“Yes…”
“Then, let’s start.” He pulled back, leaving me looking blankly at the TV screen, seeing moving colors that my brain was incapable of turning into complete images.
CHAPTER EIGHT
His experiment had failed.
Not that I didn’t fall in love with him; I was already in love. And I could’ve withstood the porn torture slightly longer than him but I was grateful he gave in before I did.
Ten minutes into the porn-watching love experiment, he had scooped me up and bent me over the coffee table. I was afraid he might try anal with me but he didn’t. What he did was mount me all night long, like an animal. We had used every possible surface in his house and I got to cum in every room. Except Ginger’s.
My favorite of them all was in the shower, at the crack of dawn, when he had taken me from behind, gentler than before because he knew I was beginning to feel sore. I don’t believe I had so much sex in one single night in my life. I liked it.
Now, feeling tired from the lack of sleep and probably from orgasming over and over in the last few hours, I struggled to stay awake enough to hold the mug of coffee to my lips.
Nervous, I glanced over at the wall clock he had in his kitchen and saw that I should get ready for work. A wave of depression came over me. I was too tired for work but I had no choice. So I stood slowly, wincing, and said, “I have to go to my place, get changed and ready for work.”
He smiled. “Aww, poor thing! I’m sorry for keeping you awake. But you were too tempting for my weak nature, baby.”
I nodded. “What was I thinking, agreeing to that?” I thought I was asking myself in my head.
“I hope that changing the experiment slightly didn’t change the outcome. You sound… angry with me.”
I turned around, creeped out at first. Was he reading my mind?
“You said it aloud, baby. Was I not supposed to hear that?”
I couldn't help but laugh. “God, I’m so tired.”
“Yes. You look tired.”
“Thank you. Thank you for making me feel better, my dear,” I tried to joke. He laughed; I must’ve succeeded.
“I do apologize for my bluntness. Do you want some help with that?”
I was struggling to put my cardigan on. Shaking my head, I struggled some more and gave up halfway through. I took it off; I had just a few steps to my own house, I didn’t actually need it.
He leaned and kissed me.
“I do really need to move, if I don't want to lose my job. For being tired and late,” I mumbled and pulled back.
“Okay. Go on, then. I’ll go wake Ginger up.”
He looked awfully cheerful and I felt jealousy lingering at the back of my mind. I kissed him furtively on the lips, staying enough to make him want more, then hurried out.
He must think I’m crazy, I thought, stalking towards my house.
Once inside, I threw the unworn cardigan on the living room couch and went straight for the shower. Tortured by the warmth of the water, I remembered a trick my mother used to do. She used to tell me it kept her skin toned but I believed it would do just fine with the particular kind of toning I needed.
So I got the water as hot as I could take it, then switched to cold water. I kept alternating until I felt invigorated enough to take on the day. Shivering, I stepped out and didn’t linger in the fluffy towel. I was intent on torturing myself to full wakefulness.
Naked, I sprinted to my bedroom and threw a conservative combination of jeans and a blue shirt on, then hopped into flat shoes and grabbed the same cardigan on my way out. Halfway to the car, I realized I forgot my purse.
When I was finally on the road, I learned I was only ten minutes later than my usual time. It was a happy discovery, since I usually arrived early to work. “Fuck! I should’ve asked to take Ginger,” I cursed to myself. I wasn’t very functional in a hurry; the pressure seemed to come from all sides and it tended to become too much for me.
As a direct consequence, my driving was inconsistent. I was either going too fast, or slow. Pulling into the parking lot, I realized I was significantly later than usual, but not enough to be unable to deal with it. Technically. Personally, I felt panic rising in my gut and started running. The silence of the schoolyard did nothing more than increase the pressure. I felt as if everyone was watching me and they knew of my wanton night. “I am unfit to be a teacher,” I kept repeating.
Once in the classroom, I calmed down. The children had behaved themselves and hadn’t destroyed anything. Ginger was there. I wonder how she got here so fast? Probably her father’s motorcycle.
Getting into the usual rhythm of my daily obligations, I found myself laughing at my earlier self-doubt. Of course I was fit to be a teacher. Who else would’ve been so panicked for the children, if not a fit enough teacher?
It always happened this way: I would notice something was wrong, I would panic and battle ridiculous thoughts, everything would turn out all right and I’ll relax, then feel embarrassed with myself.
A couple of my students eyed me curiously, but their attention span was too short to focus more than five minutes. I brushed my hand over Ginger’s cheek, making her coo proudly to her classmates.
Walking back to my desk, I thought my gesture over and came to the conclusion that I shall not be partial in my job. It was not fair to anyone, especially not to Ginger. What kind of example was I setting?
By recess, I had decided to pay more attention to my behavior and keep it professional. And I was successful. I had managed to set the record straight by showing a bit more attention to other students, as well, which didn’t seem to upset Ginger. Hopefully, she had forgotten and didn’t take it upon herself to let everybody know how close we really were.
Thinking about it prompted a wave of sadness that threatened to spill over. What was I doing with Dawson? My job was at risk and for what? Sex? That shouldn't cost this much. Besides, I was certain of my falling in love, but his? Judging by the game he played last night, if I were more naïve, I would have said yes, he was in love, too. But, was he?
We have been upholding our initial agreement for a few weeks and I wanted more. I came to this realization this morning, feeling the pressure of being late. And the thought had stayed with me. It wasn’t one of my anxious fits, no. This was a real concern. Did he want more? Did he want me for who I was, in sickness and in health?
“What?” I blurted out. These were marriage vows. Why was I mixing vows into everything?
I went for some coffee, attempting to right my head and when I came back I welcomed the empty classroom and breathed more easily. I was safe. My fear of spilling emotions over in front of my students settled.
I decided to tidy up the room, knowing it would take my mind off some of my concerns. I was deep in a rut, focused only on picking stray toys and straightening chairs, wiping stains and clearing crumbled paper, my mind an empty space, when I felt someone’s eyes on me.
I stood and turned towards the door but almost hit my face on a familiar broad chest. I startled.
“I thought they had janitors for this job, Miss Bennett,” Dawson said, a lovely grin on his face.
I felt my core quiver at the sight and instinctively threw my hands around his neck. He didn’t complain. He took possession over my mouth and I forgot where I was. My concerns flooded back for a second, increasing the want, the need in my kiss. I wanted for him to feel them, to understand and share them. Then everything went away, like nothing was ever on my mind.
I felt him lifting me and carrying my weight over to the corner of the class, where a couch stood slumped on the polished floor. He almost tripped trying to put me down and I giggled in our kiss.
Apparently, he had found a better way. I was up again, then he turned and pushed the small roll of colored paper off the supply table, then placed me on top. His kiss turned harsh, hungry and I followed. I spread my legs and welcomed him between them, his hips grinding on me, his erection pushing against my core. The pressure
pulled a moan out of my lungs and he broke the kiss.
“Never thought you were so wild,” he said, a crooked smile on his flushed face. I didn’t understand. “How long ‘til the kids are back?” he asked and it hit me.
I pushed him away and hopped to my feet. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…I forgot.”
No excuse was enough. I turned my gaze away from him and froze. Two of my students were watching us, too nervous to step away from the door. I felt my cheeks burn and I walked to them.
“Come, kids. What’s the matter?” What’s the matter? I asked myself. What’s the matter with you?
I could hear Dawson clear his throat but I didn’t see him leave. What was it with him today?
The kids giggled and hurried to their places, looking like they had possession of the juiciest secret in town. They did.
One by one, my students came in. I tried not to fixate my eyes on the first two. I didn’t want to scare them but I hoped with all I had they would get distracted and wouldn’t tell anyone.
By the looks of things when I finally looked up from my desk, the worst had happened. The children looked interested in my person more than usual and some strained to look at the back of the class, where they must’ve been informed it all had happened. Dawson was still in the classroom.
I threw him a questioning look and he shrugged. What was it with him, again?
Incapable of waiving off the frown knitting my brows, I trailed my gaze nervously over all the children. How does one explain good conduit and that lying was wrong when I was to avoid telling the truth at all costs?
Some of the brightest ones looked like they had an idea of what went on and Ginger, the cleverest of them all, stood straight in her chair, looking slightly uncomfortable.
Poor baby, I cringed.
Another parent in my class, a very young woman, walking in, interrupted my process of coming up with something helpful to say.
“Am I late?” she inquired, looking around.
I must've been missing something. Before I could voice my questions, Dawson waved her close. “No, it’s all right. They just got in, the kiddos.”
“Oh,” she relaxed. I watched her go to the back of the room, stopping to check on her special needs kid en-route.
What was happening?
Dawson seemed to catch up with my lack of knowledge and spoke to his new companion, but loud enough for me to hear:
“The parents’ meeting should start shortly, I believe. All we need are the other parents!”
The woman laughed at his joke and made herself comfortable a bit too close to him for my taste.
“Parents’ meeting!” I almost yelled and realized I had to invite the Principal. The issue to be discussed was vaccination and freedom of choice. Unofficially, he wanted to bash anti-vaxxers and threaten them with expelling their children. Not quite the method I would’ve used, but his idea had starter from a good place. At least, I hoped it did.
Forgetting about basic manner, I walked out of the classroom, almost bumped into another parent and hurried to the Principal’s office. I was sure he’d fire me on the spot.
Lucky for me, he was too involved into a conversation that sounded like something about finances to notice my lateness. I notified him, excused myself and went back to deal with the gathering parents. I could see the ones against vaccination already riled up, ready to dispute everything that was to be said in this meeting.
Shaking the hands of parents walking by me, smiling politely, assuring them we had the best interest of their children at heart, I was secretly wishing there was a replay button for real life. It couldn't have been a worse day for political arguments.
One particular Missus held my hand longer than was customary and started a long lament about our chronic irresponsibility as a nation, as a school and as teachers. She believed God would keep her family safe from all misfortune and proceeded to list how long some of the forefathers of Christianity had lived. Her argument was, since then there were no vaccines, the reason for their prolonged lives must’ve been the fact that they didn’t immunise their children.
Hearing her tirade made my head feel like it was about to crack and I was on the brink of sending her on her way when Dawson came to the rescue. “May I steal Miss Bennett from you for a second?” he cooed at the woman who, after turning a sharp gaze at him, melted visibly and nodded.
“Thank you,” I mouthed, careful not to be heard by someone.
He smiled and took me closer to the door. We couldn’t leave the classroom because my presence was needed, but the air was less tense there and I could feel my migraine ease away.
“I’m sorry I made your day worse, baby,” he whispered, looking true to his words.
“It’s all right. I can manage it. Just don’t let me fall into this trap again. Okay?”
He was struck by my serious expression and I laughed. He shifted on his feet and I guessed that he wanted to kiss me. Too bad we had to restrain ourselves for the time being.
To settle him and because I was feeling grateful for his intervention, I reached a hand to caress his arm but, before I could touch him, he jerked his phone out of his front pocket and looked annoyed at the caller ID. He started for the door but a rather heavy man was blocking the way and he looked too involved in a conversation with the Principal to leave soon.
I frowned. Dawson looked like a cornered animal and I felt something was wrong. I stepped closer to ask him about it but I stopped in my tracks.
“Don’t ever call me on this phone again! You hear me, Rust?” I heard him say through gritted teeth. His words made me turn on my heels and look for something else to settle my mind. I really didn’t need another mystery for the day and his seemed like one I wouldn’t like one bit.
CHAPTER NINE
I grabbed my purse and checked to see if I haven’t forgotten anything. Then I looked up and saw Ginger almost ready to go. “Shall we, honey?” I asked, crossing the empty classroom and taking her extended hand.
She nodded and started to walk in step with me. In the hallway, I looked around to make sure no one saw us. For this weekend, Dawson asked me to take Ginger directly from school and I was wary to be discovered. My heart was already beating like it wanted to jump out of my chest when we were finally within a few steps of the exit.
“Miss Marigold Bennett?”
My heart skipped a beat. I always felt uneasy around my boss, especially since he had the uncomfortable habit of using my full name. It felt like I was being scolded and it was cringeworthy that he always talked like he was scolding someone.
“Yes, Mr. Deck?” I said, turning around.
“Finished for the week, then?” he inquired, eyeing suspiciously the little girl beside me.
“Yes, Sir.”
I never knew how to talk to him. You couldn’t make jokes or talk about the weather, I suspected. At least, he didn’t look like a small talk type of guy.
“And Ginger Holt?”
My mouth opened but my brain lagged behind.
“Why are you with your teacher, dear?” he asked, bending down. His voice had turned into something shrill rather than sweet. The thought that he shouldn’t be allowed by law to use his kid voice crossed my mind.
“We’re going to…”
“Her father asked me to pick her up. We live close in the same neighborhood and I thought of the girl’s best interest first, Sir,” I took over, afraid Ginger might spill the beans.
She made a scrunchy face, unhappy with my cutting in, but I squeezed her hand in an attempt to comfort her. How could I explain to her the reason behind why I was lying? Not only that I lived right next to her father, but I was to pick her up and take her to my place for the weekend. Not home. She was a clever little girl and she saw something wasn’t right with my behavior.
“We have to go. Have a nice weekend, Sir,” I said, to stop her from saying anything else. As I turned to leave, I saw Mr. Deck’s face gather to one side, in an expression that reminded me of a terrib
le cringe. I saw it in his eyes. He didn’t believe me. I didn’t think he ever believed anyone and that would pose a big problem.
I walked across the street and unlocked my car. Taking Ginger’s bag, I threw it together with mine in the back, and lifted Ginger in the front seat. Rounding the front of the car, I took my phone out and dialed Dawson. I knew he said he was busy, but I needed to tell him the principal might be suspicious. Maybe Ginger had said something to her classmates and Mr. Deck overheard. I had been almost a month already into this arrangement and he never even crossed my path, let alone asked me about Ginger.
HAWK: The Caged Kings MC Page 29
