of ‘em.”
That was probably one of the most disgusting things I’d ever heard, but I was having too much fun to care.
“Not all women like the same things in bed,” I croaked when his face was level with my pussy.
“True, but all women like me in bed.” Jaime punctuated his cocky grin with a wink, reached for his jeans, pulled out something small, ripped it open—was it a condom?—and tossed it into his mouth.
“I know what you want, Ms. Greene. You want to come undone. I’ll make you come. And with me, you’ll never be done.”
He dove in.
Jaime’s cold, minty mouth met my hot-as-sin flesh. My hips bucked, chasing his touch as he sucked hard on my clit before breathing the fresh bite of mint into my pussy, driving his tongue deep inside. I tried to wriggle free, the intensity of my pleasure so profound I felt like I’d combust into burnt marshmallow under his body. But he pinned me down, placing a flexed muscular arm over my stomach, insisting I see this through with him.
It was tantalizing, the wave of weakness and lust that crashed over my body, head to toe. I gripped his long blond hair—so soft and shiny—in my small fist and jerked him closer into me, l
etting out a desperate mewl. A violent orgasm ripped through me, my muscles tightening in pleasure.
Jaime pinned me to the floor and crawled on top of me, devouring my mouth with his. “Taste it,” he growled like a beast, disposing of his gum in my mouth. His tongue was everywhere—my teeth, the walls of my mouth, on my chin, even my cheeks. “It tastes like you, Teach.”
I chewed on his gum. He was right. It tasted like my pussy.
Thrill sliced through my veins when Jaime raised his body and fumbled for his jeans. I prayed he was actually searching for a condom this time. I wanted to fuck him more than I wanted to hit the lottery jackpot, but I was still too flushed, my nerves too sensitive after my mind-blowing orgasm.
He rolled on a condom and guided his cock between my folds until his balls hit my entrance.
“Missionary, huh? What kind of camp was it? ‘Book of Mormon’ Youth?” I egged him on.
He laughed, hissing a moan, his eyelids half-mast as he started thrusting, finding the tempo that made us both groan. He was the perfect size. Big and thick, but not scarily so.
“Baby, I’m just breaking you in for the future.” He bit my earlobe, his damp chest sticking to mine. “Once I’m done, you’ll be begging for missionary.”
I believed him.
The sex lasted nearly fifteen minutes, a lot longer than I thought an eighteen-year-old, even one who’d just gotten off from a blow job, would be able to last. He came again, and after flipping him so I was on top, watching his gorgeous, Channing-Tatum-meets-Ryan-Gosling face as I clutched his cock, so did I.
When we were done, I rolled back and lay on the floor beside him. He had one hand tucked under his head and the other on his stomach. Everything about him was so perfect. Even his blond armpit hair was sexy. And that made me sad, because I knew guys like Jaime grew up to find women who were just as put-together as they were.
And these type of women? I wasn’t among them.
He stared at my popcorn ceiling in contented silence.
“Say something.” I cleared my throat, glaring. I had my head propped on one arm behind my head, my chest still dancing up and down. We were both naked, and it was starting to get chilly on my floor. But I wanted him to speak. Needed him to, badly.