While the students finish up with their quizzes, I begin erasing the dry board and re-fill it with new notes to be taken about the dynamics of ecosystems. Boring, I know. I’m sure the students would find it more pleasurable to jab their eyeballs with sharp needles than to listen to me talk about nitrogen cycles. I’d much rather talk about the mysteries of the brain, myself. I mean, aren’t we a little fascinated by how the brain works?
Especially mine?
Now that the day is over, I’m sitting at my desk grading papers. Most everyone did well on their quizzes except for the few that are my typical fuck-ups, but I’m happy nonetheless. I’m glad to know they can behave with a sub. There’s a knock on my door as I file the last graded quiz and before I can invite in whoever it is, the door opens and Mr. Baker walks in. “Good afternoon, Ms. Knight,” he says as he takes a seat on the other side of my desk. “I’m glad to see that you’re back.”
I reply with a dry, “Thank you.” Look, it’s not that I don’t like the principal, but, well...no, no you’re right. I don’t like him. Not one bit. He’s a weasel and he’s annoying, and there’s something about him that rubs me itchy like wool on skin.
“How are you feeling, Ms. Knight? Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” he asks.
My head falls to the side as my face scrunches up. Is there anything he can do to make me more comfortable? What, do I have hemorrhoids or something? “No, sir. I’m fine, thank you. Glad to be back.”
“Good to hear.” Mr. Baker leans forward in his chair until his elbows rest on my desk. He takes my red correcting pen and begins to tap it out of rhythm on the desk, which makes my skin crawl. “I just want you to know that we’ve missed you, and we’re happy to have you back. And if there’s anything that you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
What the fuck would I need from him?
“I’m fine, thank you,” I repeat.
I want to snatch the pen from his hand and chuck it at his forehead, but when he picks up a loose paperclip from the stack of papers yet to be filed and opens up one of the ends to poke into my writing pad, I imagine slitting his throat with the blunt end of the metal.
He drops the paperclip and pushes himself out of the seat then proceeds to walk over to my side of the desk. One of his hands lands on the back of my chair while the other hand touches my shoulder, making my heart pound loud enough to fill my ears with a hollow thump, thump, thump.
What the fuck is he doing?
I stiffen when his hand on my shoulder gives it a gentle squeeze, and I hold my breath as he leans down close to my ear. “I’m glad to see you back, Ms. Knight. Please, keep in mind what I said. Anything at all, you just let me know.”
I manage a, “Mmhmm,” through a hitched breath, finally releasing it after Mr. Baker exits my room. The moment the door closes, I frantically scoop everything up off my desk and curse when I shuffle my papers, mixing them all up. Stomping my foot in anger, I reorganize the stack to its proper format of alphabetized letter grades and slip the pile into my tote bag. All I want to do is get the hell out of here. I don’t know what that was all about with Mr. Baker, but the way my heart is racing and my tummy is clenching, he’s up to no good, and I want no part of it.
I damn near run out of the school and into the parking lot toward my car, looking over my shoulder as I go, but skid to a halt when I see Jett leaning up against my car door.
Jesus Christ.
Could this day be over now? I’m not unhappy to seem him, but right now, with how my nerves are balled up in a tight twist, I don’t want to talk let alone flirt. Though, fuck, he looks delicious dressed in his suit.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Jett’s voice hums as I approach.
I give an awkward wave. “Hey.” I’m looking at him with a raised brow. Is it just me who wonders why he’s here, at my place of employment, unannounced? It’s a bit weird, right?
He gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering in my ear, “I haven’t heard from you, and I was starting to get a little worried. I’ve tried calling, but you didn’t get back to me, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Yes, the man is persistent, that’s for sure. Countless phone calls and text messages that I did not answer. Why? I didn’t know what the hell to say. I knew if I answered them he’d want to come over, and I couldn’t have him seeing my face looking like I dove head first into a rose bush. I spent a lot of time at the compound, fixing the door and making sure things were in order, just taking extra precaution because I know Jett knows where I live. If he showed up unannounced once, I was sure he would do it again. As far as I know, he didn’t, but I couldn’t risk it.
“Yep. I’m fine.” I push past him to open my car door and toss my belongings in.
“Are you avoiding me on purpose?” he asks behind me.
Oh dear lord, it’s going to be like that, huh?
The male ego is a fickle thing. When they can’t pull an orgasm out of you, they make it their life’s mission to correct what they think is broken—me being the said broken.
I turn around to face him, holding onto the top of the door for balance. Still, whether I like it or not, being in this man’s presence makes my knees wobble. “No, I’m not avoiding you on purpose,” I answer. But I have nothing else to add, because I really am avoiding him on purpose. I couldn’t possibly have seen him when my face looked like someone took a hammer to it, but I suppose that’s not a good enough excuse to not have called him back. For the first week, he called me every day, leaving messages. The second week turned into text messages every other day, and by the third week, there was only one text message and one phone call. He gave up after that, which I had mixed feelings about. I wanted to hear his voice every day, so when he left me messages, I replayed them over and over again just to listen to the smooth purr of his voice, but at the same time, I wanted to be left alone. I needed to be able to process all that happened, study my mistakes and weaknesses, and re-evaluate how I needed to proceed moving forward. I can’t have another mishap like I did with Brian Harvarti. That nearly destroyed me, let alone it’s a messy clean up. Not to mention the fact that had it been anyone other than Drew who walked in on us, or had Drew walked in a few minutes before when Brian was strapped to my table, I most likely would be in jail right now. No, I needed those three weeks to regroup and gather my thoughts and actions.
Jett smiles. “That’s funny, because it sure seems like you’ve been ignoring me.”
Is this where I have to stroke his ego? Build him up and make him think that he’s needed, but I’m going through some things that he could never understand? I’m not good with words, especially when it comes to the words that describe feelings. I really just don’t understand why anyone needs to overthink someone’s actions, or lack thereof. Which is ironic since I tend to overthink anything and everything when it pertains to me.
“I’m not ignoring you, Jett. I’m just…I’m just going through some things that I needed time to figure out on my own. That’s all.” I hope that sounded convincing, but if not, actions speak louder than words. So, I come out from the shield of my car door and take Jett’s collar between my fists, pulling his mouth to mine. Bold and forward move, I know, but sometimes drastic times call for some drastic measures. Am I right? Yes, I am.
One of Jett’s hands slip around my waist while the other comes up and lands on the back of my head, pressing my lips further into his as he slips his tongue into my mouth. I involuntarily moan, which I’m not too happy about. Why? Because I don’t want to admit that I really like this guy, and the way he kisses me makes me moan. Let me remind you that I’ve never liked anyone—well, any man that is. And when I say like, I’m not just talking in friend’s terms either. I’m talking like my head spins, my pulse quickens, my belly flops, and my clit flutters. Ugh! What the fuck is wrong with me? I sound like Jaz and Andi.
Barf.
Jett’s lips pull back from mine with a smile and he chuckles before mol
ding his mouth back over mine. I’m not amused at how he finds pleasure in my discomfort, but that doesn’t stop me from giggling along with him. Jett walks me backward until my back hits the frame of my car door, and I have to drop my hands so I don’t fall back into the seat. But he has a firm grip on my head and waist, so he’s not letting me go. He’s a good kisser, by the way, like seeing stars good, and as much as I don’t mind sucking face with him, I’d rather not be making out in the middle of the teacher’s parking lot. He’s just not leaving me a whole lot of wiggle room to free myself from him. Which means I have to press my hands against his solid chest and push into him in order to take back my lips.
I gasp in a breath and say, “We really shouldn’t be...” For a loss of words, I wave my finger between us. “You know, kissing in the teacher’s parking lot.”
He laughs. “Then let’s get out of here. Your house or mine?” Jett asks.
Is this going to be the base of this so-called relationship...sex? Maybe I should be offended, maybe I should stop overthinking it like Jaz and Andi keep saying. I mean really, what do I think that I’m really capable of having here—a relationship that could lead to marriage? Shit, that’s just downright funny. I might as well take advantage of the current situation for however long it lasts, and try to get something out of it. Here’s a man that I actually like, who seems to like me in return. So, why not see if he can give me what no one has ever been able to? I won’t hold my breath; I don’t have a whole lot of faith. Okay, I have none at all, but if I’m gonna try with anyone, I’d rather have it be with Jett. Even with all the risks involved.
Not wanting to deal with the possibility of Thomas coming home, I say, “Mine,” as I hop into my car and buckle my seatbelt. By the time I’m putting my car in drive, Jett is in his pickup following me out of the parking lot.
Look, I have no fucking clue as to what I am doing here, so I’m kind of going along with the punches, and I must say that Jett is a pretty good leader. I’m a little apprehensive on how forward I should be or if I should keep some reserve. But when he damn near attacks me the moment I park my car in the driveway and my foot exits the car, I follow his motions and practically maul him, ripping and tugging his clothes. There’s something to say about physical contact like kissing and touching. It’s kinda nice, and I really need to stop fighting it so hard.
Jett keeps our mouths connected by holding my face in his hands while my hands work the buttons of his dress shirt. When I get to his belt, I start to struggle, not being able to free it from his waist with his gun and phone still attached. He drops his hands from my face long enough to release the belt, tossing it on the floor, then shrugs off his shirt with minimal trouble before placing his hands back beneath my ears, clenching his palms to my jawline.
I want to feel the strength of his chest under my fingers, but he’s wearing a tactical body armor vest that gives him an extra solid layer. Jett drops his hands again and the sound of ripping Velcro pierces my ears.
Bingo.
That’s what I want, right there. I catch myself on a moan when my hands meet his sweaty chest. Is he sweaty because of the gear he’s wearing or is he that worked up because he’s touching me? I don’t really care, but it’s more of a turn-on to know that I’m causing him to be as hot and bothered as I am. Jesus, if he put his hand between my thighs, he’d be able to feel how soaked through my panties are.
I let my hands wander around his tight chest, down his stomach until I feel the waist of his pants, and with a few jerks of his button and zipper, I push down his pants and briefs far enough to expose his erection. But without him taking time to untie his shoes, his pants will have to remain attached to his body.
It has to be a good sign that my clit is throbbing, right? I’m so amped up that surely this time Jett will be able to hit a homerun. Though this party can’t get started if I keep my clothes on, but Jett doesn’t take the initiative, which means I have to do it myself or stand here fully clothed. At this point, what do I have to lose? I need to think like Andi, act like Jaz, and channel my inner slut. Don’t overthink.
I begin to manipulate the buttons of my cardigan and shimmy my arms out of the sleeves, but I’m wearing a dress, so I can’t lift it over my head without leaving Jett’s lips. He’s either gonna have to take me with my dress on, or he’s going to have to break contact sometime.
Our lips finally part when I gasp, and my head falls back as one of his hands gropes at my breast and he gives the mound a firm squeeze. My nipples are tingling, forming into tight buds as he palms my breast through my dress, and since he doesn’t have my lips to kiss, he trails tender kisses down my neck, taking a nibble of my collarbone.
Oh God, my skin is on fire under his touch. And that blaze ignites when he tears my dress over my head, which then makes me realize...I need to really get me some nice-looking panties. Maybe Andi’s right, I should at least attempt to not look so much like a slob. Not that what I wear to school is sloppy, but it’s not necessarily sexy either. Mid-length dresses paired with cardigans is what I consider my work uniform, if it’s not slacks and a blouse. Both pairings can be dressed up or down and it looks put together. Now on the weekends, yeah, I tend to stroll around in jeans and a hoodie with minimal makeup, but hey, that’s my comfort zone right there. And for Chrissakes, you’ll never find me wearing a piece of floss between my ass cheeks. I hate thongs...but I suppose I could find me some lacy panties with a matching bra. Ugh, I better have Andi take me shopping.
I’m standing in my boring beige bra that has no frill, because I’m bigger-busted and they don’t make too many cute bras to choose from, and my worn black granny panties. Yep, I now feel like a bum. There is nothing sexy about sporting ten-year-old underwear. And yes, they really are ten years old. What? I haven’t needed to impress anyone.
Fuck.
There Jett is, standing like a cocky SOB, completely blasé with his dick hanging out in full salute for the whole world to see, while I’m cowering in my hobo garb. “Oh my God. Don’t look at me like that,” I say, shying away from his stare, crossing my arms over my front.
He grins, soaking me in. “What are you embarrassed about?”
“You, looking at me like that.” I wave my finger around in his face. “That, right there. Stop staring at me like you’re judging me on my poor taste in under garments.”
Jett laughs. “You could wear a fuckin’ paper sack and I’d still think you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Dear lord.
The words roll off his tongue like melted chocolate off a fondue fountain. His comment might not make me feel any less like hiding behind a full-length wall, but I must admit, it eases my insecurities...slightly. I let my arms relax at my sides and straighten my torso, willing myself the courage to stand before him exposed. I will not focus on the thickness I carry around my hips and my thighs, I will not worry about the mismatched bra and panties, and I will not let my erratic beating heart deter me from what’s in front of me—a hot man with his pants lowered just enough to show off his beautiful cock.
Shitballs.
I just called it a beautiful cock. I have never, in my life, thought that cocks are beautiful, rather tools to pummel into a tiny hole hoping to set that hole on fire with sparks of an orgasm. I’m starting to think that this said orgasm doesn’t exist and people are playing me as a fool, sending me on a wild orgasm chase. But, I’m guessing this is part of my problem. Instead of releasing all my inhibitions and just going for it, I’m standing here thinking about how that beautiful cock will manage to get me off. Call me a cynical ol’ hag.
Jett takes a step closer to me and takes one of my hands, placing it around his thick shaft. His hand remains on mine as he helps guide my palm up and down his cock in long, even strokes. The soft, sensitive skin of his erection feels like smooth silk against the inside of my hand, which sends a tingle of pleasure to the apex of my thighs. Goosebumps tickle my flesh when Jett grazes the outer part of my arm, up my shoul
der, where he then latches on to the back of my neck. He pulls me into him and begins kissing me again. Our mouths work together in synchronized movements, open and closed, tongues dancing together in gentle laps.
I keep my hand pumping his cock until he grips beneath my ass cheeks with both hands and hoists me up into his arms. I hold on to his shoulders for dear life while my legs wrap around his waist, and I squeal, not expecting him to be able to carry my weight—not that I’m fat, but I have more to hold on to, if you get my drift.
I guess he has a thing for the couch because he lays me down on my sofa, but doesn’t let go of me, and I don’t let go of him. Now, if it were me and I wasn’t successful the first time, I might change things up. Maybe try the bed, up against the wall, hell...on top of the washing machine. Crank that baby up to spin cycle to add another dimension of vibrations and let ‘er rip. But what do I know? I’m just overthinking again. He’s obviously trying to redeem himself here.
I’m pressed tight against him, his pre-cum soaking through the cotton of my panties. I can feel the wetness from the fabric on my clit, and I link my ankles together so his cock is jarred further into my crotch. The head of him has my panties wedged at my entrance, but he slips a hand between us and tugs my panties to the side. It takes me a moment to realize what’s happening, that is until the pressure of his thickness expands my walls.
I drop my legs and try to scoot back on the couch, using his shoulders to push off from. “Whoa there, buddy. You’re not riding this pony bareback.”
“Shit,” he barks, falling back on his heels. “Thank God you still have your senses. You have me so fuckin’ turned on I’m all frazzled and not thinkin’ straight.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a condom, and slips it over his length as quick as his trembling hands can move. His voice quivers when he asks, “Ready?”
What Lies Beneath The Flowerbed Page 28
