Then she unbuttons her jeans and slides them down her hips, stepping out of them slowly, and I forget how to breathe.
The panties match. Tiny and sheer, sitting low on her hips, the lace so transparent I can see she’s bare underneath. Completely bare. She waxed for me. The thought makes my cock throb painfully against my jeans.
She turns slowly, giving me the full view, and I groan out loud. The back is nothing but a thin string disappearing between her perfect ass cheeks. She looks over her shoulder at me with a wicked smile, then bends forward slightly, arching her back, presenting herself like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
She does. She absolutely does.
“This is what you handed back to me at the post office, you know,” she says, straightening up and turning to face me again. Her voice is low, teasing. She runs her fingers along the edge of the bra, tracing where the lace barely covers her nipple, then pinches it lightly through the fabric and gasps. “TheSimone Pérèle. Per your order, I made sure to wear it tonight. Like I said, ask and I shall obey.”
Her hand drifts lower, fingertips trailing down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of those barely-there panties. She touches herself, her fingers sliding deeper, her eyes fluttering as she finds what she’s looking for.
“So are you going to stand there,” she breathes, her hand moving faster beneath the lace, “or are you going to bend me over that workbench and fuck me until I scream?”
“Stop.” The word cuts through the air and her hand stills, her fingers frozen beneath the lace. “I didn’t give you permission to touch yourself.”
Her breath hitches, her chest rising and falling beneath thatsheer bra. She gets so turned on when I talk to her like this, and that turns me on more than I ever thought possible.
“Theo...” she whispers.
“Did I say you could touch what’s mine?” The way she’s looking at me, lips parted, cheeks flushed, tells me everything I need to know. She wants me to take control. “Take your hand out. Slowly.”
She does, sliding her fingers free, and I can see how wet they are even from here. Glistening in the low light of the workshop.
“Good.” My voice is steady even though my heart is pounding. “Now put your hands behind your back and get on your knees.”
She sinks down slowly, her knees hitting the cold concrete floor, her hands clasping behind her back. The position pushes her breasts forward, straining against the lace, and she looks up at me with those green eyes. Waiting.
I lean against the workbench and unbuckle my belt slowly, letting her hear each click of metal, each slide of leather through the loops. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and I smile.
“You want to get fucked in my workshop?” I pull the belt free and set it on the bench. “You’re going to earn it first.”
CHAPTER 16
Emma
The classroom is quiet except for the scratch of my red pen against paper and the soft hum of the heating system. School let out two hours ago but I’m still here, working my way through a stack of holiday-themed writing assignments. Outside the windows, the December sky is already darkening, the last of the afternoon light fading to gray.
I’ve strung fairy lights along the windows and hung paper snowflakes from the ceiling, the ones my students made last week with varying degrees of success. There’s a small Christmas tree in the corner covered in handmade ornaments, and someone’s mom sent in sugar cookies shaped like reindeer that are slowly disappearing from the staff room. The whole school feels cozy and festive, the magic of the last week before winter break when everyone’s too excited to focus on actual learning.
Life is really good right now.
I smile to myself as I grade, thinking about last night. Theo made me dinner again, this time a risotto so creamy and perfect I nearly proposed on the spot. We stayed up too late talking and then stayed up even laternottalking, and I’m running on aboutfive hours of sleep and an embarrassing amount of coffee. Worth it. Completely worth it. From his workshop to his bedroom to the oversized shower he tiled himself, that man coaxes sensations from me I didn’t know my body could feel.
We’ve settled into a rhythm. Dinners at his place when Chloe is at a sleepover or with Victoria. Stolen lunches at the restaurant. Texts throughout the day and phone calls at night after Chloe’s asleep.
I’m halfway through a truly creative interpretation of “What Christmas Means to Me” when my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance at the screen, expecting a call from Sophie or maybe Theo.
It’s Sloane.
My stomach tightens. Sloanedoesn’tcall. Sloane sends terse emails with bullet points and expects responses within the hour. If she’s actually picking up the phone, it’s not for a friendly chat. I consider letting it go to voicemail. I could pretend I was in a meeting, or driving, or literally anywhere that isn’t sitting alone in an empty classroom actively avoiding this conversation. But I know Sloane. She’ll just call again until I answer.
I pick up.
“Emma.” Not a greeting, just a statement of fact. That’s Sloane.
“Hey, Sloane. What’s up?”
“I’ll get right to the point.” Of course she will. “There’s a board meeting next month. January fifteenth. You need to be there.”
