Teacher's Pet Complete Series (5 page)

I also found myself wondering how he might perceive me, beyond the weak and slutty factor. Now that my hormones weren’t a part of the equation, I played with the idea that he might actually be interested in me—or was he playing games? Was this some type of teacher’s pet fantasy he had? I just didn’t know. Life could be so confusing sometimes when it came to the opposite sex. One moment, I was convinced he was a grade-A dick, and the next I found myself wanting to hold his—well,
it
—in my hands. I would probably be better off keeping my head down, doing my work and ignoring every man in existence at least for now…ignore him in particular if it was possible, (which I suspected it wasn't).

I let out a slow, cleansing breath as I came out of my thoughts and swung my feet over the bed to get my day started. I slipped on my warm, fuzzy slippers, wiggled my toes and wiped the sleep from my eyes so I could see straight. I stood up and stretched my arms as wide as possible. I wished I could just lie down and go back to sleep, but if I wanted to keep my job, then I couldn’t.

I had been working for the professor for about a week and a half, and things were progressing as smoothly as a prickly cactus rolling down a bumpy road. He was still an asshole and a jerk, but he hadn't made any more sexual advances, and I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. It almost made me feel like I had imagined our earlier sexual tension.

The day before, he had kept me in his office tediously filing papers, one of my least favorite tasks. As I leaned over his desk to retrieve another stack to sort, he had seemed bothered by my proximity, and I couldn’t understand why. That is, until he mentioned my cardigan.

“How do you stand that god awful thing? That fabric is scratchy as hell,” he said.

“How would you know?” I smirked and stood back with arms crossed. Would it kill him to be kind?

“Because every time you reach for something, you brush against my arm. There’s a such thing as personal space, you know.”

I had frowned, feeling contrite. Great, he was the fashion police
and
a smart ass. “I’m sorry. I didn't realize.” He hadn't been complaining last week when he had me sprawled across his lap with his hand down my pants. I bit my lip to keep from pointing that little factor out.

“Yeah, well. Pay closer attention,” he said. “And, do something with your hair. You're a TA, for goodness sake, with an economics major. Dress for the job you want. I don't want to see another shapeless sweater or scuffed pair of flats in this office from you. Understand?”

Thus, I woke up with my mind on how to fix my apparent lack of fashion sense. I had never had to bother with what I wore around Professor Temple. I felt like Simon was being unnecessarily nitpicky. It wasn't like anyone in the department cared how other TAs dressed. On the other hand, I wondered if he was subtly hinting at my style detracting from his attraction to me. After all, he hadn’t flirted, much less touched me inappropriately.

I sat up in bed and looked to my left where, as usual, my roommate's bed was empty. I wasn't surprised because Sonja was always in and out, and by the looks of things, she hadn’t slept in her bed at all last night. Typical behavior for Sonja. The sheets were pulled taut and her pillow felt cold. If she hadn’t disappeared a million times before, I might’ve been concerned. But, I just sighed and shook my head, wondering how she managed to juggle school and her busy social life.

There would be a story behind her absence, I was sure of it, one that would probably consist of whom she was with, how many times they’d done it and whatever nasty puzzle they could manage to create with their bodies. But, before I could judge her, I reflected on my own indiscretions. I was appalled that my lone make-out session with the professor sounded a bit too much like the ones Sonja told on a semi-daily basis. “I’m turning into Sonja,” I murmured in shocked dismay.

That might have been pushing it a little. Professor Simon seemed to be over me, unless he was simply waiting for me to approach him this time. He had seemed somewhat remorseful under the oak tree when he had confessed to me he was aggressive by nature and tended to take what he wanted. I hadn't made it any easier on him when I implied something about him made me feel uncomfortably powerless.

Groaning, I pulled my pajama top over my head, slid the bottoms to my ankles and stepped out with my feet. I was giving this man way too much of my head space, but I couldn't stop thinking about him. From the way he dressed to the cologne he wore, each day working with him and going to his class was like a constant battle to control myself. I grabbed two towels from the closet, wrapping one around my bare torso and holding the other in my hand. Then, I walked into the bathroom to take a shower.

The water pressure felt amazing streaming across my skin. Each little droplet felt like soothing fairy fingers, warm enough to relax me but not hot enough to sting. If the professor was waiting for me to make a move, he might not have to wait too much longer. A flash of Simon Foster ran its way across my mind, followed quickly by a strong wave of arousal that I tried to mask with revulsion. But, the vision was all too vivid—the way he masterfully took control and aggressively held me, the caressing warmth of his breath against my neck. The one sensual scene had been on repeat in my brain ever since it had happened.

I found myself imagining things like a nude Simon standing outside the shower, suddenly pulling the curtain aside and fixing his piercing gaze on my body. I embellished the daydream a little bit more. He'd have a charming, yet mischievous grin on his face, not unlike the devil himself. I would gaze at him through rising tendrils of white steam that silhouetted the outlines and angles of his body. He would have a finely sculpted chest, not too broad but powerfully built, and abs like bronzed cobblestones laid in a row of six, leading down to a road of wonder.

“Can I come in?” His powerful baritone voice sent waves of electricity down the length of my spine and sparked a blazing fire to my fantasies.

I wouldn’t be able to command the words to formally invite Simon in to join me. I wouldn’t have to. He'd take my silence as acceptance and step in the shower, one foot at time, giving me a glimpse of his length, swinging freely between his legs. Even if he wasn’t fully erect, I imagined it would be impressively significant, and I would gasp in spite of myself. Could I resist the urge to touch? I wanted to know what his girth felt like. I wanted to hold it in my palm.

He would slip in behind me, with his hands grasping around my waist. Every spot that he'd touch on my body would be ablaze. I could nearly feel the fire, and the vision overtook me completely. My head rolled back…

…to rest on his chest as he pulled at my hips and closed the gap between us. A single drop of water took its time rolling down my back. It was excruciatingly pleasurable as it settled between his shaft and the nook in the center of my ass.

Simon’s lips were on the nape of my neck. He nibbled, kissed and nibbled again on several sensitive spots at a time. I could feel the rough stubble of his beard on my skin. I was surprised to find that I liked it. His hands left from around my waist. Trailing with his fingers, they traversed the curve of my hips and snaked around and between my thighs, which easily parted for him. The pad of his thumb brushed gently against my clit. It was throbbing to be touched, and I hungered for more.

I was no longer the master of my body. My inner lips opened up to him like an evening primrose in its nightly bloom. Morning dew was resting on my petals.

“Are you coming for me?” I felt the warmth of his breath as his words met my ears, riding on a whisper.

“Yes… yes.” I could hardly push the words out. They released in the air with staccato vibrations as his hands ran their way up my body and cupped my breasts. He held their weight in his palms, kneading them each like fine, firm dough to the sound of my moans as they echoed off the walls. When he slid his palms gently across my nipples, I couldn’t take it. The pressure building inside me was released to a song I hadn’t known I knew until that moment.

My orgasm rocked my body to dizziness. I fell against the tiled wall, trying to steady myself, but my passage kept pulsing. I didn’t want it to stop. Juices traveled down my legs in succulent drops. They rolled down my thighs, made their way to my calves and stopped at the crook behind my ankles.

I was stunned, but before I could get a good grasp of what had happened, I was spun around and pinned against the wall. Simon’s palms were in mine, and our fingers interlocked. He spread his arms out, making a Y with our bodies. He dipped his head below my chin and kissed me on my neck. He kissed me on my shoulders and my chest. His tongue traced back up and across the left side of my jaw. My lips parted out of instinct.

Simon drew back, and our eyes locked. It was like we had opened the windows to share each other’s souls. We lingered there until the transfer was complete, what seemed in real time like forever. I was his and his alone, and wanted him to know it. He could do whatever he wished to me, and I wouldn’t protest for a second.

He leaned in close to my face, a breath away from my lips. He parted them with his, and I didn’t dare resist. I wanted every piece of him: his skin, his nose, his mouth—his breath, even. I drank it up like the elixir of life as our kiss became more passionate.

We kissed like two hungry teenagers behind the bleachers at school with only seconds before someone came and we were discovered. I moaned into his mouth because his tongue felt so good against my own. It was warm and wet, sweet like honey, with just enough savory to complement the flavor.

Simon lifted my leg up, placing it high across his hip, and curled it around his back while holding me up in the crook of his arms. He caressed my back down to the slope of my ass, and grabbed my cheeks firmly with his hands. I felt the blunt head of his manhood slide across the outer entrance of my folds. In anticipation of whatever pleasure or pain I was about to experience, I let a trapped scream escape from my chest. It reverberated off the tiled walls in the bathroom.

And, that was when I heard the bathroom door open. I glanced down and realized I had a bar of soap gripped firmly in my palm, buried deep between my thighs, along with an impressive amount of bubbles.

I gasped and peeked past the shower curtain to see a girl from my dorm standing with a towel wrapped around her body and another towel turbanned on her head. She had a surprised look in her eyes and a curling iron in her left hand. “Oh, I’m sorry I…” She smiled coyly and modestly dropped her eyes to examine her feet. “I thought you might be in trouble. I heard you scream and, well… um…”

“Singing,” I answered impulsively. “I was singing in the shower, you know, like people do. Nothing to see here. Hear here. I mean, I'm fine. Really.”

I released the plastic curtain, and it fell back in place, and I prayed she took that as a cue to leave. To add credence to my ludicrous alibi, I started humming a tuneless, high pitched ditty. A moment later I heard her snort as she left the bathroom. Finally, I slumped against the shower wall in relief. “Simon Foster…what are you doing to me?” I whispered.

My face was on fire at nearly being caught masturbating in the shower! I raced to my room and plopped down on the chair in front of Sonja’s vanity mirror to confirm that, yes, my cheeks were red as ripe tomatoes. My dull blonde hair was a hot, tangled mess, and wasn’t completely dry, dripping water on my sweater. I felt simultaneously sexually frustrated and sexually satisfied, but my body felt good. I was relaxed, and there were tingles all over my skin. I would have touched myself again if I found I had the time, but there was something to be said about letting a good thing remain what it was.

I started fixing my hair, promising myself today would different. I wouldn't let Simon get under my skin, and I wouldn't let him get
into
my skin. I blushed at the steamy fantasy I’d had in the shower. Oh, but wouldn't it be divine if I let him? I sighed and stared at my reflection, willing myself to get with the program.

Something dawned on me, as I looked in the mirror, which had never crossed my mind before. I had great facial features. I had light almond-brown eyes, rounded cheekbones and a dusky complexion in keeping with my Scottish-Italian heritage. Though lank and un-styled, my shoulder length blonde hair had potential. I was physically fit and, I guess, attractive. At least Simon had seemed attracted. I wasn’t a bad-looking girl—maybe not physically outstanding in any way—but still not bad-looking.

Of course, I was academically outstanding, but that didn't count when it came to boys unless they were into cute super-nerds that could break down their finances in two minutes flat. And, try having a conversation about math with a boy you wanted to kiss. Talk about a mood-killing subject.

Still, it was time I recognized I had at least a few good qualities. For one, I was a great friend. I chose honesty even when pressed to tell a lie, and I could cook a mean meal whenever given the opportunity.

I suddenly really internalized I was holding myself back in the dating department. I didn't project sex appeal and ooze confidence. I had a tendency to hide behind oversized shirts and unflattering baggy pants. I wasn't actually a plain Jane; that was only what I put on display.

At some point I had adopted the belief modest things led to a modest life, but maybe it was really fear of fully embracing myself as a woman that made me cling to modesty. Perhaps a modest life was something I had wanted in my grade school years, trying to escape notice and avoid negative attention, but I didn’t think it was something I wanted anymore. I wanted to shed whatever was holding me back, keeping me scared. If Simon needed me to initiate, I could make a move. Couldn't I?

I grinned at my reflection, feeling like I was seeing me for the first time, and the girl in the mirror smiled shyly back. I needed to do something completely different, although Professor Simon would likely have to deal with my usual dowdy duds for at least another day until I could enlist Bobbi’s help with shopping. It would mean admitting to her what had gone on behind closed doors with the professor. I reminded myself I was a grown woman, and I could take the heat. After all, I was about to walk into a kitchen that was 150 degrees, and I needed to be hotter than the fire.