Forbidden: A Student Teacher Romance

by Amanda Heartley

  “It’s kind of hard to relax,” she murmured, sliding her leather desk chair slightly away on its polished wheels. “When a strange man is accosting me!”

  “I’m not accosting you,” I chuckled, turning abruptly to stare at the flashing alert window on her monitor. “I’m accosting your computer.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if I can get rid of that obnoxious sound.”

  She sat up a little, straightening so that her full breasts pressed against her silver tank top. “You can do that?”

  I shrugged. “It sounds like a simple password error.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” she said, watching me carefully. “Make that noise you heard when you walked in go away, and I’ll hire you.”

  I could hardly believe my ears. “To model?”

  She frowned, biting her lower lip before replying. “Maybe later, but for now, as my assistant.” She must have seen the doubt, bordering on disgust, that must have been showing on my face. “Starting pay is thirty-five grand,” she said. “Paid weekly, with bonuses for new models and accounts?”

  I considered the offer briefly before bending to the keyboard. It was chump change compared to a good year modeling, but it sure as hell beat washing dishes for Daisy’s!

  Fingers flying over the keys, I did a routine search of the web history until I found the automatic log-in page. Like most lazy-ass assistants, whoever had used this work station last had probably saved all their password settings. Sure enough, I found the HeadShotStorage.com log-in page—the right one—with the password saved. Once I’d logged in, I went to Settings, reset the password and used my own name for the time being.

  Turning back to her, I smiled and found her astonished face peering back at me, radiant with relief. “How…how did you do that?”

  I gave her a good once over—the kind that let a woman know she was being given a good once over. When our eyes finally met again, I flashed her my best smile.

  “Happy to tell you—” I teased, so close I could smell her exotic perfume and, I imagined, the feint whiff of desire. “—over dinner tonight.”

  Chapter 5

  Carla

  “Somehow…this isn’t what I expected when I said I’d tell you over dinner!”

  Kellan frowned, adorably, over the thin crust, veggie special from Prego’s Pizzeria around the corner. Hours after he’d walked into the reception area of Miami Models, we’d finally called it quits for the day and now we sat in my office next to the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the small tropical garden in the building’s atrium below.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not in the habit of taking my new assistants out to a fancy restaurant, Kellan.”

  “Even when they save your ass?” he grumbled around a full mouth of pizza. “Multiple times? On their first day?”

  I smiled, sipped my diet soda and tried to quench the desire that had been building all day. Kellan had—in fact—saved my ass over a dozen times. Not just with hidden passwords or firewalls, security patches or missing files, but with his mere presence.

  In addition to his physical perfection, he was the perfect foil to, as he called it, my “tight ass.” And I didn’t think he was referring to my derriere! When I’d gotten tense about a missed deadline, he made me count to ten then simply picked up the phone and rescheduled—case closed. When he’d found me scrambling to fulfill my social media quotient for the day, he quickly created an account for me on a new app that automated my tweets, posts, shares, likes and re-tweets, freeing up an hour of my day and potentially, hours every day.

  I knew I could be a hard ass, a “slave driver” as Selena often joked, a committed workaholic, but Miami Models was my baby, and I’d spent the last ten years making it happen. Saving up to rent the office, hiring the finest models, and getting the clients. I simply didn’t want to see all that go to waste.

  As a result, my social life was nil. And my sex life? Like the movie, it was literally Less Than Zero. And then, suddenly, Kellan had arrived. Long, lean, and lovely, his dashing smile and flowing pheromones had set my libido on red alert all day. Fortunately, I’d been able to work through them by keeping my mind busy on the latest task and putting my racing throttle at bay.

  Only now did I stop to rest, and in doing so, let my eyes devour Kellan’s lean, chiseled physique. He looked even more tempting as he relaxed, his legs crossed in the leather wing chair in the small sitting area overlooking the peaceful atrium. He’d finished his meal and now sat there, peering back at me. Something I’d noticed him doing all throughout the day.

  At first I’d thought it was mere curiosity, but there was more to it than that. It had been so long since I’d experienced a real roving eye, that I’d missed it at first. But now, in the thickening silence of my quiet office, there was no mistaking it.

  “Have you ever modeled?” he asked, crossing his legs and wrapping long, thick fingers around his knee.

  “Kellan,” I sighed, exasperated with his adorably boyish charm. I’d seen on his head shot that he was only twenty-three. Being over a decade older than he was, I often found myself playing the role of, slightly-irritated but not really, den mother—I did so now. “Is that some kind of a line or something?’

  His laugh was thick and rich. Hands up, he shook his head. “No, I just…you’re so beautiful, and you run a modeling agency, so I figured you must have done some time on the catwalk or in front of the camera at some point.”

  I shook my head, trying to hide the regret in my voice. “You’re very flattering but, no, I’m strictly a behind the scenes gal.”

  “Pity,” he said, his voice earnest and sincere. His blue eyes had shifted color once more, adapting to the dim light of the window seat, appearing more gray-like than blue at the moment. “You’d make a great cover model—”

  I stood, interrupting him as I paced amidst the seating cluster. “Okay big boy, time to stop this train before it leaves the station.”

  He stood up as well, taller than me by a good two or three inches and all of it lean, tight, hard-packed muscle spread tautly over his six-foot-three-inch frame.

  “What?” he asked innocently, smirking all the while. “Can’t a young gentleman compliment a beautiful lady once in a while?”

  “Not when she’s his boss, he can’t,” I pointed out. “And once in a while? Kellan, you’ve been flirting with me all day.”

  We stood irresistibly close to one another. “I can’t help it, Carla. It’s…it’s been a while for me, and I find you captivating. I’ve never been with…with…”

  “An old broad?” I finished his sentence.

  He reached out to tease a tendril of my hair and despite my best intentions, I let him. He winked. “I was going to say, redhead. And you’re not old, Carla. Just…older. There’s a lot to be said for that in a town full of teeny-boppers.”

  My heart pounded, my senses on high alert as his body crept dangerously closer. “You don’t understand,” I said, putting my hands against his chest to push him away—or so I told myself. “I have…I have a strict ‘no fraternization’ policy with my models…”

  He frowned. “That would suck,” he murmured, covering my hands with his own. “If I was a model...but I’m not, so…what’s stopping you?”

  “Shit,” I sighed when I saw the beauty of his logic. Already he was leaning in, his lips full and wet and oh, so, kissable. “Nothing, I guess…”

  His lips swallowed my words, dragging them from my open, gaping mouth and making them moot. His hands crept around to the small of my back, caressing me there in small, tight circles as he took my breath away with a smoldering, lingering kiss.

  Our bodies were sealed tight, chest to chest, my neck slightly tilted to receive his yearning, aching kiss. My sparkly, black crinkle skirt did little to shield my wet panties from the press of his crotch, warm and stiff against my lower belly.

  This was wrong, so wrong. I knew it, sensed it, yet I felt powerless to stop it. My new assistant? On his first day? A
male model? Too handsome for his own good? Too charming for mine?

  Jesus, Carla, I thought, my last sober one as he deftly slid the waistband of my skirt down over my hips. What the hell are you thinking?

  Chapter 6

  Kellan

  I made short work of her skirt, my big hands caressing the feminine curves of her generous hips before inching down the sides of her thighs. She trembled beneath my touch, still locked to my lips as she stepped out of her skirt, puddled around her ankles.

  Her blouse was next, my own hands trembling with desire as I took my time. I’d wanted this since the minute I saw her, hunched over her computer earlier that afternoon, clueless to my presence as I admired her soft, feminine beauty.

  The long dry spell I’d endured between jobs had left me vulnerable to her charms and now, a prisoner of desire. Her blouse opened, I disengaged from her lips to drag it off her shoulders and it too, joined her skirt on the floor. Her bra was black and sheer, her nipples were pressed tight against the black lace and they stiffened beneath my touch.

  “Jesus,” I murmured, almost to myself as she shivered with delight. “I could come just from touching you.”

  Her voice was hoarse, little more than a croak. “You and me both, Kellan.”

  “But I want to do more than touch you,” I confessed, quickly snapping the front clasp of her bra to reveal the perky, stiff peaks of her small, firm breasts. “I want to taste you,” I said, dragging the bra down her arms as I reached forward to lick, then suck, her hardening nipples.

  “All of you,” I growled, sinking to my knees and pressing her firm, ripe rump down on the armrest of the nearest chair. She let out a gasp as, immediately, I pressed my hungry, wet lips against the soft skin of her belly. It trembled as I pressed down, kissing in a small circle around her belly button. She murmured, chuckled, moaned, and sighed, her hands gripped the armrests on both sides of her.

  I could smell her fragrant bouquet even before I moved lower, pressing my lips against the front of her sheer black panties. I could taste her desire along the thick, unruly thatch of her ginger pubes, my big hands sliding on either side of her waist to drag her panties down and, quickly, off.

  “Kellan!” She clenched her knees, her mouth a big, round “O” shape before she scolded me. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  I placed a hand on each knee and gently pushed her thighs apart without my gaze ever leaving her eyes. “What I’ve wanted to do ever since I walked in here today, Carla.”

  “Which is?” she asked, relenting and letting him spread her legs wide so he could see the glistening dew on the inside of each thigh, to say nothing of her wet, fragrant ginger mound.

  “Eat your sweet, delicious pussy until you scream out in ecstasy!”

  I ignored her gasp of surprise and slid closer, peppering the inside of each thigh with thick, burning kisses that grew more urgent the closer I got to her pink, wet pussy. I wasted little time in letting my tongue do the talking. First, I licked the glossy mist from her satiny labia, circling her once, then twice, rasping the tip of my tongue over her swollen clit with each fervent passing.

  The longer I teased, the greedier she became, spreading her legs wider, inching closer to my face until, at last—she began to grind suggestively each time my lips lingered on her growing, throbbing clit.

  I grew bolder with each squeal, lapping at her liquor. She wrapped her thighs around my ears, they were wet and sticky like the rest of her. She wasn’t like the other, mostly young, mostly bitchy, models that I’d slept with. They treated oral sex—both giving and receiving—like a chore. Even sex for them, was something to be endured, pouting and verbal, like something they’d seen in online porn.

  Not Carla. Her aroma was sweet, her nectar free-flowing, and her clit throbbed as if she’d just plugged it in. When she came the first time I was unprepared for the massive tremor that ravaged her body—her thighs tightened around my ears, and volcanic heat rushing from her pink, glossy pussy filled my mouth instantly.

  Her murmurs grew incoherent as I gently pried her thighs loose and went back to work. She’d given up all pretenses of fighting it by then, instead leaning into me, wanting it, needing it, almost greedy for it. Sensing I had her right where I wanted her, I gave her one last lingering kiss, then lick, then rasping of my tongue before she came once more.

  Gently, tenderly, my lips wet with her juices and my tongue tender with desire, I leaned back and admired the view. She was sweaty, wanton, her eyes glazed over as her thighs continued to tremble with her latest orgasm.

  “Now aren’t you glad you hired me?” I teased, admiring the way she ground against the armrest, as if half a dozen orgasms couldn’t possibly be enough.

  “I will be,” she said, crooking a finger as I instinctively stood. “Once I taste that fat cock!”

  Carla stripped me—there was no other word for it. Yanking my shirt open and tugging on my belt. She nearly broke the zipper on my pants and drug my boxer briefs down until they sat, mid-thigh, locking me in place. I was hard—rock hard—and wet, almost as wet as she was after the luscious feast she’d given me.

  “You iced it for me,” she murmured, showing some sass as she reached out, grabbed it and drew me closer. I shivered, admiring the way she seemed to worship my glistening staff, tenderly caressing it, as if seeing one for the first time. “It’s as beautiful as the rest of you,” she said to herself, before sliding her tongue along the tip as I shivered again.

  She spoke no more but, like me, quietly got to work. I stood, silently as well, my hands on my hips, watching the way her full lips enrobed the tip, the sight of that pretty mouth and her sexy green eyes almost as overwhelming as the worshipping, adoring heat that wrapped around my veiny cock.

  And then, deeper, and deeper, Carla took me in. Her fingers gripped my hips as I felt her struggle, then relent, relax, then slide more of me in, a tender, calculated way that left me trembling with desire that suddenly washed over me.

  She seemed to sense my uprising and her fingers dug into my hips, her face clinging tightly to my glistening cock as rhythmically, I began to thrust in and out of her tight, wet lips. She seemed to sense that this would be it for the night, a feast of flesh for our first time, and embraced it with her entire mouth.

  I’d never felt anything so hot, wet, and tight before, and from the way Carla leaned into it, she had never given head so energetically before. I felt her tremble with desire even as I began to quake with the force of my approaching climax.

  “I…I…” I stammered and, saucily, she slid me from her mouth and stroked me, lazily, pointing the down stroke of my long, curved cock at her breasts. Seeing them glowing with sweat and pale in the moonlight from the atrium outside made me come almost immediately, gushing bursts of cream that iced her pale skin with a glossy drizzle and made her gasp and beam with delight.

  I was spent, my legs trembled as I turned and sat on the chair, sliding her onto my lap. She kissed me. Hard and wet—and not all of it from her own mouth, my own taste musky on her lips as I sank deeper into the leather chair.

  “Do you reward all your new employees this way?” I purred, thinking nothing of it as I nuzzled her neck, fragrant with some exotic perfume.

  Stiffening, she stood abruptly and reached for her clothes. “That reminds me,” she said, distractedly, avoiding my eyes as she dressed. “I…we…have a long day tomorrow. I’ll, uh…freshen up if you could show yourself out?”

  I sat, blinking, and realized I’d just been dismissed. I was almost grateful that Carla wasn’t the needy, clingy type, although even I was used to more than a quick “suck and so long”!

  She quickly disappeared into her office bathroom, shut the door and with the light streaming beneath it, I stood—my knees still weak from orgasm—put on my clothes and left.

  The air outside was sticky and damp—to match my skin, and dark—to match my mood.

  Chapter 7

  Carla

  “Hector, you ca
n’t do this to me!”

  I stood backstage at the Blue Regatta ballroom, models sliding in and out of exclusive active wear for the First Annual Sidelines Sports Apparel Show. The ballroom at one of South Beach’s ritziest hotels had cost me an arm and a leg alone, to say nothing of the stage and set. The other side of the curtains was dotted with oversized beach balls and lifeguard chairs, the catwalk covered in sand and lively retro beach music played over the sound system.

  The models looked stunning, all decked out in day glow gym shorts and too-tight yoga jackets, blinged to the max, spray-tanned and glowing with glitter and mohawks.

  All except Hector Alejandro, my hottest male model and the main event of this show. “Carla, I’m sorry. I got a better offer from Florida Faces and I’m on my way to the airport to audition for a commercial in LA, so…what can I tell you?”

  “How you could be such a back-stabbing, low-living, scum-sucking, egotistical, arrogant bastard, for one!” I shouted, but of course, Hector was long gone.

  Fortunately, the Beach Boys remix playing at Mach 10 in the ballroom drowned out my momentary tirade. “Trouble in paradise?” Kellan teased, drifting by and looking suitably smug after making me come more times than I could count the previous evening.

  “Come here,” I hissed conspiratorially, dragging him behind a convenient speaker where the other models, busy preening in front of makeshift vanities, couldn’t hear. “Hector just backed out.”

  His handsome face looked blank beneath his mirrored shades. “Who’s Hector?”

  I pointed at the nearest vanity, conspicuous in its emptiness. “The guy supposed to be sitting there.”

  He smiled, pretending to hand me the sleek digital tablet he’d been using to coordinate with the DJ and lighting people all morning. “Good, put me in coach.”

  “I can’t do that—”