by Gigi Thorne
She bites down on her bottom lip, a faint smile lifting her cheeks. “I don’t know. We could try, right?”
“Only if you’re willing to risk it. I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s a chance I’ll end up spreading you out on the dining table and running my tongue all over you, long before they can bring us our drinks.”
Pink stains her cheeks and her tongue slides across her lips. “I’m… I don’t… You… I think this is way out of my league,” she breathes out in a whisper.
“I don’t disagree,” I tell her, and don’t hold anything back as I rest my hand on her cheek. Closing in on the side of her face, I brush my lips along the tender skin of her slender neck. Her breath catches again, and her hips arch toward me as I suck her earlobe between my teeth. “This thing… it’s bigger than the both of us. You felt it too, I can tell. But if I’m wrong, let me know and I’ll walk away.”
I have her answer when her hands reach up to my forearms and she leans into me, her breasts grazing against my upper abs. Then she makes her message loud and clear. “This has never happened to me before,” she admits. “But you’re right. It’s too big… too strong to walk away from. Take me to your room.”
“Now?” I ask in a groan as my cock stiffens that much more from her request.
“Yes,” she moans. “Now. Before I lose my nerve or talk myself out of it.”
That’s something I can sink my teeth into. She’s so tempting I can eat her up, and now that she’s asked for it, I suddenly have an appetite. But I can tell that I’m better off taking her slow. It’s the only way, and to be honest, I’m not sure I want it to be over too fast. Not with her. Taking her hand, I lead her to my room. I unlock the door with the key card and show her in, wondering if I should’ve taken her somewhere else. If I’d met her a few weeks from now, I could take her to the house I bought. Timing is everything, though. And she’s already asked me to fuck her now, not later. Here, not at my house or at a place that’s more her style. Even from this distance, I can tell from that large mansion she pointed at that her family is well off. Its shows on her too. And I would know the look, as my mother came from money and my father ran a large brokerage firm for over thirty years before he retired. But just as it is for me, money means very little to her.
“Care for a drink?” I offer her.
“Water’s fine,” she answers, standing in the middle of the room, looking uncomfortable. “Or beer. I’m not a big drinker.”
“Beer it is. The room isn’t much, but it’s clean. Make yourself at home.”
“That’d make for a nice slogan,” she says under her breath.
I carry the beer bottle to her, opening it in front of her. A woman can’t be too careful these days. I want her to see that I didn’t tamper with the drink. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“And for a motel, probably,” I agree.
“Sorry, what about the motel?” she asks, seeming flustered.
“The slogan you mentioned.”
“Oh, I didn’t think you heard me. And I really didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” she says quickly, nervously taking a seat on one side of the bed. “My parents own a few of these setups. You know, midways and lodgings. Anyway, ignore me.”
I gently rest a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. Just relax. You’re safe with me.”
“I know that.” She lifts the beer to her lips and takes a sip, then her eyes land on me again.
Sitting beside her, I put down our bottles, lift her chin and take that pouty, sweet-looking mouth. She tilts her head back, letting me kiss her more freely. As she moans at my lips, I run my fingers through her hair and part her lips with my tongue, tasting more of her and the slight tang of the beer she just sipped. I could kiss that mouth all fucking night.
I feel her arms grip my biceps. In one move, I lift her legs from the backs of her knees and rest them on top of one of mine. Reaching a forearm around her small waist, I drag her closer. She’s tight against my side as we continue to kiss, breathing heavily, all curves and leanness against my bulky muscles. Just then, she adjusts herself on me, moving one leg, then the other to sit facing me in my lap. At this point, her nipples rub against my pecs, and the heat between her thighs are brushing up against my cock through my pants. My dick jumps. It’s so fucking hard and we haven’t done anything yet.
That’s how I know her body’s perfect for me.
I let my hands run up and down her hips, pulling her tighter against me each time, allowing her to get a preview of what’s behind my zipper, and how I’ll use it once it’s free from all these clothes.
Kara starts to tug her polo shirt out of her work pants, but I stop her and pull from the kiss. “I’ll do that,” I tell her.
I want to be the one to unwrap her like the gift she really is. I press a palm on her lower back and flip her onto the bed. She gasps and color stains her cheeks at the sudden movement, or maybe it’s our position. I’m on top of her, my massive arms bracketing her, my imposing frame looming over her tiny body, my cock at her folds, and she has her legs around my waist. The only thing separating us are the clothes on our backs. And very soon, those will be on the floor.
3
Kara
The way Jackson kisses me, I’m tempted to let my lips stay locked with his all night, but what I really want is for him to make love to me. I’m not a virgin, although by pleasure standards, I am one. I’ve been with one boy. Once. I really liked him too. But that one time I struck up the nerve to let him go all the way with me, he slipped on a condom, slid into me, and came in four thrusts.
He came.
I didn’t.
Then he broke up with me a week later for some other girl at our high school. The sad part—or maybe it’s the good part—is that I felt nothing after. Not heartbreak, not jealousy, not disappointment. Perhaps that in itself was a sign.
But that’s not the case with Jackson. I feel something. I feel a lot. If I had to explain what the feeling is, I’d say it’s hunger, but not just in my mouth and my stomach. I’m hungry all over my body, from head to toe, in every cell. Craving only him. Just a look from him leaves me longing. And his touch, his kiss, they send jolts of energy racing through me, straight to places that should’ve felt something when I gave it up to that other boy. That’s why I’m here, in Jackson’s room, hoping for more than four thrusts.
Of course, I hope he doesn’t think I do this often. I find myself drawn to Jackson. It’s also a bit of a stretch, but someone out there felt they could trust him to care for their two kids. My gut tells me there might be more to what we’re about to do than just two people wanting to scratch an itch. But I prefer to be realistic. More likely than not, tonight will be the one-night stand to make up for my shitty first time.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks from his spot above me, pulling me back to what we’re about to do.
I nod a few times and wrap my arms around his neck. “I’m sure. I have condoms in my bag.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got my own supply.”
Piece by piece, he slowly peels off my clothes, leaving only my panties. Then he gets to his feet and undresses, his eyes piercing mine, studying my reaction to every big, bulging muscle and body part he reveals. When his pants and boxers drop to the floor, I feel a lot of things in a lot of places. I’m throbbing between my legs, my nipples go hard, and my eyes can’t stop blinking from shock. His cock is huge, bigger than anything I imagined was possible.
I don’t want to wait to feel what it’s like. Skipping the foreplay should be mandatory tonight. Screw the appetizers. I want the main course. The meat.
When his hands move to the curve of my hips, and his head starts to move south, I stop him. “Can I be brutally honest?”
“That’s the only way,” he answers. “What’s up?”
It takes me a second to summon up my courage, but I take a breath to ready myself. Lifting toward him, I place my palm on his hard length, press my lips to hi
s ear, and I whisper, “I would really like to feel you inside me now… with a condom, of course. What I mean is, I enjoy getting to know each other’s body, finding out the things we both like. But right now, I’d love it if you’d come inside me and fuck me.”
He pulls back to look at my face, I see his eyes go dark and a subtle crease of a smile on his face. “Whatever you want, doll. As long as you understand that after I give it to you, if you stay in my bed tonight, I may want more from you than one quick fuck.”
“Yes, I agree,” I tell him. “I think we understand each other.”
He reaches for a condom from the strip he placed beside the motel alarm clock. Deftly opening the wrapper with just his teeth, he rolls on the rubber and spreads my knees wide. His eyes meet mine as he positions himself, and with a nod, he sinks into me, hard and fast. Oh my God, he’s big. He fills me to overflowing, to the point where I’m trying hard not to breathe too deeply, because doing so will stretch my inner walls past their breaking point. I grip his biceps and wince from the full feeling.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, Kara. How are you doing?” he asks, seeming to have to hold on for some control himself.
“Good,” I squeak.
He kisses a spot on the hollow of my neck, and I feel my hips move along his length. There’s a biting pain deep inside, but every soft, slow kiss eases the discomfort, nudging me to the edge of what might be pleasure. He lifts my knee off the bed, and the new angle starts to feel so, so good. Soon we’re both moving with a rhythm. He inches into me, pulls out slowly, and repeats. My hips roll, taking more of him into me each time, and each moan I let out on my breath are more about pleasure than pain.
“Yes… that’s it,” he groans as I grind into him some more. He speeds up, and for a second, I have a vague awareness that we’re way past four thrusts, that every move he makes now feels better and better.
“Jackson,” I moan, losing my breath as I feel pleasure flutter and spread out from somewhere deep within me.
“Yes, Kara. Come for me,” he orders, thrusting hard and fast into me as my body is battered by an explosive wave of sensation I’ve never felt before. My eyes snap shut. Fireworks light up the inside of my eyelids. I shake and shudder and pulse and lose all control, and when the wave subsides, I know that Jackson has just given me a gift.
My first orgasm.
I wake up the next day with a deep soreness that extends from somewhere inside me, down to a spot between my knees. After my first orgasm, Jackson stuck to his guns and gave me several more during the night. He came with me a couple of times too. Before he fell asleep, he hinted at getting together again. I’d like that, but I have no delusions that one night might be all I’ll get. He’s still asleep when the sunlight hits the motel window and streams in blinding daylight. Slipping out of his bed, I get dressed beside the pile of our clothes. I use the bathroom quickly and come back to press a kiss on his forehead, then pick up the bag I came with.
It was just one night, but I’m leaving with one hell of a memorable experience.
“Kara,” I hear him call my name groggily. “I’m not done with you.”
I smile and turn to him.
“Good morning, sexy,” he greets me.
“Good morning.”
“Did you hear what I said?” he asks.
“I did. I’m glad.”
If only he knew.
4
Jackson
I’ve been awake for a little while. I feel the bed move when Kara gets up, and can’t look away as she dresses slowly, teasing me all over again.
“Sorry, I have to go,” she says. “I’ll look you up.”
As she slips through the door, she leaves me hungry, wanting more, hooked.
I don’t know what she was thinking, but it’s good that she knows now. We didn’t just have a one-time thing.
I stare out the passenger window of my brother-in-law, Sam’s SUV as he drives us into the teachers’ section of the high school parking. Kara is on my mind. The Ferris wheel at the midway where she works comes into view. It towers over the nearby buildings and foliage, just like my night with her has a way of taking over my thoughts. I haven’t seen her since that night. The last two weeks of summer passed by quickly, with my move and preparing for my new job. We didn’t exchange numbers, but I promised I’d look her up at the midway once I settle in, and I’ll do that soon.
I won’t be carpooling into our high school every day, but I let Sam talk me into driving in with him just for today, the first day of school. I attended the mandatory all-day staff meeting on the Thursday before Labor Day, so I’ve met a lot of the teachers who work here. His offer of a ride is his way of making me feel welcome.
After dropping off my lunch in the teachers’ lounge and greeting a few of my new coworkers, I head to my assigned classroom, passing the throngs of students in the crowded hallways on my way. In the classroom, I set down my worn leather satchel at the front of the empty classroom, write my first and last name on the blackboard in large capital letters, and pull out the main textbook for the World History course I’ll teach this semester.
I’m early, and I’m ready for anything.
Almost anything.
Almost, because as my students start to file into my classroom, one face is far too familiar.
Kara.
She flashes me a gaze at the doorway, stopping short. I don’t doubt she’s as shocked as I am, but while her jaw drops, I make a point of showing no reaction, at least not with any part of me that’s visible.
She realizes there’s a lineup forming behind her and finds the nearest seat, her widened eyes fixed on me as she lowers into her chair. This can’t be good. If anyone finds out what we did in my hotel room two weeks ago, there’ll be hell to pay.
5
Kara
This can’t be happening.
I slump into the desk closest to the classroom door, blinking to be sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me.
No.
They’re not.
It’s Jackson.
His name is written in neat block letters behind his broad, muscular body.
Jackson Kent.
I had a wild night with this man and was so looking forward to several more. But now, that’s not possible.
He’s my teacher.
Repeating the words in my head does nothing to make it feel more believable. Except there he is, at the front of my class, dressed in a dark business suit and pale blue dress shirt.
Shit.
Frame by frame, every single thing we did two weeks ago flash before my eyes. Jackson in front of me, his mouth on my neck, backing me up into his motel room, his hands, his cock in me, taking me hard, me calling his name. Heat stain my cheeks and I avert my eyes from looking straight at him. I look at the concrete wall, the trash can beside his desk, the hair color of the kid sitting in front of me, anything to avoid meeting his eyes.
If I’d known I was sleeping with my brand new World History teacher two weeks ago, I would’ve thought better of it. He doesn’t show his surprise the way I do, but I’m sure he’s rattled. We’re in the same boat, because he slept with me, a student.
Jackson—I think his name then chastise myself inwardly. I should call him Mr. Kent. Yes. The formality helps.
“Good morning. My name is Jackson Kent, and this is World History.” Mr. Kent looks around the classroom, avoiding eye contact with me. He nods at those who are still standing around.
“Take a seat anywhere, unless you’re not enrolled in World History,” he instructs the class, his focus on the stragglers and the ones milling around as though it’s a free period.
After another brief introduction, he does the roll call and quickly breaks down his expectations. It’s the usual spiel most teachers give to seniors about working throughout the semester, communicating if we have questions any assignments, and avoiding the temptation to procrastinate or wait until the eleventh hour to complete or hand in our work.
He seems relaxed during his speech. I, on the other hand, am a statue. I sit with my fingertips gripping the edge of my desk, my body stiff and tense, my heart hammering in my chest as I keep hoping I’ll wake up from this dream. I don’t, but my heart is racing and every cell in my body is vibrating on one frequency, telling me that one of us shouldn’t be here. I can’t follow a word he says as he launches into his day one content of the course curriculum. How on earth could this have happened? Haven’t I been through enough already?
In my surreal haze, I manage to feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. Slipping it out of my pocket, I check the message. A text from my good friend, Pattie waits in my inbox. She’s supposed to be taking this course with me, but to be honest, I didn’t see her come in. I didn’t see a thing since I found Jackson—Mr. Kent—at the front of my class, pulling all my attention away from everything including breathing.
Four more messages pop up from Pattie before I can think to put my phone away. The first few words of each message slide across my locked screen, grabbing my attention.
Her messages read:
Pattie: Well, hello there. Holy fuck, hot teacher alert! Screw world history. I want to know HIS story.
Pattie: Why aren’t you sitting back here with me, Kar?
Pattie: Hey. Look around the class. Every girl in the room is drooling after him, and every boy wants to be him.
Pattie: Yo, Kar. Is he seriously so distracting that you can’t answer my goddamned text?!?!
Pattie: Hang on, Kar. I’m noticing a pattern. Why is Mr. Kent giving you the goo-goo eyes? Do you know him from somewhere?
Shit. On reading Pattie’s latest message, I whip my neck around to look at her, and give her as subtle a head-shake as I can. She shrugs her shoulders and flips her wavy, shoulder-length sandy brown hair to one side, looking confused. I need to shut her down fast. I made the mistake of telling Pattie that I met a random sexy guy at the midway and he fucked my brains out two weeks ago. She knows every detail about what happened, from his larger than life size, his bold green eyes, olive skin and dark hair. The only information I left out was his first name. Lord knows that if Pattie has already noticed Mr. Kent acting strangely toward me on day one of school, she’ll pick apart his and my behavior until she puts two and two together. It won’t take her long to figure out that I. Fucked. My. History. Teacher.