“You think it’s inappropriate too, don’t cha?” I said, annoyed.
“No, I want to hear it in your voice.”
“Why?” I said, taking it.
“It’s an urban poem, which typically is better spoken than read. Plus, your accent will add to its authenticity.”
“S’pose so.” Without looking at my poem, I started reciting it:
Unhappily-Ever-After
If you sleep with me don’t dream, it will end in a happily-ever-after
That’s a bullshit way of thinking, wanting, deceiving
Yourself into believing, I’m your Hollywood hero
Cos I’m not
I’m the bad boy, a fucked up hood
A thug, an addictive drug, who will get you hooked, booked
Locked up for good
I’ll prey on your afflictions, increasing your addictions
To synthetic sensations, elations, jubilations
A heroin salutation
I deal in angel dust, not angel wings
Cos I’m always absent when the choir sings
Instead, my congregation is laden with degenerate desires, not spires
Only pariahs kneel at the pews, praying for me to quench their burning fires
To douse their agony, by feeding their demons with weed, speed
Not a creed
But I can’t be their saviour
I may look like a heavenly epiphany, a cupid with a bow
But my arrows are filled with poison, laying tracks across their arm, causing them harm
Not a much needed calm
Cos I’m el Diablo
A fallen angel, an acid shot so pure, yet unsure, incredibly immature
A stupid boy, a toy, who didn’t realise that I sold
Unhappily-ever-afters
Once I’d finished, Mrs. Hatton turned to look at Mr. Grey. “Sorry, Harry, I don’t agree with you. You should accept Dante’s poem.”
My eyes widened in surprise.
Mr. Grey also looked surprised. He pushed away from the desk he’d been leaning against. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why? There’s nothing wrong with urban poetry.”
“He’s fifteen.” Mr. Grey indicated to me. “It’s inappropriate for him to be writing about drugs.”
“He’s writing about it, not selling it.”
“If he wrote about sex you wouldn’t be saying the same thing.”
“Well, he didn’t. And I didn’t see anything inflammatory in his words. If anything, his poem was about drugs being bad. You should at least account for that. And, another thing, I wish Dante would hand me assignments like this, because since I’ve been here he’s not handed in one piece of work. How many assignments has he done for you?”
Mr. Grey glanced at me with a frown, then looked back at Mrs. Hatton. “All of them.”
“And you’re criticising something that is really good?”
Mr. Grey opened his mouth, then clamped it shut, looking like he didn’t know how to respond.
I grinned, thinking this was classic.
She continued talking, “I think you came to the wrong person, Harry. I absolutely lapped up The Outsiders when I was eleven, a story that the author wrote when she was a teenager. Now, if S. E. Hinton had a teacher who told her it was inappropriate to write about gangs, then maybe she wouldn’t have published it and won all those awards as well as made a lot of readers and moviegoers happy.”
Mr. Grey remained quiet, his cheeks reddening.
She turned her attention to me. “Well done, Dante. Looks like you’ll be getting an excellence, as promised by Mr. Grey.”
“Cool,” I said, extremely happy. “Thanks, miss.”
“You won’t be thanking me the next time you’re in my class, because now I know what you’re capable of I won’t let you slack.”
My grin widened. “I’ll do whatever you want now.”
She frowned at me, probably thinking I was slipping in a sexual innuendo. She returned her focus to Mr. Grey. “I’m sorry I couldn’t agree with you, I hope you’re not too angry.”
He shook his head. “I asked for your opinion and you gave it to me. It may not have been what I’d expected, or even wanted, but I will stick to my word. Thank you for your help and sorry to have bothered you.” He headed for me, taking the paper out of my hand. “Let’s go record your assignment,” he said.
I followed him to the door, glancing back at Mrs. Hatton. She had her head down, concentrating on the papers in front of her. I stopped for a moment in the doorway, thinking she was kind of cool.
She looked up at me. “What?”
“You’re not just sayin’ all of this cos of earlier?” I said, hoping she wasn’t buttering me up so I’d keep my mouth shut.
“No, I meant every word I said.”
I smiled at her, not a grin or an arrogant smirk, just a genuine smile, the woman making me feel good. “Cool, I’m happy you liked my poem. And thanks for backing me up.”
She nodded, then refocused on her papers. “Close the door behind you,” she said, looking like she was trying hard not to smile.
“No worries,” I said, doing what she’d asked.
Now happy, I followed Mr. Grey back to class. The students sat up when we entered. He indicated for me to take the microphone. To everyone’s surprise, I started rapping my poem. Once I’d finished, the class cheered and clapped, Mr. Aston’s niece the loudest. Annabelle’s bright smile lit up her whole face. But it wasn’t her smile I was thinking about. It was Mrs. Hatton’s.
14
CLARA
I tried to get Dante out of my head by going to the gym after work, exercising off my conflicting emotions. But when I started imagining him getting blown, I quickly went and had a cold shower, my dirty mind taking me places I knew I couldn’t go. Though, in all truth he didn’t look his age—he truly didn’t. He looked at least eighteen, his height also adding to the impression, the boy so much taller than me. If anything, he could easily pass off as a twenty-one-year-old. I could imagine him walking past bouncers without even being asked for his I.D. I also imagined him going to clubs to lure older women into bed, getting them to do whatever he wanted, the boy’s smouldering good looks and sheer confidence again unusual for someone of his age. I had never met a boy with that much confidence, or even the audacity to say half the things he’d said to me. It made me want to demand his birth certificate, because he couldn’t possibly be fifteen. Someone had to be playing a practical joke on me, fucking with my head—as well as my body.
I dried off and got dressed, the cold shower not helping. It felt as though my mind was trapping me in a continual replay, because I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at me during the blowjob or how he’d touched my hip as he’d walked past me in the classroom or the way his eyes had smouldered as he recited his poem. And last, but not least, that lovely smile he’d given me afterwards. It had been so genuine and happy, showing a sweet side of him I didn’t know he had; a side that had melted me.
But despite that, my mind returned to his blowjob as I drove home, as well as the words he’d said after coming, ‘Did’ja like that?’ Even though I had at the time, I didn’t now, because it filled me with guilt, my desire for him unnatural. Again, how could he not be older? He had to be, because there was no way he wasn’t. I wasn’t the unnatural one, he was. He was provoking me, mind-fucking me, and I wanted it to stop!
My eyes went wide, the car in front of me having braked, my thoughts about Dante causing a momentary lapse in concentration. I slammed on my brakes and jolted forward. The seatbelt whipped tight across my chest, yanking me back. My front bumper stopped within an inch of the other car, the narrow miss leaving me shaken, but also intensely relieved I hadn’t hit it. I ran a hand across my dashboard, saying a quick prayer of thanks to the good Lord for sparing my car and an insurance claim.
A horn blasted behind me, making me jump in my seat. The car I’d almost smashed into had moved off,
leaving me blocking a long line of vehicles. I resumed driving home, wishing I could redo the day.
***
I got out of my Volkswagen and plugged my earphones in. I turned the music up on my disc player, blasting my eardrums with Jewel’s music in an attempt to force all thought of Dante out of my head. I grabbed my gym bag and nudged my car door shut, locking up. I headed for the front door of my small three-bedroom brick and tile home, a place I’d lived in for almost two months since returning from England. I let myself in and dumped my bag and keys on a side table. Framed photos of the sea and sport events lined the lemon-coloured walls of the lounge, my husband an avid photographer. We’d had everything shipped, thinking Markus was going to follow me soon after, but nothing seemed to be going right, one problem after another holding up his documentation. It made me want to scream, because right now I desperately needed him, our separation causing my mind to fixate on Dante instead of the man I’d married.
I cut through the lounge and passage, entering my bedroom, which was swathed in beige, a colour I knew Markus wouldn’t like. He loved bright colours, so bright you needed sunglasses to look at them. I remembered the day I’d caught him painting our London apartment in orange and blue. He’d sneakily started it while I’d been substituting at a school in Sutton. But I’d come home early, finding a partially painted apartment and a very guilty-looking Markus. After I’d barked out a surprised response, he’d become openly defiant. Though, his expression had quickly changed from a macho ‘This is how it’s gonna be, woman’ to ‘Please let me keep it, Mummy’ when he thought I was going to make him repaint it.
I opened the bathroom door, almost jumping out of my skin. Markus was standing in the shower, the naked sight before me taking me completely by surprise. I blinked, not believing what I was seeing, since he was supposed to be in London.
I removed my earplugs, exchanging Jewel’s voice for Markus’s rendition of a Joe Cocker song. He had his back to me and was rinsing his hair, the diluted shampoo running down his powerful back. Although steam was fogging up the shower cubicle, I could still see his impressive body. He had a swimmer’s physique, with wide shoulders, a tapered waist, and long legs, which wasn’t surprising considering he was a swimmer. He was also a surfer and kayaker, everything to do with water a passion of his. He’d been a competitive swimmer and surfer in his youth, even representing England.
Oblivious to my presence, he continued singing You Are So Beautiful. As usual, he was off-key, but I still loved the sound of his rough Cockney accent.
“Markus!” I said loudly. “What are you doing here?”
He stopped singing and turned around, a lopsided smile lighting up his face. “’Ello, love,” he said, “how long ’ave ya been ogling my arse, you pervy li’l tart?”
Despite my troubled mood, I beamed at him, ecstatic he was finally here. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I said, bouncing on my feet, beyond excited. “I would’ve picked you up from the airport.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” He held his arms out. “Surprise!”
I laughed, all my stress melting away at his bright smile. I walked over and pulled open the shower door, stepping inside. I gave him a big hug, not caring that I was getting wet.
Markus turned off the water and hugged me back. “Looks like you missed me.”
“More than you know.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I missed you too. When the documentation finally came through, I hopped on the first plane I could get.”
I didn’t ask how he’d gotten inside the house, realising he’d probably asked my father or my dad’s partner for the key. I squeezed him harder, the last month and a half without him feeling like a lifetime.
He ran a hand down my back. “Are you all right?”
“I am now.” Pulling back a little, I grabbed his wet hair and yanked his head down, planting my lips against his. He kissed me back, his hands going to my head too. We stayed like that for a while, reconnecting, trying to get back the weeks we’d lost.
Without warning, he swept me up into his arms, making me squeal. Laughing, he stepped out of the shower and carried me through to our bedroom. He laid me down on the bed and started undressing me, his honey-coloured skin glistening from the shower. I helped pull my wet clothes off, desperate to lose myself in him ... to lose the past day, weeks, month...
Once I was just as naked as he was, he climbed over me, sealing our lips together again. I returned his kiss, not thinking about anything other than the taste and feel of my husband.
He broke our kiss, running his lips down my chin and neck, latching onto one of my breasts. I placed a hand on his head and groaned, again getting lost in what he was doing, Markus knowing my body so well.
His lips moved to my other breast, making me groan louder. He was rolling my nipple around in his mouth, sending sparks of pleasure to my groin. I arched up, wanting more, but instead he let go and nudged my legs apart. Within seconds, he was inside of me. My body welcomed his cock, my mind also wanting what he was doing. He started fucking me, the sounds he was making reminding me of Dante’s moans. I froze in response, the thought coming out of the blue. Markus also went still. He looked down at me with questioning eyes, probably wondering why I’d stopped.
“Take me from behind,” I said, praying he didn’t sense the guilt I was feeling.
A lustful smile spread across his face, Markus thankfully too horny to pick up on it. He pulled out of me and flipped me over, yanking me up onto all fours. Before I could blink, he was pushing back inside of me, taking me from behind, his moan so deep and low that even I felt it. After a moment’s pause, he started thrusting hard, only his tight grip on my hips stopping me from banging into the headboard.
“Faster,” I said, needing the pleasure to wipe out all thought of Dante.
I wanted to feel Markus inside of me, not to think about some boy who didn’t care about me. Markus wouldn’t toss me aside and move onto the next conquest like Dante would. He’d pledged his love, vowing to be faithful to me. I glanced down at my wedding ring, using it to remind myself of that. But it didn’t work, because all I could think about was Dante’s gorgeous face as well as his sensual moans, the memory making my toes curl. I started to imagine Markus’s moans were Dante’s, while the fingers bruising my hips and the cock plunging inside of me also belonged to him. I pushed back against each thrust, knowing he’d be rough, more concerned with coming than worrying about hurting me. But it wouldn’t hurt ... didn’t hurt ... because I liked it rough. Instead of making me cry out in pain, I was crying out in pleasure, his hard thrusts causing the pressure inside of me to build up rapidly, until I was shamelessly begging for release, needing it more than air. He responded with a sexy growl and pressed his front against my back, skin against skin, desire riding me hard.
A puff of warm air tickled my right ear, followed by the caress of soft lips, sending a shiver through me. My lobe was sucked into his mouth, his teeth nibbling the tender flesh, then tugging on my earring. I gasped, feeling a twinge below... so close ... so fucking close. Dirty words followed, rolling off the tip of his tongue. The accent was Cockney, not Maori, reminding me it was Markus who was fucking me. But it no longer mattered, because it was Dante’s words that ran through my mind: ‘...think of me.’ And I did, coming hard, the white hot pleasure blinding me, wiping away all guilt, only leaving behind unadulterated bliss.
Then he was coming. He shouted hoarsely, his climax sending him to his own personal nirvana. Within seconds his shout turned into a strangled moan, his orgasm slowly waning, along with his bruising grip. Before I could put two thoughts together, he pulled out and let go of me. I flopped onto my stomach, all my bones having disintegrated with the orgasm. I was a melted puddle on the bed, unable to do a thing but lie there, my body sated and happy, my mind a furry blur of sweet nothings.
Without warning, I was flipped over, the sudden movement startling a cry out of me. I blinked rapidly, seeing Markus staring down at
me instead of Dante, the image in my head instantly disappearing.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough,” Markus said, smiling apologetically. A second later, it turned into a self-satisfied smirk. “Though, I think you liked it, you li’l minx. You came hard, didn’t ya?”
I didn’t reply, my guilt silencing me, searing my conscience, as though Hell had opened its gates, the Devil beckoning me to enter. Because Markus hadn’t made me come—Dante had.
Markus smiled wider. “It’s nuffin’ to be embarrassed about, babe, it was great,” he said, obviously misreading my expression.
He flopped down next to me, his damp blond hair also flopping. He had such nice hair. Actually, everything about him was nice, which only served to intensify my guilt. I’d never thought about anyone else during sex, hadn’t even considered it, Markus usually satisfying me. And although the images of Dante had entered my head uninvited, I hadn’t dispelled them.
“I think I should quit my job,” I said, knowing I needed to nip the problem in the bud before it blossomed out of control, because it would. I knew that. The boy was just too attractive, a dangerous distraction that could get me into a world of trouble.
Turning on his side, Markus rested his elbow on the mattress, propping up his head with his hand. “Why?” he asked, looking surprised. “Only last week you emailed me, saying it was going really well.”
Unable to tell him the real reason, I leaned over the side of the bed and swiped my knickers up off the floor, stalling so I could fabricate an adequate response. I slipped the slightly damp knickers back on, mumbling, “Working at Wera wasn’t what I expected,” which wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t expected to fall in lust with a student, especially one so young. And it was lust, no matter how much I wanted to deny it.
Markus frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”
I grimaced. “A lot of the kids treat me like I’m a prison warden or a sexual object. If I hear another wolf whistle or the words ‘hot mama’ I’ll scream.”
Markus placed a hand on my stomach, circling my navel with a fingertip. “The boys still made snide remarks when you did substitute work, yet it didn’t bother you then.”
Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) Page 13