Teacher's Pet Complete Series (18 page)

We talked for more than an hour until my eyelids grew heavy, and although it was technically morning I felt the need to crawl into bed. I pulled the covers over my head to create the darkness that I needed. My world became a blur and quickly faded into black. I slept a dreamless sleep with Sonja curled up beside me.

I pushed through the exit doors, hearing them slam against the wall, stepping out into the night to fill my lungs with crisp, cold air. I had to find my calm. I couldn’t get away from her fast enough, as I was going to lose my mind if I was near her any longer. My composure was nearly at its limits. I had shoved my way past Lynn as she dropped to the floor and was crying in a ball uncontrollably. I had to admit I felt bad—thought of turning back—but the feeling was fleeting.

My experience at the moment was much greater than pain, far worse than despair, more in the line with devastation. Worse than anything I’d had to experience in my life, and I needed to see if I was up to the task of making it through to my healing. When those words were spoken… when they slithered out of her mouth, like a venomous snake emerging from between her lips, I felt hurt, but even worse… I felt betrayed.

The rain was coming down like it threatened to storm. A strong gust of wind blew past as I tilted my head up to let the raindrops fall on my face, hoping it would wash away my misery. Streaks of oil rose up from the road, causing veins of rainbow colors to run slowly into the sewers. I took it as a metaphor for my life: strong, yet fleeting moments suddenly falling into the darkness. A reminder that things you hope to possess you’ll eventually lose, given time.

I let out the haggard breath trapped in my chest so my body felt lighter while things weighed heavy on my mind. I hopped on my bike and keyed the ignition. The engine roared to life, rumbling underneath me, a comforting sound of something I controlled. I zipped my jacket up, torqued the throttle with my wrist and I was off like a bat out of hell down the road. The rain and the wind whip hurriedly through my hair and connected with my face with just enough pain to keep me present.

The streetlights were a blur as I sped by them doing somewhere in the range of eighty to ninety miles an hour. My destination wasn’t far, but I wanted to feel it all: the pain and the fear until there was nothing left but numbness.

I was half a mile away from home when my impatience got the best of me and I opened up the throttle, gunning my bike to pick up more speed. My back wheel slid in rain. It started fish-tailing as I lost control and flipped over the handlebars end over end, sending my body crashing to the street. My motorcycle skidded away. Sparks were flying in the night like bright shooting stars as I landed on my side, twisted over to my back and slid until I stopped after tumbling several feet.

Fuck!

It hurt like a bitch! I was lying in the street as the rain soaked my clothes. There was pain shooting up my limbs. I had to wait for my head to stop spinning, for my nerves to settle, for my heart to stop thumping at a pace to which it wasn't accustomed, like a jackhammer in my chest.

I could've died from being so reckless. How could I let a woman affect my mind in such a way that I lost my focus and could’ve lost my life? I shook my head in disgust and tried to get to my feet. Next time this happened it would kill me.

There were no broken bones or badly mangled limbs; my jeans were ripped to shit and there was pain in my knee—but all things being considered, I was okay.

I picked up my bike, feeling its heaviness. My knee screamed in protest as I pulled it upright and wheeled it down street for three blocks. I limped in through the gates where I lived, said hello to the guard and held up my hand before he inquired about my appearance.

I wasn't in the mood for socializing, nor was I in the mood for scrutiny. I wasn’t in the mood to explain myself to him or anyone else. I moved on down the pathway at a snail’s pace, dragging, and catching my feet on the grass until I finally reached the end of my driveway.

I had always meant to bring Lynn here—to my place—to give her a peek into this part of my life, but I hesitated too long and pondered it too much, and now… now it was too late. I set the kickstand on my bike, briefly forgetting about my injury until a sharp pain shot up my knee. I bent down to massage it, but it didn’t help much. The pain had to subside on its own.

I looked up at the towering brick of a place where I laid my head down, preferably by myself. It’s a three-bedroom house—red with white trim—built on a manufactured block, full of neighbors I hadn’t spoken to even once.

My parents had money, and plenty of it. So that meant I had money as well. Sometimes I loved it, but other times I didn’t, because wealth becomes a curse if you let it. When I brought a woman home—which I hardly ever did—I’d eventually have to explain how I could afford to live in this way. An impressively sized house in an exclusive neighborhood, behind closed community gates on a professor's meager salary? They would come to realize something didn’t add up, and that was when I would have to come clean.

Once I told them the truth, and eventually I did, before I later learned in life to keep my mouth shut. My wealth became an issue. Their eyes would start to sparkle whenever they saw me approach and they'd get this sort of soft, agreeable tone to their voice.

“You can't blame them, Simon,” my mother would say. “It's a natural thing for women to want to settle down. Your wealth equals security, and security equals marriage. They can’t help it any more than you can help that it puts you off. You’re a rich and handsome man, son. You should consider it a blessing that women look at you the way they do.”

My mother never said anything I actually wanted to hear. And she never considered what I wanted to do when she said it.

I had a sour attitude once I stepped into my house. I was sopping wet and cold, soaking my rug through to the floors. My jeans were shredded and my boots were caked; mud turned my black boots brown. I threw my keys on the counter, watched them slide into the wall, took off the rest of my clothes, balled them up in a pile and tossed them in the trash. They were garbage.

I thought a warm bath should do me good, but a shower would do me better. Wash off some of the grime that was caked on my skin and clean out the nasty wounds from the accident. I hobbled into the bathroom and turned the water on, then sat on the edge of the tub and had a thought force its way into my head.

Was I somehow responsible for that shit-storm back there? Did I somehow push Lynn into the arms of another man? Could it be possible this entire thing was my fault?

Playing back the last few weeks, I began to realize some things I could’ve done differently with Lynn. For one, I hadn’t let her know much about me personally, a mistake I’d made previously in past and often regretted.

If I had let her know more about me, there was no way she’d believe this imposter was my brother. She’d know for a fact that he wasn’t. Anyone could claim anything about my life and Lynn would have no choice but to believe it. I had her stewing in ignorance to retain my mystique. It’s sexy, but often can backfire on me.

I turned off the water in the shower and slumped against the warm tiles. Tendrils of steam still hung in the air as I stretched to help relieve the tension knotting in my shoulders. I was beginning to recall what happened hours ago: showing up at Lynn’s dorm room, waiting throughout the night, watching her appear in that little black dress as she sauntered down the hall looking stunning.

How the feeling in my groin went from a mild harmless throb that turned into an ache, and then a need I could hardly control. Made me want to take Lynn right there in the hall and ravage her until we both were left breathless and exhausted. But then… that was when I saw the look on her face: reddened and blotched, guilt-ridden and weary. It killed my hard-on quicker than exposing my dick to the freezing cold. And that was the feeling I had before she uttered a word.

I still—despite myself—missed Lynn's supple breasts and how taut her nipples got when I teased them with my tongue, brushing them just a little at the tip. How I would lick and suck on her neck until her clit became slick and swollen. How she put her mouth on me whenever we…

Ah! I couldn’t do this to myself. The fantasy fell flat right there at my feet and floated in the water like driftwood. I looked down, and my hand was tightly wrapped around my cock, so I stopped mid-stroke, as I was uninterested in continuing. What that woman did to me apparently affected my libido.

I banged my fist against the wall and stepped out of the shower, feeling filthier than I did before I went in. I wrapped myself in a white body towel and took a long look in the mirror over the sink. Was I losing my self-control? The thing I prided myself on most? Had I lost my ability to not let things like this affect me? I felt I was on the verge of being humbled.

I checked each side of my profile, turned my head to the left to right, backed up and pinned my shoulders back to square up my chest. I knew I wasn’t unattractive—in fact, I’d heard myself described as an extremely handsome man, and that was said on more than one occasion. I was in shape, decent musculature, slight golden tan to my skin. I had bluish-green eyes that women loved to stare in, especially as a prelude to sex.

There had to be something I was missing.

I heard my cell phone ringing, so I rushed to dry my feet before I slipped on the floor and had another happy accident that could’ve been avoided. I dried off my body as quick as I could, but before I reached the phone it stopped ringing. The call could’ve rolled into voicemail. It was probably a good thing, because I was starving anyway. My hunger pangs echoed off the walls.

I took a detour to the kitchen. As I passed my spotless chrome appliances, white granite countertops and ceramic double sink, I could envision Lynn bending over the counter, looking back over her shoulder and smiling the way she did when we were in the throes of sex. How her face would tense during her orgasms. A smile crept over my face. Lynn felt so tight when my cock was in her fully. Her pussy was always wet, ready to receive me at a whim.

I looked down at my cock, feeling it rise from the grave and tent-pole my towel, pointing straight up at attention. Lynn always liked it that way. When she would stroke it with her hands or take me in her mouth, she always seemed so appreciative of the fire we created together.

My phone rang again. The caller was persistent. The only person on earth that would call this many times, of the few that had my number, would be my mother. I sighed as placed my spaghetti in the microwave, set it on high and felt my cock go limp. My mother was always one to kill my mood.

As I ate, I thought about what I would say once I picked up the phone and called her. It’d been a few weeks since I’d spoken to my mother, and the party was just on the horizon. I snatched her invitation off the coffee table: some expensive white stock with simple black typing that said, “You're cordially invited,” with her address on the bottom. She changed the invitations every year. She had them specially delivered on a silver oval platter by some poor sap in a butler’s suit—tails, bowtie and a top hat.

My hand hovered over my cell phone before I reluctantly picked it up. I took a deep breath and settled in my chair, and before I could dial her number, it rang.

I was sure my mother was calling to choke an RSVP out of me. If she didn’t hear from me soon, she would call or send an employee by the house to see what was causing the hold-up. Caroline Foster could be hell on wheels when she wanted something done and you got in her way. I for one didn’t want the aggravation, so I normally chose to comply.

My mother had an odd sixth sense and that otherworldly timing she was known for in her circle. I pressed the accept call button and heard her yelling at someone in the room. “Did you dust off the mantel? No? Well, why isn’t this done yet? You know we’re on a time crunch! Move it!” This went on for several minutes before she actually said hello. I was thinking I should take this opportunity to hang up and call it a night.

“Hello?” My finger rested on the button to end the call.

“—and I’d like to have it done before I end this call. Thank you!”

“Mother?”

“Yes now, wait… hold on for a minute!” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Simon honey; you know how these people are. I just got a new assistant last week, and she clearly has a learning curve to conquer. I’ve been rushing around all day trying to get things ready for the party, and it seems I’m doing all the work myself. I am so glad I caught you, dear. Please, tell me you’ll be coming!”

I scoffed. “When is it again?” I felt the need to walk in the kitchen and pour a glass of scotch and down it before it was my turn to talk. My feet started to move before I’d made up my mind.

She huffed, clearly frustrated but, worst of all, distracted. This was how she got before an event. “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten! It’s not like you at all, Simon, to have to be reminded of such things! It’s two Saturdays from now starting at nine o’clock sharp, but I would like you to be here before then. Maybe you can come Friday morning and help your mother prepare. We can take you to get a new tuxedo if you’d like. I know your old one is probably moth fodder by now.”

“Shopping? Eh, I’m not sure about that.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! You know you miss your mother, and your sister hasn’t seen you in years. She can come with.”

Selene? Shopping with my sister was like juggling a buzz saw. Just when you think you have a grasp of it all, it gets away from you and makes you regret you ever did it—but by then you’re missing an arm or a leg. I snickered but tried to keep it contained before I laughed.