Fuck! Why do I even care! He’s my teacher, for fuck’s sake, and he’s old enough to be my father.
What we did… how it felt… I know it was wrong, but sins have never tasted so sweet, and a touch has never felt like home.
When I was six, I swore I was going to marry Jeffrey Dean Morgan. I had his face plastered on every inch of my wall with heart stickers outlining the border. My dad hated it, called it inappropriate for a child to fixate on a man. But my mom laughed and said all young girls fantasize about handsome, charming older men. They were the ones to sweep us off our feet, not silly little boys.It was a phase, she reminded him, when I turned twelve; an innocent, sweet chapter in my life.
The posters were long gone at that point. It made my father feel better and gave my mother a chance to say I told you so.
“See! I told you, Noah! It was just an innocent part of growing up.”
This doesn’t feel innocent. Far from it, Momma. My thoughts aren’t pure, and now that I know what his tongue tastes like on mine, I don’t crave sweet.
I desire the man who pinned me on his office desk and ravaged my mouth without fear of the consequences.
That’s what I want.
And that’s what I’ll get.
Dull, unsharpened pencils scratch against packets of paper. Occasionally, a student will mutter questions under their breath, voicing their confusion at a heavily detailed portion of the exam.
I finished half an hour into the class period, leaving me with twenty minutes to sit at my desk and do nothing. Apparently, that one tutoring session with Mr. Ellis was more helpful than I thought. That, and the two days of working and rewriting notes.
His stare has been on me since I walked into class, and although I grappled not to return the gesture, I can’t fight the goosebumps that dot my skin.
My body reacts to having him near. The seat he assigned to me is mere inches away, a foot at best. I wonder if he regrets that now, after what we did.
“Scarlett.”
Those goosebumps flare into violent shivers when he calls my name. It’s so soft, delicate, as if he wants no one to hear it but me.
I peek up at him through my lashes, batting them slowly while I wait for him to continue. He doesn’t. For a long while, he just stares, hunting for something in the depths of my eyes. If he finds it, I’m not sure. He calls me to him moments later, beckoning me forward with a crook of his finger.
I stroll to him with a swing to my hips and a flip of my hair, subtly elongating my neck so he can see the one hickey I didn’t cover up. His stormy blue eyes expand once he spots it beside my jaw, singeing me with their heat.
“Yes, Mr. Ellis?” I ask, pressing my palms flat against the wooden tabletop, leaning my chest forward to give him just enough cleavage to get his mouth watering.
Mr. Ellis isn’t the only one affected. From the corner of my eye, I watch Chris gazing down my shirt, hoping to get a peek at more with little shame.
Too bad he isn’t the man I’m trying to entice.
Mr. Ellis looks torn, unsure of where to look; my tits, my face, or away altogether. My face wins out, but not without a final glance at my hard nipples looking for his attention.
“I would like to have a word with you after school.”
“Why?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. Chris appears confused as well, giving Mr. Ellis an arched brow.
Instead of answering me, his gaze flicks to my right. I look over my shoulder to see Ariana glaring at us both, me mostly, but she still seems to be upset with Mr. Ellis for not offering her private sessions.
I offer her an insincere smile, one dripping with venom and malice. She delivers me one of the same, full of contempt and rivalry. I don’t know who the fuck she thinks she’s competing with. We’re not even playing the same game.
A shrill ringing going off pulls my attention away from her and back to Mr. Ellis. He clicks off the alarm on his green apple timer and calls for pencils down.
“Everyone, pass your exams to the person in front of you and have a great day!”
I spin around and collect the pile of exams waiting on my desk, tapping them on the surface to get them in a neat stack before passing them off to Ellis’s waiting hand.
He takes them, grazing the backs of my fingers with his rigid pads. Flashbacks of those same fingers gripping my jaw and forcing my head to the side stir my waiting arousal, increasing the pressure that I’ve been dancing on the edge of all day.
Only after the last students, Ariana and her bitchy friends, leave the class do I press my ass on the corner of my desk and ask, “So, why do you need to see me? Did I do something wrong?”
