by K. Webster
“You’ll do fine,” I assure her, flashing her a wide grin. “But I suggest you actually read The Scarlet Letter this week.”
One side of her lips quirks up into a half-smile. “Was it really that obvious?”
Smirking, I hop off the desk. “Very.”
A throaty chuckle—a sound that makes its way straight to my dick—escapes her. “The student schools the teacher.”
Tuesday
Today, I’m prepared. As the other students file into the classroom, bullshitting with one another, my eyes are glued to the parking lot. And like clockwork, just like yesterday, Mrs. Macmillan’s Audi flies into Mrs. Lovell’s spot. When she climbs out, her eyes flit to the window where I’m watching her. She’s wearing a tight-as-fuck pencil skirt today so there won’t be any free panty shots this afternoon. Our eyes meet and she gives me a nervous wave. I acknowledge her with a tip of my chin. Five minutes later and she’s breezing into the classroom with her stupid turtle bag on her shoulder.
Punctuality is not her strong suit.
“Hello, class,” she greets softly with a pretty smile.
Nobody returns her greeting as they’re all too busy horsing around and acting like idiots. Her smile falls, which causes an ache in my chest. Something about her makes me want to wrap my arms around her and protect her from whatever it is that’s made her this way.
“I thought today we could go over the two chapters from last night,” she peeps.
The roar of voices grows louder, as if she never entered the classroom. Her cute nose scrunches up in frustration. She flits her gaze to mine, silently pleading for help. I’d saved her yesterday, and it’s clear she’s hoping for another rescue mission. Letting her squirm for a moment, I peruse my gaze down her nice body. The white button down top she’s wearing is neatly tucked into her skirt and gapes a tiny bit over her full tits. What I wouldn’t give to pop that button with my teeth and suck on her nipple until she screeched loud enough to get the entire class’s attention.
I wink at her, hoping my dirty thoughts are transparent. A flush of red paints her slender neck. Those honey eyes widen, and she bites down on her plump pink lip. She’s hot as fuck. Every teenager fantasizes about fucking their hot teacher. I never had a teacher worth fucking until yesterday.
And I will fuck her.
Her lashes flutter at me as she tries to turn her shy gaze away from me. But like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, she can’t look away. Mrs. Macmillan wants me to crash into her. Problem is, I’m a force to be reckoned with. A woman like her doesn’t stand a chance. I will devour and decimate every silky inch of her tight body.
If she gives me an inch, I’m going to take that motherfucking mile.
“Um, class,” she says, her voice rising a couple of octaves.
The dumbasses are still ignoring the stunning woman. How, is beyond me. I can’t fucking take my eyes off her.
“Stop your yapping, punks,” I boom, startling the girl in front of me. The noise level is half of what it was. “Teach is trying to say something.”
A boy named Charlie Douglas sniggers. “You sure are partial to her. You and Mrs. Macmillan got something going on?” He waggles his eyebrows much to our substitute teacher’s horror.
Instead of denying his dumb accusation, I simply smirk and shrug my shoulders. She turns several shades darker with embarrassment.
“There is nothing going on,” she snips, a little too defensively to be believable. Her eyes keep straying to me. At least my fine-ass teacher thinks I’m hot, too.
Charlie starts laughing and punches his friend. “Lucky bastard.”
“Next chapter!” she screeches.
The rest of the period I sit in my desk, my dick semi-hard, as Mrs. Macmillan clumsily gets through her lecture. It’s a step ahead of yesterday’s fail but she’s doing better. Today, though, instead of waiting around after the last bell rings, she snatches her bag and bolts from the room.
Dumb Dahna starts to talk to me about this weekend, but I’m already out of my seat and hot on the sub’s heels. I see a flash of her hair as she pushes into the faculty restroom. Before the door closes, I slip through and follow her inside. She didn’t bother to lock the door. Her palms are on the sink and she stares at her reflection, defeat written all over it.
“That was better than yesterday,” I say, my voice a low growl as I lock the bathroom door.
Her eyes follow my action in the mirror. A quiver ripples down her spine. I’d almost think she was afraid of me by how hard she shudders. But people who are afraid don’t rub their thighs together. People who are afraid don’t turn bright pink and part their lips when a handsome, younger man locks himself into the bathroom with them.
“This skirt is more suitable for the job,” I mutter, taking slow steps toward her. “I like it.”
Her perfect mouth parts open, and an image of me shoving my cock into it gets me hard as fuck. I clear my throat and crowd her from behind without touching her.
“Y-You can’t be in here,” she stutters, finally finding her voice.
I flash her a crooked grin in the mirror. When I lean forward to access her ear, she lets out a shocked gasp.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” My smug tone irritates her because her brows furl together.
“You should leave.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Should I? You don’t want to talk about Hester?”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “This is inappropriate. You being in here with me like this.”
Narrowing my eyes in the mirror, I let my gaze fall to her chest that heaves with breath before flicking it up to her heat-filled eyes. “I guess I’ll leave then,” I breathe against her silky brown hair near her ear.
Her gasp of relief is audible as I stalk out of the bathroom.
A few more days and Mrs. Macmillan will be begging for my cock.
Wednesday
“You like me,” I announce after class.
Her eyes lift to mine and crimson paints her cheeks, giving her away. “I like all of the students.”
Chuckling, I waltz up to where she sits at the desk. “But me especially. Admit it.”
She fights a smile and it’s too fucking cute. “Well, you do know your literature.”
“Smartest in the class.” I wink just to see her flush.
“Quite full of yourself, too,” she murmurs.
“Just stating truths, Mrs. Macmillan.” I shrug my shoulders and grin. “I’m the best looking guy you’ve ever seen, huh?”
A half-laugh, half-scoff escapes her. “I’m married.” She waves her ring finger at me.
“And I’m better looking than him,” I retort, grabbing her finger. She lets out a whine and attempts to pull her grasp from mine. Leaning over, I inspect the gigantic ring glistening under the classroom lights. “Tell me the truth. It’s just us. I’m hotter, right?”
Something flashes briefly in her eyes, but then her phone buzzes in her purse, wiping the smile right from her face. She shoots me an apologetic glance as she answers, simultaneously jerking her hand from my grasp.
“Hi.” Her voice is choked and nervous. Those honey eyes fall to the desk where she fidgets with her ring. Whoever she’s talking to, she clearly doesn’t like. “Yeah, okay.” A frown. Someone—a man—practically shouts on the other end. “I’m sorry.” A whisper. “I’ll remember next time.” Her voice wobbles.
Anger flares through me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait for her to end her call. But the prick on the other end just keeps on yelling. Mrs. Macmillan keeps cringing. When her eyes dare to meet mine, she’s once again the meek woman from the first day. I’m sorry. My husband. See you tomorrow. Her mouthed words sour my stomach.
I can hear her whispering apologies for God only knows what as I storm out the door.
I’m a dickhead. And a bit of a stalker. Because here I sit in my car, waiting for her to exit the school. Her husband is a douche for talking to her that way. I wait just outside the door with my ca
r turned off. Teachers and students slowly leave until the only two cars left are mine and hers. The minutes tick by slowly. I’m getting hungry and nearly give up on her when the side door swings open. Her hair curtains around her face as she hangs her head down. That pretty milky flesh on her face is splotchy red, as if she’s been crying.
Fucking asshole made her cry.
As she descends the steps, I whistle to get her attention. Her head snaps up. Those stunning honey eyes are red-rimmed. It boils my blood. I hate her husband and I don’t even know him.
“Got a sec?” I question through the open window, motioning for the seat beside me.
She glances nervously around her. Nobody is here but us. Realizing this, she nods and climbs into the passenger seat, dropping her dumb turtle bag and purse between her legs. The motion causes her skirt to ride up her pale thighs. It takes everything in me to drag my gaze from the sexy-as-hell sight.
“Your husband’s a dick,” I tell her pointedly.
She bristles at my words. “Did you need something?”
Our eyes meet. She’s tired and mentally beat down.
“I need you…” I trail off, my voice growling lowly. Her eyes widen and her pink bitable lips pop open. “To tell me what that was all about,” I finish.
Red paints her throat. Her gaze falls to her lap. “It was nothing. Just Dev being Dev.”
We sit in silence for several minutes, her picking at her fingernail and me clenching my jaw. Eventually, I reach over and lay my hand over hers.
“You deserve better than that,” I tell her in a firm tone.
Her body freezes at my words.
“Mrs. Macmillan,” I say, squeezing her hand. “You deserve someone who doesn’t yell at you and make you cry. Say it. And look at me when you do.”
She slowly turns to look up at me under hooded lashes. The frown on her lips is fucking adorable. My dick agrees as it hardens beneath my slacks.
“I don’t—Author, this is not your busin—”
“Say it.”
A flash of anger flickers in her honey eyes, showing a woman with a little fight inside. I want to pull her right out and teach her how to handle fuckers like her husband.
“Say it,” I repeat. “Then you can leave.”
“I deserve better.” Her words are barely muttered, but she says them. “I need to get home. I’m sorry I unloaded on you. Thank you.”
She scrambles out of the car but leaves her sweet scent hanging in the air behind her.
I watch her ass jiggle all the way to her Audi.
Mrs. Macmillan deserves much better. Not saying I’m that guy—but at least I’d show her a good time. Her husband’s probably a terrible fucking lay, anyway.
One day soon, pretty lady.
Thursday
The bell rings after class and I lean back in my seat, waiting for the fucking class to leave. Dumb Dahna vies for my attention but I look down at my phone, ignoring her until she leaves with a pissy huff. Once the class is gone, I pocket my phone and hone in on Mrs. Macmillan.
Today she’s wearing a skirt similar to the one she wore the first day. But shorter. Much fucking shorter. As if she’s trying to give every goddamned male student a hard-on. Naughty teacher. She’s paired her risqué skirt with a tight, cream-colored cardigan. Once again, those buttons are just begging to be plucked off one by one with my teeth.
“You can’t keep hanging around each day,” she mutters from the front of the classroom. Her body is turned away from me as she swipes away the chalk from her lesson. It wasn’t a Mrs. Lovell lesson but it was a thousand times better than that first attempt.
I slip out of my seat and saunter over to her. With vigor and a poor attempt to tune me out, she erases the board. Leaning against a section that still needs cleaning, I wait for her eyes to meet mine.
And they do.
Each day in class, she’s sought out my gaze. I’m not sure if she’s into me or likes the support or what. But every fucking day she spends more time than a substitute teacher should looking at her student.
Those stolen peeks also get me hard as fuck.
Pretty much everything about this woman has me dying to touch her. To taste her. To fuck her until she can’t remember that asshole’s name.
“Why shouldn’t I?” I question with a smirk. Stepping forward, I lean into her until I can feel the heat from her body saturating mine. She smells so fucking sweet—all florally and shit.
She huffs out in frustration, but those eyes are on my face. Her tongue darts out and she licks at her bottom lip. I want to lick that lip so much it hurts. The small flicker in her eyes says she’s both unnerved by my close proximity and equally excited. “Because I’m your teacher,” she says finally.
Raising an eyebrow at her, I deliberately stroke her cheek with my thumb and tug away some hair still stuck to her face. The touch seems to jolt her to life, and her eyes meet mine. Nervous and afraid but warm and inviting.
“I could teach you a whole lot, Mrs. Macmillan,” I murmur, my eyes never leaving hers.
Her pouty lips part open to let out a tiny sigh. When I reach for her this time, she doesn’t flinch. Instead, her eyes flutter closed. I brush my thumb along her lips and wonder just how fucking amazing it would be to have those perfect lips around my aching cock.
When her cell buzzes from her bag, she jerks away from me. Her wide eyes turn shameful as she breaks our eye contact to hurry over to the desk. She quickly replies to a text and then clears her throat. I stalk after her—a lion eager to mate. I’m directly behind her when she turns around to face me. Her entire body seems to lean toward me, but she holds her palms up to me in a defensive motion.
As if I would hurt her.
I’m not that prick who talks to her as if she’s a piece of shit.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I’ve behaved unprofessionally. You caught me in a weak moment. Again.”
I rub my thumb and finger together, enjoying the wetness still there from her mouth. “I’m never weak. If you want to survive around here, you have to toughen up. What’s got you so frazzled anyway?”
She risks a glance at me. “Nothing a boy should worry himself over.”
Her comment irritates me, and I crowd her. Even though she’s tall, I still tower several inches over her. I grab on to the back of her neck and grip the base of her hair so I can tug it down to where she is forced to look up at me. Her lips once again part. Those wide honey eyes are staring fearfully at me. With my other hand, I grab on to her hip and pull her against me so she can feel my erection between us.
“Do I feel like a goddamned boy?” I seethe, heat from my body scorching hers. “Do I look like a goddamned boy?”
“N-No,” she admits. “Please don’t hit me.”
Her words startle me, and I release her, stumbling back several steps. “Why the fuck would I hit you?”
She reaches for me—fucking reaches for me—and all but pleads with me. “I’m sorry. Don’t tell anyone I said that. I didn’t mean it.” Her teeth capture her bottom lip, and she bites down with a worried look on her face. If she wasn’t such a fucking fraidy cat, I’d tug that lip from her teeth and kiss the hell out of her. Lover, I am. Hitter, I am not.
“I’m not your asshole husband,” I bite out at her. “I would never hit you.”
Relief washes over her. “I’m sorry.” Her finger goes to her lips, and she narrows her eyes at me as if something is on the tip of her tongue. Something she’s afraid to voice but so desperately wants to.
“Out with it.”
She stares at me in confusion. “Out with what?”
“Tell me what you were thinking just now. What you wanted to say to me.”
“No, I better not.”
Stalking back over to her, I ignore the way she flinches and grab ahold of her jaw. A whine escapes her when I make her look at me. Fire flashes briefly in her eyes before it dulls to fear. I want to see more of that anger. That motherfucking heat. Not this wimpy-ass bullshi
t.
“Fucking tell me, Mrs. Macmillan.”
“You look just like someone.”
I blink at her but don’t speak, giving her a chance to continue without me having to force the information out of her.
“Who?”
“My husband.”
Her words surprise me, and a smile tilts my lips up. “Are you wondering if I fuck like that prick? The answer is no,” I tell her smugly. “I fuck a thousand times better.”
“I, no, I was…” she trails off, horror painting her face red.
Smirking, I release her and stride over to my desk to collect my things. She doesn’t say a word as I snatch my book bag and head toward the door. Once I reach it, I turn to look at her over my shoulder. “One of these days, and soon, I’m going to peel your panties right from your tight ass with my teeth like I’ve been dying to do since Monday. And then I’m going to pocket them. Watch you squirm as you lecture the class about shit you don’t know anything about while you’re bare underneath your skirt. Married or not, by the end of this semester, you’re going to be begging for every last thick inch of my cock buried deep inside you.”
She gasps and shakes her head as if to deny it will happen. It’s fucking happening.
“See you tomorrow, Mrs. Macmillan.”
“Hey, Aut,” a voice chirps as I climb out of my car in my driveway. I nearly roll my eyes to see Aubrey Nolan perched on the steps to my front door.
“What do you want?” I ask my annoying neighbor. Even though we both live in a high-end neighborhood, her parents can’t afford to send her to my private school, so she attends the public school here in town. Today she’s wearing a pair of cutoff shorts that reveal her tanned, curvy legs. The girl practically begs for my cock every afternoon. Some days, I’m nice and let her have a taste—she’s getting pretty decent at cocksucking. After today’s sexual frustration, though, I’m going to let Aubrey have the whole fucking meal.
“I wanted to see if you wanted to go to a movie or something later,” she says and stands, bouncing toward me. Her tits are small and cute. I’ve yet to see them bare.