Forbidden: A Student Teacher Romance

by Amanda Heartley

  “The river!” she exclaimed, nearly clapping with glee as Carla peered out at Pelican River in all its glory. “How… how can we see both?”

  “I had to find a place with a wraparound balcony to see the ocean and the river,” I explained, before quickly correcting myself. “Well, that is, Spencer had to…”

  “You can see it from half the condo,” she noted, passing the kitchen and guest bedroom sliders before coming to the railing where the river was in full view, twelve floors below, glistening and gently flowing beneath our admiring gaze.

  “And the ocean from the other half,” I pointed out, sliding up so close that when she turned, I was all she could see.

  “You… you asked for that?” she murmured, gently easing into the crook of my arm. “I thought you’d given up on me.”

  I flinched a little, even gasped, pushing her away so she could see the desperate look in my eyes. “Never, Carla,” I insisted, pulling her close and smothering with kisses to convey the passion, the emotion, even the words I couldn’t speak. “I’d never give up on you. I wanted… I only ever wanted… all of this for us!”

  She gasped with relief, her body sagging desperately against mine as our mouths clashed passionately right there in the day’s waning sun. The penthouse was high above Siesta Key, the ocean at our back, the river at our front, and our hands desperate for each other after the long week apart.

  “Not… not here,” she managed to murmur even as she tugged at my shirt and kicked off her sandals, my hands fumbling behind me for the sliding glass door as I stumbled back inside, tumbling over the leather couch and falling back onto the cushion.

  “Finally,” she said, sauntering inside and leaving the door open. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, watching her reach for the champagne and, amid the clatter of melting ice cubes, tear the foil and pop it open. It fizzed, only gently, Carla careful to slip her lips around the open bottle top before letting it drizzle onto the floor we hadn’t bought yet. “Where’s that?” I asked, my voice low and impressed.

  “Alone!” she chuckled, inching closer, slowly, and shifting her shoulders so that the spaghetti straps of her slinky sundress slid off and down each arm.

  We chuckled as she handed me the champagne and, my throat was dry from the long day and a week’s worth of nerves, so I drank deeply as she continued to wriggle out of her sundress. I’d forgotten how feminine her body was, admiring the soft, womanly curves as the dress wriggled over her full breasts and across her wide, sexy hips. She’d worn soft cotton panties, simple and plain, the kind she wore when she wasn’t expecting any action. She hooked a thumb on either side and, as I drank, wriggled out of those as well.

  She stood, naked in the living room of our soon to be condo, bathed in shadow sun from the open sliding glass door as I raced to put down the bottle. “Your turn,” she said, taking it from me as I wriggled from my shirt and jeans as I drank in every inch of her feminine curves and began to inhale the scent of her fragrant musk.

  I sat, tugging at the last of my jeans, my torso already bare, my belly full of cold champagne, and my nerves on edge as she sipped from the bottle, gently watching me before inching closer and handing it back.

  It all felt so natural, this moment, both of us naked, the sun on her soft skin, the walls high and airy around us. I was hard in an instant and, without prelude, she walked over and sank onto my thighs. I could feel her heat, see her pearly pink sheen, feel the drizzle of her pussy liquor hot and wet along my shaft as she began to grind and writhe against it.

  I enjoyed it, the lingering drizzle and tight, clenched lips as they glided and glistened up and down my desperate cock. And then, as if she was desperate as well, Carla shifted, gently, rising, slightly, until I felt the heat from inside and my tip wet and, within seconds, I was deep inside her.

  Chapter 51

  Carla

  I felt the hitch in my throat and the flutter in my stomach, riding him slow and soft as the sunlight kissed his face and caressed his fluttering eyelids. I could feel him close, hot, wet and hard deep inside me, the sound of our lust slippery and wet as my heart pounded and soft, muttering moans bled from our lips.

  “Oh,” he blurted, just before he came hard, hot and wet inside, my body tingled with desire as I sank lower onto him and ground myself against his hot, hard skin. I came slowly, and loudly, writhing and digging my fingers in his shoulders, glad to finally exhale, to climax, to squeal and scream and not wake anybody up.

  Afterward, panting and sweating, we sank off each other and back, loosely, into our clothes. He reached for the champagne and, finding it empty, rose in jeans and no shirt, bare feet padding across the floor tile. “There’s more,” he said, opening the fridge.

  “Aren’t you prepared?” I asked, my body aglow with ecstasy. My heart hammered with excitement and anticipation.

  He murmured, or chuckled, it was hard to tell with all the blood rushing through my ears. Either way he appeared, with champagne and indeed more… chocolate covered strawberries, cheese, sausage and crackers, an entire smorgasbord on a deli tray. “What’s all this?”

  “A celebration,” he said, popping the cork and filling two plastic glasses for a toast.

  “To what?”

  “To this place,” he said, waving his glass before handing me mine. “That is, if you want it.”

  I sat up, nearly spilling my champagne. “But I thought… Spencer was…”

  “I fired Spencer,” he said, standing and pacing nervously. “A week ago. I thought… he was the reason we were fighting.”

  I smirked, about to correct him before realizing he was right. Well, half right anyway. “It wasn’t Spencer,” I confessed. “It was me. And you. And us, and our situation, and everything all at once.”

  He nodded, saving me the full confession. “I thought you got cold feet,” he said. “Like… me.”

  I blushed. “I did,” I squealed, like a silly high school girl realizing she and her beau had the same taste in music. “I was afraid I’d ruined your life, and mine, and ours, coming down here and doing all… this.”

  He sank back down next to me, taking my face in both hands and shaking both our heads. “No, Carla, never,” he murmured, kissing my face gently before taking his hands away. “My life has never been better, it’s just… the circumstances that drive us crazy. Your schedule, my schedule, both of us doing new things, out of our element, trying to pretend like it’s okay when it’s… it’s not.”

  I shook my head, and then nodded, reaching for the champagne and toasting his glass too hard and spilling it on his chest. We laughed, sipping loudly and attacking the platter with gusto. I’d been so nervous and tense all week, I’d hardly eaten, the savory and sweet treats were the perfect welcome back to solid food!

  Afterward, we brought the champagne onto the balcony, the sound of the waves was the soothing balm that it always had been, the sight of the river even more so. For me, at least. “Is this… what you want?” I asked. “I want it if you do,” he said, nodding toward a file folder on the patio table, held down with a seagull statue—in honor, I suppose, of the river that could potentially be our view. “It’s ours if you want it.”

  “For real?” I asked, sounding all of twelve.

  “Lock, stock and barrel,” he said, ignoring the file and turning back to the view—of me, that is. “Twenty grand below budget, completely furnished, priced to sell, motivated buyer, the whole deal. I’ve already, well… I hope you’re not mad.”

  “At what?” I asked, sliding my arm inside his.

  “I put a deposit down and, if you’re up for it, we can close soon.”

  He seemed to be holding his breath, his puffy cheeks making him look ten years younger—and twice as adorable. I slapped him, playfully, and kissed him, soulfully. “How soon?” I purred, the sun sultry on my skin, the future bright and already feeling the urge to wriggle out of my sundress and take him right where he stood—new neighbors
be damned.

  “Tomorrow morning, if you want,” he said, sounding slightly surprised. “I mean, Spencer said we could have the keys until then, so I don’t see why, when he comes to return them, we can’t set something up.”

  I sipped the last of my champagne and, pulling him closer, scanned the horizon. In the corner where we stood, the river to our back, the ocean to our front, there were no other condos as far as the eye could see. I gave into temptation and slid each spaghetti strap down, watching him get the hint as he helped me disrobe, pausing to tenderly caress my breasts even as I urged to tug down his zipper.

  “I wonder how many rooms we can do it in before morning,” I challenged him, breathlessly, both of us cracking up at the notion. It felt so good to laugh again, to hear him laugh, that it was almost—almost—as good as the sex we’d just had, and were about to have.

  He nibbled my ear, playfully, as I stepped out of my dress again and he did the same from his jeans. “Well, it’s a two bedroom, so… we should be fine.”

  We should be fine, he’d said. And as I melted into his arms, the salt spray on our sweaty bodies, the sun on my back, I thought no truer words had ever be spoken. Suddenly, in Kellan’s arms, in this place, I knew we’d be fine. More than fine, we’d be together, and that sure as hell beat being apart…

  Epilogue

  Carla

  “What are you so antsy for?” Kellan asked, peering at me from the corner of the kitchen counter where he leaned, casually—almost rakishly, looking devilishly handsome in his South Beach uniform—plaid shorts and a cool blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up and unbuttoned just enough to be tempting. If Selena hadn’t been due any moment, I might have signaled him that I was in the mood for one last quickie on the balcony before handing her one of the two contracts I’d prepared before agreeing to meet.

  I shrugged in reply, not quite sure myself. Peering around the loft apartment, so funky and chic, so expensively furnished and showroom ready, I felt vague feelings of unease, even unrest. “I don’t know,” I murmured noncommittally, sipping absently from my bottled water despite my throat being too dry to drink. “I guess… I guess being here brings up a lot of baggage for me.”

  Kellan nodded, his eyes sympathetic, his full lips turned down in a conspiratorial frown, as if sharing my bittersweet moment. “I know what you mean, Carla,” he said, inching his hand along the countertop until it rested on top of my own. “Coming back here always feels like returning to the mountaintop, you know?”

  “Exactly! I felt so content in Siesta Key, it’s so much more like home to me now, but… I can’t help but feel that same, neon energy whenever I’m back here in South Beach.”

  He nodded, his eyes peering back at me appreciatively. “I feel like Siesta Key is home now, too, Carla.”

  “You do?” I asked, hopefully.

  He rolled his eyes. “You really have to ask me that?”

  “I suppose not, Kellan. I just, I would hate to think you gave up all this…” I nodded around the spacious living room, toward the sunny balcony and, beyond, to the bright blue sky over our former adopted hometown. “For the life of a charter boat captain.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I’m not a captain yet, remember? I’ve still got that test next week—”

  “But once you pass that,” I interrupted, excitement over our new future getting the best of me, “you’ll be such a big help to Roy.”

  He nodded humbly. “Well, that new boat’s going to be a big help to both of us.”

  Now it was my turn to smile humbly. With Roy a few weeks away from getting out of rehab, he was itching to get back on the water. The old boat, Roy’s Retreat, wasn’t big enough for Roy, Kellan and Ryan plus up to half-a-dozen clients. Not only that, but despite his speedy recovery, Roy still wasn’t up to captaining the ship himself.

  Fortunately, with the sale of Miami Models, I’d been able to secure a bigger, newer boat – appropriately named Roy’s Retreat II – to replace the first. Now Roy could enjoy his life’s work without the actual “work” part, regaling the clients with his stories and steering the ship toward his favorite fishing spots, all while Kellan drove and Ryan baited and strung the lines. It was the perfect solution for all involved, and one that would significantly add to Roy’s recovery – as well as grow his business.

  In time, he might be able to steer the ship himself. Or, as we all hoped, he’d enjoy “active retirement” and let Kellan do the heavy lifting for a while. Either way, he’d be out of the house— and Mom’s hair. Secretly, I was looking forward to the change. Mom and I had grown closer since I’d returned home, but we still spent so much time care-giving, we had little time for relationship building. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit I was looking forward to some “Mommy and me” time after what we’d both been through over the past few months, not to mention a few long, leisurely lunches— with frozen margaritas overlooking the beach—without having to worry about taking Roy to or from physical therapy.

  Newly retired, I was looking forward to spending more time connecting with my mother and—from the sound of it—she was just as eager to reacquaint herself with her daughter. And once the joys of being a “lady who lunches” wore off, I was eager to explore other business opportunities in Siesta Key. Real estate, for one. Our experiences with Spencer Sterling, of Sterling Properties, had been less than satisfactory. I’d been thinking how much he’d left on the table by pleasing himself rather than his clients. Maybe Spencer could use a little friendly competition in town, I’d imagined—starting with my parents’ house.

  Old and crumbling, it was the perfect fixer upper for a young, upwardly mobile company who might enjoy spending every weekend doing another home improvement on the cozy old beach shack. But as for Mom and Roy, well, it was time for them to upgrade to something more modern. A place where Mom wouldn’t have to bang the toaster in just the right way to get it to work and Roy wouldn’t suffer endless allergies from the weathered, warped window frames.

  I was thinking a nice condo downtown, something on the first floor with handicap access, a pool and Jacuzzi to assist in Roy’s ongoing rehab and just close enough to our new place to be near in case of an emergency, but not so close they’d constantly “pop in” during one of our impromptu nooners!

  I loved the convenience and “newness” of our new condo, and wanted the same for Mom and Roy. Once Kellan had completed his studies to be an official boat captain, I planned on taking a real estate course and getting my own license.

  But first, business. “Speaking of selling things,” Kellan chuckled, pulling me out of my pleasant daydream, “what was all that at your lawyer’s office this morning? I thought you were just popping in for a standard lease agreement, right?”

  I shrugged, blushing slightly at my spontaneous act of goodwill. “I dunno,” I murmured, toying with the two manila folders my lawyer had handed me in his office earlier that morning. “Selena has been so humble and kind on the phone this week, setting all this up,” I pointed out, referring to my former assistant’s pledge to rent out my studio loft while starting her own modeling agency from my— sorry, make that her—home office. “I thought, if she was really sincere about leaving Florida Faces and starting out on her own, I might just sell her the place outright.”

  “What?” he asked, surprise cascading across his handsome face. “I thought you two were sworn enemies after she blindsided you and took most of your models with her to Florida Faces.”

  “We were,” I murmured, avoiding his judgmental eyes. “But when she saw my listing for the condo on her Facebook page, she got in touch and we’ve been talking back and forth for the last few weeks, so…”

  He covered my hand once more, squeezing it with his own. “You’re just full of surprises today, aren’t you?”

  “Just wait’ll you see what I have in store for you if she doesn’t show up,” I teased, both of us leaped when the doorbell rang and he scooted to the loft, as planned, calling his first mate, Ryan, to see how he was
doing without his honorary “captain” at the helm all day.

  “Selena!” I announced when throwing open the door and seeing my former assistant, fit, radiant and beautiful but low key in faded jeans and a baggy, frayed sweater.

  “Carla,” she said, slightly more subdued, voice low and raw. “Thanks so much for seeing me today.”

  I pulled her inside, finding her arms trembling and her eyes puffy— her mascara shabby—from apparently— crying? “Of course I’ll see you,” I said, offering her a bottled water from the otherwise empty fridge. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she said, in a way so dramatic it clearly meant “everything” instead. “I just, ever since leaving Florida Faces—”

  “You left them for good?” I asked. “Last time we talked, that was just an idea.”

  She shrugged, ignoring her water bottle on the countertop as we stood, alone, in the kitchen. “It’s been a long time coming,” she confessed, clutching the ends of the sleeves of her oversized sweater in trembling fingers. “I just, I’ve felt so bad about what I did to you, and Kellan, and… it just felt like the right time to make a new start.”

  I considered Selena, once so brave and confident, even cocky, in her youth and beauty. Now she seemed, humbled, eager to start fresh… and what better way than with a new address?

  “Would you still like to make it here?” I asked her, remembering how often we’d met in the Miami Models glory days to plot taking over South Beach together. It wasn’t just Selena’s betrayal that made my old loft a bittersweet memory for me now, but how wrapped up I’d been in world domination when, after all, I’d known so little about what made life worth living back then. In many ways, I realized, pulling the file folders closer to us, I wasn’t that different from Selena when I’d started Miami Models: young, cutthroat, eager to take on the world, even if that meant crushing the other guy. Now, looking at the young woman with old eyes, I realized maybe, just maybe, we both knew better.