“Oh, I’d like to make sure I cum with Belinda against the glass,” I said. “I want to watch the public as I get off.”
“That doesn’t sound half bad!” admitted Franklin.
“Whatever you guys want,” Belinda said, smiling happily. “Your wish is my command. Because the three of you have made me feel like the luckiest lady in the whole world.”
“And you’ve made each of us feel like the happiest man alive,” I said, as the others nodded in agreement.
It was unanimous. We would live happily ever after. Right after we had some kinky, semi-public sex.
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Please enjoy the following excerpt from another Sizzling Hot Reads recent release, Lucky Bunny: An Easter Billionaire Fake Finance Romance
Lucky Bunny:
A Billionaire Fake Fiancé Romance
Copyright (c) 2018 by Eva Luxe; All Rights Reserved.
Published by Juliana Conners’ Sizzling Hot Reads.
Chapter 1- Tessa
I’m upside down with my legs pinned behind my head when I notice red and pink construction paper hearts hanging haphazardly from clotheslines tied to the rafters.
Shit.
Those decorations are from a dance the school held last month for Valentine’s Day. And even though I established this school and the dance was my idea, I forgot to take the decorations down.
As if I need one more reason to hate Valentine’s Day. I’ve never been the romantic type, and even if cupid decided to shoot an arrow my way, I’m way too busy with my career and caring for my students to pursue or celebrate love. No wonder I’m still a virgin.
I’ve been so busy not dating and not having sex, in fact, that I didn’t even get time to take these decorations down or switch them out to some that would be more holiday-appropriate.
Come to think of it, St. Patrick’s Day has just come and gone. Luckily some of my teachers had their students make their own decorations and had a naughty leprechaun mess up their rooms during recess, but otherwise, it went unacknowledged around these parts. I make a mental note to myself to get eggs or bunnies up in time for Easter.
“Now we do the downward facing dog,” Ann Bassett, the gym teacher, calls in her low, raspy voice which is somehow appropriately hushed but also loud enough to be heard throughout the room. Anne graciously teaches free yoga to our teenage students—and me—when I have time to show up.
I don’t come as often as I’d like, even though I’ve found Anne’s promises to be true—practicing yoga both de-stresses and relaxes me. As I’ve said, though, I’m usually just too busy to take five minutes for myself never mind a whole thirty.
I shouldn’t even be here now, I think, as I sneak a guilty peek at the clock on the wall and remember all the paperwork I have to do before I can head home.
I move into the downward dog position and stifle a giggle. How appropriate that I’m scolding myself for my lack of decorating prowess as if I’m a dog who peed on the carpet. My best friend Devyn would tell me to go easier on myself, to lighten up. I’m only one person and can only do so much, that I do more than enough yadda, yadda, yadda. But—as I always respond when Devyn says these things—my ‘more than enough’ never seems enough. I feel like I’m always somehow lacking.
“Okay, Miss Bassett,” I whisper, trying not to trip over myself as I unfurl the limbs of my pretzeled body, “I hate to disrupt the class, but I need to go finish up some office work.”
She finishes her pose and breathes in calmly before opening her eyes and giving me a gentle, understanding smile.
“Too-da-loo.” She waves a cheerful hand at me before adeptly turning it back down towards the mat and calling out, “One more downward facing dog before we do our boat rocks.”
“Bye, Miss Maynes,” some of our students who are able to vocalize call out as I leave.
I’m not sure whether to interrupt their yoga class further by responding or seem rude by failing to respond. So, not wanting to hurt their feelings, I give a half-wave gesture as I hurry towards the doors. At least I left before I could distract them from the final and most peaceful part of Ms. Bassett’s yoga class: the one in which we cradle ourselves like babies, shifting our legs from one side to another like a fetus in a warm womb, before lying flat to pretend we’re floating in a canoe down a calm, gentle, protective stream.
My kids need that moment to re-center themselves. Hell, I could sure use one too, but it’s inevitable that if I stayed until the end of class, a parent, caregiver or teacher—maybe Ms. Bassett herself, who likes to remind me of how important yoga is for my body and soul and how infrequently I attend her class—would try to pull me aside to chat, and I need to do my work uninterrupted.
The changes I see and feel in the air once I’m outside reminds me it’s now the month of March. The grass is changing from winter-brown to green, the birds are chirping, and the trees are waking up. I can’t wait for spring to be in full bloom because it’s one of my favorite seasons.
During my walk from the gymnasium to my office located in a separate building, I notice the first sign of my wish coming true: a lone daffodil sways in the community garden that Ms. French, another one of our teachers, maintains with the children’s help.
They’ve all been patiently waiting for this first sighting and will be even more thrilled than I am to see it.
The chill of winter also seems to be thawing: I only need my cable knit cardigan instead of my wool coat, and I’m so looking forward to daylight savings time. The combination of longer days and warmer weather means I can soon sit outside on the picnic bench and tend to office work. But for now, I still have to head inside to my actual office.
It’s nearing the end of the school day, but my work never ends. I could stay in my office twenty-four-seven and still need more time. Running a private school means grant writing, cutting through endless red tape, and finding ways to fundraise.
Once I’m inside my office, I sit down to a stack of envelopes and begin opening them.
Dear Ms. Maynes and Hope School,
I hope you will consider my foster child Timothy for placement at your school. At only seven years old, he has already lived a hard life. His biological parents were convicted of child abuse, and he has a history of being shuffled back and forth between state-run residential treatment centers and neglectful foster homes.
Now that he’s been placed in my care, I’m doing everything I can to find him the best place, although I make a meager living and have little money for expensive treatment. I can assure you that Timothy is a resilient child who thrives best in an environment of support and encouragement. Despite significant fine and gross motor delays, and his near complete inability to walk or talk, I have hope that his condition will improve, which is why I do hope you choose him to be a student at Hope School…
I finish reading and place the letter face up in a separate pile of its own before picking up the next envelope to open.
A few years ago, when I was in the planning phases of opening this school and considering which students to accept, letters like this one made my hands shake and my heart sink.
I felt compelled to save every child I possibly could from a life of low expectations or limited resources.
Now, sadly, I’ve almost become numb to the daily requests I receive. I know as the pile of envelopes I open gets shorter, the stack of letters I add to the new pile will grow taller. And the letters are full of stories such as Timothy’s. Letters that keep me awake at night.
I still wish we could save every child, but I face more practical realities such as budget, finances, and space. My school has no openings now, and when we do, I tend to choose the children who could most benefit from our unique combination of educational learning, physical and occupational therapy, socialized interaction, and creative play.
Nevertheless, I always take care t
o personally reply to every letter with an individualized assessment of which potentially available facilities might be best for the child in question.
After that, I scan and save each one, backing them up in our cloud system.
I have plans to expand the school, although they won’t reach fruition until further down the road because I’m still building things up slowly.
At times like this, when I think about my plans for the school, I count myself lucky I have no one in my life to distract me. First and foremost, my heart belongs to the school and my students. There’s no room for anything or anyone else.
Chapter 2- Tessa
Despite the bleak news for any possible future students of Hope School, I’m still happy for those who call it home. And I never give up hope that one day we might be able to help all the children who need us.
As I continue opening more letters about disadvantaged kids in unfortunate circumstances, I think about how relatively lucky I am. Sure, it’s been a struggle to start and build this school, and I’ve faced more than a few mountainous obstacles along the way, but at least I have the ability to pursue my dreams.
I’ve never forgotten my grandpa Maynes’ oft-repeated wisdom: Life ain’t easy. It ain’t supposed to be. But no matter how hard life gets, you’re supposed to do everything in your power to be the best person you can be and to help others.
I’ve spent my entire life getting this idea hammered into my belief system.
Thankfully, I’ve been fortunate enough to live a life that is easier than most. I was never poor, or hungry. I’m not missing any body parts, and I’m exceptionally healthy. It’s because of my fortunate life I decided that I would help others who weren’t dealt a hand as lucky as mine.
Yes, my parents had degenerative diseases and sadly passed away when I was a teenager, but before they died, they encouraged me to show empathy and care for children with disabilities whether that disability be physical, mental, or both. When they were alive, their passion for life and for others inspired my life choices and still does.
After I got some experience volunteering at a hospital in high school, I discovered that my passion, my vocation, was to help others. Aided by some friends I picked up through the years and a hefty sum of money loaned to me by my family, I opened a non-profit daycare center for children with developmental disabilities, which I’ve since expanded into a school for all ages.
The journey was a bit rougher than I was hoping, but as Grandpa Maynes taught me, life ain’t easy, right? From the certifications, to the permits, to the faculty and staff, it was all a struggle, but one I knew would ultimately be worth it. In only three years, I’ve achieved my goal. And it was just as perfect as I’d always imagined and dreamed.
The children we interact with and teach all have varying levels of disabilities, and they’re all amazing. Every single one of them, and they’re more eager to learn than most students well above their grade level. It’s as humbling as it is refreshing.
I handpicked the staff to make sure the children would get the attention, care and education they deserved and needed. There are so many horror stories out there about developmentally disabled children who are abused by their caretakers. It sickens me that anyone would treat the most vulnerable of us in such a horrid manner.
Thankfully, that’s not something we have to worry about. I’ve screened my staff well and protect our kids from any danger while they’re under our care.
One of my closest friends and most respected staff members is Devyn Winthrop. She pushed me to pursue this dream, and now she’s my right-hand woman and life coach to these kids.
Not a life coach like an adult would have. “Life coach” is just a title I gave the teachers since they help these kids with more than academic learning. They help them prepare for all aspects, opportunities and challenges life will throw at them.
The faculty comprises teachers/ life coaches, therapists, two janitors, three volunteers, and myself. I’m sort of a principal. I sit in on lessons every chance I get—as well as pretzel in on yoga lessons, of course—and I make sure things are running as smoothly as they can.
Once I’ve read all the letters, I place them in a folder and in the morning, I’ll pass them through the scanner. Next, I almost mindlessly write down some supplies the life coaches will need in the coming weeks. I’m halfway through the list when I hear the fire alarm go off.
Instinctively, I jump out of my chair and run into the hallway. Behind me, I see four classroom doors opening and the respective life coaches poking their heads out to see what caused the fire alarm.
They look mostly curious and only mildly concerned, which allows my mind to slip into a mixture of hope and denial.
I try to tell myself that a child has unintentionally or intentionally pulled the alarm, which has happened before—many times. Or maybe this is a fire drill just like ones the fire department have arranged in the past. Maybe they somehow forgot to give me advance warning this time. Perhaps they have a new method of surprising people with drills to make sure their systems are down pat.
But, no, I smell smoke, and I hear people scream, “Fire!” Many of our non-vocal or non-ambulatory kids are covering their faces and rocking or crying.
I run down the hallway and see that the fifth classroom door on my right is entirely engulfed in flames. The fire is raging so loudly that the shrill screams from the children trapped in the classroom are barely audible. I look back to see who the life coaches behind me are, and sure enough, Devyn isn’t among them. She’s trapped, too.
Somehow my beloved school is on fire, and my best friend is in danger along with many of our precious students.
What started out as a day full of small regrets about failing to properly decorate has turned into the unluckiest day of my life. This is the stuff of nightmares. I’m so determined to rescue Devyn and the kids that I’m not sure I’ll survive, and I don’t care.
Getting my students to safety is all that matters now.
Chapter 3-Tessa
“Call 911!” I shout at nobody in particular and at everyone and anyone who can hear me as I make a dash to the room that’s in flames. “And get the kids out of here.”
Seeming to appear much calmer than I feel, the life coaches instruct their kids to form a
single file line and head in the direction opposite the fire, just like we practiced during the drills.
I’ve jumped into the “fight” part of flight or fight mode.
Once I hear Liza, another life coach, phone the fire department, telling them our school is on fire and that students and teachers are trapped in an engulfed room, I spring into action.
I run down the hallway and break a fire axe from its glass encasement. Then I hurry around the perimeter of the facility to get to the windows of the classroom in danger. The windows are protected by metal bars, though the only thing they’re protecting the children and Devyn from at the moment is safety.
I could hear Devyn instruct her students to get near the windows and onto the floor. Thank goodness she’s remembered her training. I can’t wait for the firefighters to arrive. There’s no time.
These kids aren’t good at understanding or following directions, and they are only moments away from suffocating. The scared cries and sobs are breaking my heart.
I jam the blade of the axe under two of the metal bars over the window and use every bit of strength I have to pry them off.
I’ve heard of people using superhuman strength due to adrenaline in a time of distress or panic, but this is the first time it’s happened to me. My muscles strain and complain, but I keep going.
After releasing an unintended roar, I manage to bust three bars from their place on the building’s wall. This only leaves enough room for one person to jump through at a time.
Devyn opens the window and guides each of her kids out, and they all make a surprisingly time-efficient escape.
“I have to get Jamie,” Devyn calls, disappearing from view.
&n
bsp; “Jamie’s still in there,” some of the kids cry out between coughs. “Is he going to die?”
Jamie is one of our children who needs the most help and attention. It doesn’t surprise me he wouldn’t have the same urgency to get out of the room as most of the other kids. And it also doesn’t surprise me that Devyn would stay behind with him, risking her own life in the process.
I instruct the children to move away from the fire and towards the sidewalk where the children from the other classrooms are gathered. I jump into the smoke-filled room.
I crawl across the floor, and through the thick, black smoke, I find Devyn passed out on top of a child. Her hand seems to cover Jamie’s face, surely an attempt to ensure that he inhales as little smoke as possible.
The smoke stings my eyes and catches in my chest. With regret, I push Devyn off Jamie and carry him out into safety first.
Before I have a chance to run back inside and save Devyn, the firefighters arrive and forcefully keep me from going back in to save my friend. Guilt gnaws my insides, and I’m worried about whether Devyn will be okay.
The heat coming from the room is intense, and the fire is fast taking over, spreading to the hallways and janitor closet.
Only seconds after the arrival of two more firetrucks, an explosion goes off inside the building. All the chemicals comprising the cleaning supplies we have stored in the supply closet make the perfect ingredients for an impromptu bomb.
Behind me, the students and faculty scream, and parents are now rushing to the scene. Room by room, the building collapses in on itself. All I can think is: I left Devyn in there. What kind of friend am I? I should have gone back in and dragged her out.
Out of all the silly things to have felt guilty about over the years, here is one that actually counts. I’m determined not to let her down. Even though a giant fireball erupts from the roof of the building, I push through the crowd and cry out Devyn’s name.
Out of Line: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Page 139