The Teaching Hours: A Novella (How to Date a Douchebag Book 6)

by Sara Ney

  We stand in her kitchen, not quite making-out. In an odd way, it’s more gentle than that? Every so often, Hannah pulls back to get a look at my face, eyes raking over my features, fingers grazing my eyebrows. Trail down the bridge of my nose. Run through my hair before kissing me again, a little moan escaping her throat.

  She’s almost as tall as I am, even without shoes, her hands lowering from my face, to my waist. Sliding them around my hips, I yelp a little when her fingers squeeze my ass cheeks.

  Hannah’s breasts are pressed against my chest, nipples hard—I can feel them through the thin fabric of her athletic top. And, since her hands are on my rear, I decide to do a little exploring of my own, hands roaming down her back. Fingers pressing into her spine along the way, firmly following the dip, landing on her butt.

  Her pants are as blessedly thin as her shirt, made for working out and not foreplay—but also kind of perfect for it. The fabric is practically jammed up her crack and I’d bet she has camel toe, too, if I looked down her body. Or felt between her legs.

  You won’t hear me complaining.

  We’re still in her kitchen when the lights of a car pull into the short driveway, lighting up the room even more, causing Hannah’s head to snap up, lips swollen. Eyes slightly glassy.

  “Shit. That’s Skylar and Abe.” She grapples for my hand and pulls me toward the hallway. It’s only about ten feet long with three doors; two bedrooms and a bathroom. She drags me through a door on the left, closing it behind us. Locks it. Flips on a dim light. “Is this okay?” She moves to the window and closes the blinds. “She’ll know I’m home, I just…I want to be alone with you and we’ll just end up sitting in the kitchen talking for another hour.”

  “You want to be alone with me? To do what?” I plop down on the edge of her bed, leaning back on my elbows, looking up at her.

  When I spread my legs, Hannah comes and stands in the center of them, hands finding my shoulder blades and presses down.

  I’m lower than she is, so she has to bend at the waist to kiss me; leans in, torso once again pressed against mine. Somewhere in the recesses of the house, a door opens, followed by a male and female voice. Laughter. Car keys hitting the table. More laughing.

  I hear the refrigerator door being opened and closed, then hushed voices coming toward the hall.

  A soft rap on Hannah’s door has us both frozen on the bed.

  “Hannah, you home?”

  “Yeah.” Hannah squeaks, still unmoving.

  There’s a pause. “Are you…alone?”

  “Um.” Pause. “No?”

  A low chuckle accompanies a low, “That’s what I thought.” Her roommate sounds good natured and adorable. “Okay, well, I’m home and Abe is with me. We’re going to my room, I just wanted to check on you.”

  Hannah clears her throat, smiling down at me. “I’m good.”

  “Good night.” Still, her roommate hasn’t moved away from the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Hannah rolls her eyes, whispering, “She wouldn’t do shit—she’s so conservative; totally not the kind to kiss on the first date.”

  Nothing wrong with that.

  “I heard that, Hannah Banana, and for your information, I kissed Abe on our first date.”

  Hannah lifts her head and glares toward the door. “Yeah, but you were flirting with him way before that.”

  “So? First date is still a first date and we made out. And some other stuff.”

  Other stuff? Her roommate does sound conservative if she can’t even use actual sex references. All that happened when she said stuff is make me think butt stuff, fingering and grab-ass for some reason. Sue me for being a pervert, okay?

  Then. “You need condoms?”

  “Go away Skylar.”

  “You know, I’ve waited a long time for this.” Skylar is deep in thought; I can almost hear her wheels spinning from here. “You’re always the one embarrassing me. Does your little friend in there know you wet the bed in fifth grade after we went to see IT at the theater?”

  “Oh my god, Skylar, I swear to God…”

  “Tsk, tsk—you shouldn’t swear to God, your mama wouldn’t approve.” It sounds like she’s studying her nails. “Have you been to church lately?”

  “Go away,” Hannah tries again, adding, “Please.”

  “Ugh, fine—since you asked nice and said please. But I expect a full report in the morning.” She pauses again, feet shuffling. “Hey, but be careful with that headboard, it’s not attached to anything.”

  Wow. Girls are fucking savage even well behaved ones like her roommate is rumored to be.

  Once the sounds of their footsteps are gone and Skylar’s own bedroom door clicks closed, Hannah lets out a breath. A sigh of relief, the pent of tension from her roommate’s teasing leaving her body.

  “I’m so sorry about that.”

  I squint at her. “Is that the kind of shit you do to her?”

  She looks guilty. “Um.”

  “So that’s a yes.” I wrap my hands around her waist and pull her all the way in so she’s tucked snuggly between my legs, the small amount of alcohol in my system making me a bit less inhibited than I’d normally be with a pretty girl like Hannah.

  “Turnabout is fair play,” I tell her, nuzzling the space between her breasts.

  “Don’t remind me, if she’s going to keep doing shit like that, it’ll give me a stroke.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  Hannah shrugs above me. “Drama is my middle name.” Her fingers take the opportunity to bury themselves in my hair, burrowing against my scalp, massaging. Feels so fucking good, I move my head around, groaning.

  “I thought your middle name was Banana,” I give the exposed skin at her collar a nip.

  “Wow. You’re a funny guy,” she lets her head roll to the side, giving me more room to suck a bit without leaving a mark. “Careful, no hickey.”

  “You want me to do more than suck on your neck?” I ask her, my hands now burrowing down the back of her tight pants.

  “That depends. Are you planning on calling me in the morning?”

  “Why wouldn’t I call you?”

  “Because that’s what guys do—they take what they want, then conveniently forget to call.”

  Hmm. Yeah, that sounds about right. And if she’d have met me a year ago or two—that’s exactly what I would have done. Conveniently forgotten to call. Ghosted her. Let her think she did something wrong.

  But that was before I was handed my ass by Coach Donnelly. Before I befriended his daughter. Before I became a Funcle.

  I would beat any douchebag’s ass who treated Lilly the way I used to treat women.

  Disposable.

  Like a diversion.

  “I can’t convince you of something you’ve already made up your mind about, so you’ll just have to see for yourself.”

  Above me, Hannah nods. “Alright. Okay. Then yes, I want to see what else you suck at.”

  “Starting where?” The alcohol gives me courage to ask, already working down the waistband of her athletic leggings.

  They’re tight from the hips down to the ankle and damn near impossible to get off. Hannah laughs when I struggle, taking pity by bending at the waist and pulling them off herself.

  Soon, she’s standing in nothing but her dark gray top, a black thong, quirky little smile suddenly…shy?

  Hannah? Shy?

  I smirk, cupping her ass in my big hands—they fit perfectly, but before I can caress her butt, Hannah shoves me down onto the mattress, flat on my back.

  Okay, maybe not so shy after all.

  “Hey, you’re supposed to be the one on your back, not me,” I tell her, raising my head.

  “You’re a slow poke,” she crawls up me, her bare bottom brushing against my jeans.

  “You need to learn patience.”

  “Teach it to me then.” She’s giving me lip and I’ve watched enough wrestling to know how the next scene goes. Without
missing a beat, I buckshot her elbow off my ribcage so she’s caught off guard, then use the momentum gained to flip her onto her back.

  Gain the upper hand.

  “Now who’s in charge, bossy little thing.” I kiss her on the mouth as she stares, wide eyed.

  “That…was…so…sexy,” Hannah breaths up at me, eyes sparkling. Pupils dilated. Lips parted, breathing heavily, chest—breasts—heaving. Heaving breasts? What am I? An eighty-year-old describing tits?

  Her head is facing the wrong way—we’re laying across the bed instead of in it—so I shift our bodies. Suck on her neck, nuzzling the column below her ear, working my way down her body. Kissing her breasts over the fabric of her shirt. Lift the hem of it, so I can kiss her stomach.

  She watches me, raising her head. “What are you doing?”

  Please. As if. “You know exactly what I’m doing.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t you want me to?”

  “I don’t know if…”

  I stop, resting on my haunches. Waiting. “It’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable, Hannah, just say so.”

  “I do feel comfortable. It’s just that…no one has made me. You know.”

  “Come?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Has anyone gone down on you before?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice is tentative. “Once. Barely?”

  “Wait. What?” How is that possible. “How many guys have you gone out with?”

  “I don’t know. Enough.”

  “Fucking idiots.” My fingers toy with the waistband of her black thong.

  Her breath hitches a second time. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re gorgeous and you smell…” I lean down and give her a whiff, “Ahfuckingmazing.” I lick her neck, too, and Hannah giggles.

  “That tickles.”

  “Oh yeah? What else tickles?”

  Her lips get clamped shut. “Nothing.”

  I move my forefinger up and down her ribcage, over her gray shirt.

  Hannah’s head gives a little shake. “Nope.”

  “Figures you of all people wouldn’t be easy.”

  “No one has ever called me easy. Mostly they called me a beast. Or a monster,” she laughs, eyes lighting up.

  “Accurate.” I cover her mouth with mine and our tongues automatically tangle. “You beast.”

  My beast, I silently add, grinding my lower body against her.

  “Take off your pants,” she demands in a whiney tone.

  “This isn’t about me.” My plan is to go down on her, but her lips and tongue and mouth taste so fucking good, I can’t stop kissing her.

  “Yes it is. Take off your pants,” she says again, reaching between our bodies and searching for the button on my jeans. When she finds it, she struggles to unbutton it, leaving me really no choice, but to pitch in and help out.

  I know, I know—what a gentlemanly thing to do.

  Magnanimous, even.

  Together, we work my pants down my hips until I’m able to kick them onto the floor in a heap. Then, Hannah’s soft hands are working on the buttons of my shirt, working to slide it off my shoulders.

  “Let’s get this gone, too, m’kay?”

  “M’kay,” I dumbly agree, shucking my shirt.

  She struggles, but removes her too. “Now we’re both almost naked. Whatcha gonna do about it?”

  Wow. Is she challenging me?

  The shithead.

  The beautiful, gorgeous shithead.

  God she feels good, mostly naked beneath me, wiggling around, our pelvises, dick, and pussy rubbing together in all the right ways.

  Speaking of pussies…

  “What am I gonna do about it?” I parrot her again, moving down her body, planting a kiss between the valley of her breasts, inhaling the sweet smell of her. “You’re going to lay there while I eat you out and you’re going to let me and you’re going to like it.”

  “Ohh...kay,” comes her reply. A gasp when I kiss the smooth skin below her belly button. Press my mouth against the mound between her thighs, warm breath heating her pussy. I already know I’m going to love every wet, hot, second of it. Especially when she squirms, anticipation making her impatient.

  “Jesus, Rex,” she croaks, music to my ears.

  Jesus Rex, Jesus Rex…

  I suck through her panties, feel her thighs on either side of my head tremble. Quiver. Hannah’s hands grip first for my shoulders, then my hair, then finally fisting the bedspread.

  It’s a white comforter—a bold choice for a student without a washing machine—surrounded by white pillows and white curtains, and despite her legs being spread, Hannah looks serene laying there.

  “I don’t want you to give me oral,” she whines. “I want you to fuck me.”

  I shake my head, still lapping her up through the nylon of her underwear. Hook the silky end with my forefinger and pull it aside. Lick up her slit, up and down the middle, pushing my tongue inside.

  “Please.”

  Another shake. No.

  “Rex, please. Please.”

  My mouth finds her clit. Worships at it. Rolls it.

  I moan into her, the vibrations send her hips bucking. “Please, please just stop and fuck me, Rex. I’m begging.”

  Begging? That has my attention, I pause, my dick in my boxers throbbing. I can literally feel the blood pulsing through my veins, leaving my head and traveling straight to my cock.

  It actually hurts.

  Hurts so good…

  She doesn’t stop begging. Pleads with me one more time before her head lifts offs the mattress so she can watch me, teeth biting down on her bottom lip. Jaw clenched, nostrils flared.

  It looks like she’s in pain, too.

  “You want me to fuck you?” It’s a damn miracle I’m able to get the words out, there are no functioning brain cells in my head.

  “Yes.” She’s desperate, I can hear it in her voice. And honestly, my dick is so hard, giving in and giving her what she wants instead of finishing her off with my mouth won’t be a hardship.

  Condom, condom, condom, my brain begins shouting. Condom. Where is it?

  I may or may not have thrown one in my wallet a few weeks ago—yeah yeah, I know you’re not supposed to fucking do that, but I did, and it’s the only one I have, so stop judging me.

  I remove my mouth from Hannah’s pussy, lips wet. Move across the bed, reaching for my shucked jeans, digging for the pockets to find my wallet. Wrestle it open with shaking hands and retrieve the foil wrapper.

  Toss my jeans back to the floor.

  In the time it’s taken me to do that, Hannah has removed her bra and I stare at her boobs. The sight of her laying on her white covers, stark naked. Glorious. Perfect tits. Dripping wet vagina. Smooth, flush skin.

  Her arms rise behind her head and she stretches out as I tear off my boxers.

  “Calm down or you’re not going to last,” she manages to tease.

  Right. Calm down.

  Easy for her to say, I haven’t had sex in a fucking lifetime. I could count on one hand how many partners I’ve had—though not for lack of trying.

  Just, with my reputation before I graduated and left school, girls weren’t banging down my door, even when I was hanging out with wrestlers, some of the most popular dudes on campus.

  Didn’t matter—no one wanted to fuck the team manager. They wanted to fuck the players.

  Dweeb. Nerd. Dork.

  That’s what they saw standing next to the big guys. So, my dick stayed dry and in my pants.

  But Hannah wants me.

  Hannah is beautiful.

  Amusing. Clever. Interested.

  Her knees part, eyes straying to my cock when I slide the condom on. The package was warm, so I send up a prayer that it doesn’t break, and climb up her body, kissing her skin along the way.

  “Mmm.” Her fingers thread through my hair, lips reuniting with mine when our faces meet. “You feel so good.”

  She sli
des a hand over my back, over my ass. Caresses my hips, slowing rolling hers as my mouth latches onto the slope that connects her neck and shoulder.

  “Mmm is right,” I whisper, lining up our bodies. Feel around for the right hole to push inside of.

  Hannah flinches when I push. “Wrong one.”

  She guides me until I’m home, sinking in. Deeper.

  Deeper.

  “Oh god…” we both groan.

  Silently, I thrust, in and out. Silently, we kiss. Silently, I hope she fucking still wants to see me in the morning.

  6

  Hannah

  Was it my intention to have sex with Rex Gunderson the first time we meet in person? No. But he wasn’t supposed to be so funny, likeable, and dorkably adorable.

  He’s not my type, he’s not my type…

  I wasn’t drunk. Neither was Rex. And maybe he is my type.

  So why did I sleep with him?! What possessed me to climb into bed with the guy? I mean—what possessed me to invite him back to my house in the first place?

  My grandmother’s voice echoes in my brain—her many lectures about propriety and virtue (which I’ve all, but ignored)—scream loudly in my brain: “Why would a young man buy the cow, Hannah Beth Peterson, when you’re giving the milk away for free? Keep your legs closed if you want to find a decent beau.”

  “First of all grandma,” I’d said. “No one calls them beaus anymore. Secondly, everyone is having premarital sex these days. It’s not like when you and grandpa were young—people from your generation didn’t bang before you got married. But Mom told me about how you dried marijuana in the oven when she was younger—so you can’t tell me you were a virgin when you married Grandpa.”

  I was such a smartass, I’m surprised I hadn’t gotten my ass chewed out. Grandma isn’t that much older than my mother—maybe by nineteen years—so it’s almost like having two moms nagging me when I do something stupid.

  Which is all the damn time.

  I get in more trouble than my older brother Justin ever did. He was always better about following the rules, not questioning authority, and keeping his trap shut to avoid conflict.

  Me? I’m always the one who “started it”.

  Well. I’m done being the girl who argues with a guy just to get his attention—a lot like a little boy on the playground, pulling at a little girl’s braids because he likes her.