by Madison Faye
“I’m supposed to give it to you.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I mutter.
“I’m your new student.”
I pause. Shit, that’s right. I vaguely recall the message about a new Winchester student arriving today.
“Right! Okay, you must need—”
I turn, and suddenly, the whole world tilts on its axis. My jaw drops, my eyes go wide, and my heart just stops for what feels like forever.
His eyes go wide—his sharp, gorgeous, piercing blue eyes—in recognition. And then slowly, just like I watched him do it before, his perfect lips pull into a cocky, smug smile.
And then I fall.
Literally.
The world spins, and gravity goes topsy-turvy before I suddenly find myself teetering on my heels and then tumbling right off the chair with a gasp.
…Right into his arms.
I’m breathless, my pulse racing, my skin tingling, and a sinking sensation tightening in my stomach as I look up right into the eyes of the man from the night before.
The man who kissed me like I’ve never been kissed before. The man who touched me like no one ever has. The man who fucked me, against the brick wall in an alley, and made me come harder than anything I’ve ever even imagined. That’s the man who catches me in my classroom when I fall right into him.
No, not “man.”
The boy.
My new student.
Oh my God.
He grins smugly, his perfect lips pulling wide as he winks at me.
“Well hey, stranger.”
3
Ethan
Well, shit.
It took one look last night. One look into the eyes of the girl who appeared out of nowhere in that alley with the fire in those big dark eyes and the sass written across her gorgeous face, and I knew I wanted her. And not like a passing, temporary sort of want either. No, fuck that.
I looked at her, and I wanted her. All of her, always, all to myself. And I had her, too. I tasted those lips and felt the way her skin grew hot under my touch. I felt the way she came, too—crying out and moaning into my lips as her sweet, perfect little pussy clenched tight around my pulsing cock.
And then, like a fucking idiot, I let her walk away.
But here we are, here of all places, with her right back where she belongs. In my arms. And this shit just got very, very interesting.
Her eyes go wide as she stares up into mine, the color draining from her face before she sputters and starts to squirm.
“What are you—put me down!” she hisses.
I grin.
“You sure about—”
“Now!”
Our eyes lock, and the fire only starts to burn hotter inside me.
Yeah, fuck. This just got very interesting.
I don’t exactly know what I was expecting coming back here to Southworth. To Winchester. But it sure as hell wasn’t this. It sure as hell wasn’t realizing that the gorgeous girl who shattered my whole world last night and who I haven’t stopped thinking about for one second since turns out to be my fucking high school art teacher.
My stranger has a name, and it’s Emily Hayes. Off-limits, forbidden, Ms. Hayes.
Yeah, not what I expected coming back to Southworth. But then, the truth is, I was never really “here” before, even when we did live here. Back then, our mom was still around, even if barely, and our dad was still trying to pretend that if he worked harder and longer hours, it would all be fine. But even back then, we knew it was all going to fall apart.
“We” is Jamison, my non-identical twin brother, and me. And back then, it was really just him at home dealing with all of the bullshit. Me? I was already doing my first stint in Juvenile Detention. Of course, when you’re rich and also a troublemaker, people assume you’re going to some fancy summer-camp type place to just yuck it up with other rich brats.
They’re wrong.
Our dad might be rich, but he wasn’t always. Before his construction firm started pulling enough for us to live in a place like Southworth and for Jamison and I to go to a school like fucking Winchester, Bobby Scott was just guy from the wrong side of town who knew how use a hammer and saw. So, no, dad didn’t fuck around with sending me to some private school day-camp after I got arrested at thirteen. He sent me to Lenox Hall—“get your shit together or get your shit fucked up” Lenox Hall. And honestly, it’s probably the best thing he could have ever done for me.
When I went away back then, the whole shit-show back home sort of fell apart. Mom finally took off for good on some kind of bender, and dad finally decided he’d had enough of her shit. They divorced, dad and Jamison moved away, and I learned to be a man instead of douchey little punk at Lenox.
Five years later, and here we are. The Scotts are back in Southworth. Dad’s finally found his second chance in Celia Weiss, a woman he kept in touch with after he moved, and they’re about to tie the knot for real. And I’m happy for him, really. He deserves it. Apparently, Jamison and Celia’s daughter Ramona, who’s also a senior here at Winchester, used to fight like cats and dogs. So, that’s going to be interesting, seeing as she’s going to be our new stepsister, but he’ll get over it.
Yeah, we’re back, but that part I don’t have to be happy with. I had this place pegged from a young age. Maybe it was that my parents weren’t born with the wealth most families in this town and most kids at this school are born with. Whatever it was, I saw this fucking town for what it was: squeaky clean, and stuffed full of snooty, rich, entitled little brats. And now here Jamison and I are—the two new tattooed bad boys of Southworth.
Okay, maybe Jamison’s slightly better than me. I mean the guy never pulled the shit I did back before. He never went to a place like Lenox Hill. But still. Neither of us is exactly the polo-shirt-wearing, Audi-driving, varsity-football-jacket-wearing, trust-fund prick that tends to go to Winchester.
I knew this year was going to be interesting. But shit, as of last night?
Well, “interesting” might be the understatement of the fucking century. Because apparently, last night I had the best sex I’ve ever had in that alley with my new fucking art teacher.
“What are you doing here?!” she hisses under her breath.
I grin.
Oh, she’s not putting this together yet. Or she is, and she’s refusing to believe it. I mean, I might be in denial if I were in her shoes too. But then, I’ve been in a lot more than her shoes…
Teachers are supposed to be strait-laced. I mean they’re not real people, they’re your teacher. But her? Oh, she’s real alright. I know she wears lacy black thong panties. I know she’s got a little tattoo on her hip. I know she’s got her pussy hair trimmed into this cute little triangle right above her lips, pointing right down to that sweet heaven.
She still looks nerdy as hell with those glasses, but goddamn is it hot. Especially when she’s looking at me with that mix of accusation, nervousness, and heat.
I hand her the sheet from the main office again.
“I’m your new student.”
She swallows, shaking her head and blushing. Her eyes dart all over me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m really standing here.
“You—no, you’re not.”
I grin. “Yeah, I am.”
“No, you’re—”
Her face pales.
“How old are you?!” she hisses quietly and urgently through trembling lips.
My smile widens.
“You sure you want to know that?”
Okay, I’m fucking with her, but how can I not?
“You—” Her face turns white as snow. “Oh God….”
“I mean if you know, it might be worse for you,” I say with a sigh.
“But I didn’t know!” she hisses, her eyes wide. “Oh my God, oh my God…” she whirls, panting, her breath coming fast and her feet unsteady.
I frown as I move in.
“Whoa, hang—”
She whirls, and when she starts to trip and f
all, I lunge in and catch her, propping her up.
“I’m eighteen, relax,” I say quietly.
She swallows, looking up at me with a scowl on her face.
“Oh, yes, that’s so much better,” she mutters.
“I mean, it is, legally.”
She blushes fiercely.
“I gotta say, teach,” I sigh, grinning as I rake my fingers through my hair. “You gave a way better school intro than I was expecting.”
Her face turns bright red as she sputters.
“I was not—!”
Her mouth tightens.
“I did not know who you were”
“Clearly—”
“And I never do that!”
“Well, you did.” I grin as I move closer to her, my eyes locked on hers. “We did.”
My hand reaches out to her, and when it slides over her hip—the very hip I grabbed last night while I plunged my cock deep in her eager little cunt—she trembles before freezing and suddenly stepping back from me.
“Don’t—” she swallows. “Take your hand off of me.”
“You sure?”
There’s a half second of hesitation from her that brings a grin to my face.
“Yes,” she spits out, glancing past me at the other students taking their seats.
“We’re in class.”
I shrug. “How about after class.”
The heat blooms in her cheeks, and she swallows.
“Take a seat.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“This is inappropriate.”
“I think we’ve established that.”
I move closer to her again, and she stiffens, blushing as her eyes dart over my face.
“People are looking,” she whispers.
“I’m just giving you my new student papers, teach.”
She blushes, shivering.
“Have a seat—”
She stammers and falters, and I grin.
“You don’t know my name, do you.”
She stiffens. “Do you know mine?”
“Ms. Hayes.”
She swallows, her eyes darting over mine.
“Or do you prefer teach? Professor?” I frown. “It’s not Mrs. Hayes, is it?”
“No”, she mutters. “It’s not. Just Miss.”
She chews at her bottom lip before she stiffens.
“You can call me Ms. Hayes.”
“Teach might be more fun.”
She glares at me as the color rises in her cheeks.
“Or how about Emily?”
The blush grows darker on her cheeks.
“Have a seat Mister…”
She snatches paper from my hand and glances at it.
“Mr. Scott.”
“Ethan,” I growl.
“Ethan,” she says quietly, her eyes dragging up to mine and lingering longer than they should.
“Sit down.”
“So, is that a yes or no?”
She frowns. “For?”
“For after class?” I grin. “You, me?” I shrug. “Maybe we can pick up where we left—”
“Have a seat, Mr. Scott,” she snaps hastily, glancing nervously behind me at the milling students before pulling her eyes back to mine as she leans close.
“That is never happening again,” she hisses quietly. “It never did happen.”
“It did.”
“It did not.”
I sigh, raking my fingers through my hair. “Huh, you mean I made it up? I made up feeling your tight little pussy sinking down on my big cock and you begging me to fuck you harder?”
Her face goes red as her jaw drops.
“Did I dream about you coming all over my cock? I mean, I did, after. But the first time?” I smile, leaning close.
“No, I’m pretty sure I was wide awake, Ms. Hayes.”
“Mr. Scott—”
“Ethan works,” I growl as I step right against her, making her gasp.
“Did I make this up, too?”
I pull my dress shirt away from my collarbone, revealing the bruised bite marks from her mouth as she bit down on me to stop from screaming when she came the night before. Her eyes dart over the hickeys, and her face pales as she looks unsteady on her feet.
“I’m gonna sit, Ms. Hayes. But last night happened.” I lean in close, inhaling the scent of her, and her breath catches sharply.
“And it’s gonna happen again.”
“It is not—!”
The bell rings, signaling the start of first period, and she stiffens as she glares at me.
“Sit.”
“Sure thing, teach.”
I turn and saunter away, finding an empty chair and sitting as Emily walks quickly to the front of the class. Her eyes meet mine as she gets to her podium, and I grin as I see the blush bloom over her gorgeous face before she hides it in her notes.
Oh, this is going to be interesting all right.
Last night, I fucked my teacher. Last night, I got a taste of the forbidden.
…And now, I just want more.
4
Emily
Mondays are for the lecture portion of the year’s curriculum—the history lessons and all of that rather than just hands-on art. And today, we’re picking up from last week with the French Impressionists.
But the whole lesson, I can barely make words. My face burns, my heart races. My skin tingles, and ears ring.
…My panties are soaked.
This is so fucking wrong. So unbelievably wrong. And what happened last night is as horrifying to me now as it was toe-curlingly hot thirty seconds before he walked into my fucking classroom and called me “teach.” Okay, sure, he’s legal, in the most basic understanding of the law. Thank fucking God. But what the fuck was I thinking?
He’s eight years younger than me. Later in life, that might not be much of an issue, I mean, hello Demi Moore. But right now? When he’s eighteen fucking years old?
I groan inside as I mindlessly drone on about Renoir. And I know that I’m glossing over the worst part about all of this, because it’s almost too much to think about.
…The fact that he’s my student.
It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know. It just doesn’t. This could ruin me and get me kicked out of here so fast my head will spin. And it’s not like teaching was ever my dream, but I’m pretty certain that if this ever got out, I could pretty much kiss ever teaching again goodbye.
But God he was good.
I blush, and I cringe as I think about it. Incredibly good. Like, stupidly, finding religion type good. I’ve never been fucked like that before. Not ever. Okay, it’s not like I’ve gotten around a ton, but c’mon, I’m twenty-six, and there were a few boyfriends before Jason. Zero one-night-stands before last night. But none of them were like him.
…like Ethan Scott.
Dominant, powerful. Intense. So into me that I felt like the rest of the world faded away. That and I came so hard last night on his…
I blush.
On his huge cock.
My eyes dart over him sitting there in the back row of class. I force myself with everything I have to keep scanning the room, so it looks like I’m just looking at my students, not looking at him while I daydream about the way he fucked me last night. I do it again, but this time, my eyes linger a half second too long before I look away.
God he’s gorgeous. All lean, chiseled muscles and growls and tattoo ink.
I groan inside. The best sex I’ve ever had in my life, and he’s my eighteen-year-old student.
…I’m fucked.
Somehow, I get through the lesson, because before I know it, my swirling and confusing daydreams are shattered by the ring of the bell again. The room grows loud as the whole class stands, pushing chairs back from desks and grabbing bags as they start to filter out and leave.
He lingers.
I shiver, the last of the class exits until it’s just him and I. And this time, my eyes linger right on him, with no-one else to look at to mas
k the fact. Last night, he was in a white t-shirt, jeans, and biker boots, looking like sex on a stick. Today, he’s wearing the Winchester school uniform. Sort of. I mean he’s got the boys warm-weather uniform of a short-sleeved white dress shirt and dark grey slacks. But he’s skipping the tie, and the short sleeves are rolled up another inch around his thick biceps. Also, I’m not really sure where full-sleeve and neck tattoos fit into the Winchester dress code.
“You need to get to your next class,” I say quietly as the last student aside from him walks out, letting the door close behind her.
Ethan grins.
“That the best you came up with?”
“Pardon me?”
“To get me out of here.”
“It’s true, Mr. Scott.”
“Ethan.” His eyes hold mine. “I think we’re on a first name basis, don’t you, Emily?”
“Don’t—” I purse my lips. “Don’t call me that.”
He stands from his desk at the back and starts to walk towards me, and every single cell in my body yearns for it, even if my brain is trying to shut it down. He moves even closer, walking with bold confidence, his eyes never leaving mine until he’s right in front of me.
“And don’t—Ethan!”
“What?” he purrs as his hand slides over my waist where my blouse tucks into my knee-length skirt. I shiver, a gasp falling from my lips.
“Don’t…”
“Don’t as in you don’t want me to touch you, or don’t as in we shouldn’t.”
I swallow thickly as my eyes drag to his.
“Both,” I mutter, pushing his hand away from me.
“Liar.”
“Excuse me?”
Ethan’s eyes don’t blink as they burn into mine.
“I called you a liar. So, let’s try this again.”
His hand moves right back to where it was on my waist, and this time, I sigh, my eyes fluttering shut as something fierce and hot teases through my core.
“Do—”
“Yeah, don’t, I got it,” he says quietly. “But which one, Emily. You don’t want me to touch you, or you don’t think I should touch you.”
I swallow, my eyes still closed as his grip tightens on me.
“The second.”
