by Pam Godwin
I suck in a shaky breath and give him what he wants. “Itchy and tight.”
“Good girl.”
The tingle between my legs grows stronger, heavier, more demanding.
He pushes his hips against mine to stop my squirming, and the hardest part of him, the part I hate most, jabs against my stomach. “Now put a name to all those feelings.”
“I don’t know.” I can’t breathe. I can’t think. “I can’t.”
“Dig deep, Ivory.”
My throat closes up.
“What do you feel when you haven’t eaten.”
“Hungry.”
His hard eyes are too close, too unsafe. “How about when you see a beautiful piano?”
“Want.”
“And when I gave you praise after your performance of Islamey?”
“Desire for more.”
“Hunger. Want. Desire. Is that what you’re feeling as I hold you against the wall?”
Is it? The aching hunger for something between my legs, my out-of-control heartbeat, and the burning need to express it, talk about it? My head is too mixed-up. Yes, he’s a beautiful man, and I hear all the girls talk about wanting to do him. And yes, I crave his appreciation for my talent and his good-girls and his warm hand on my face, but this? The length of his body against mine? Holding me immobile?
He’s just holding me. Not grabbing my boobs or thrusting between my legs. He’s giving me attention. Asking me about my feelings. Without taking.
Jesus, I do want this, from someone I can trust, from my teacher, and I shouldn’t. “I think it’s desire. And shame.” Humiliation.
He presses his lips against my forehead. “Mmm. There’s my girl.”
“I don’t want to be gagged and tied and—”
His finger falls across my mouth then returns to my back. “Not now. But you’ll think about it. The idea will consume you. Then we’ll talk about it again.”
“But you’re my teacher!”
“I said we’ll talk about it.” He leans back and rests his hands on my hips. “Where will you get the money to pay me back?”
The subject change gives me whiplash. “I’ll have it by Monday, I promise.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I close my eyes, blocking out his perceptive gaze. He knows my mom is unemployed. I’m here till seven every night and practicing at Stogie’s till eleven, so he knows I can’t work. There’s no way I can tell him I’m doing Prescott’s homework and essentially whoring myself out to pay the bills. And I don’t know why, but lying to him scares me more than him discovering the truth.
Opening my eyes, I do the only thing I can. I shake my head.
His expression hardens, and his scowl overtakes my entire world. “Let’s talk about the punishment for throwing shit at your teacher.”
He’s only inches from my face, with a frightening glare and a body twice my size. Isn’t that punishment enough?
“You have a choice. Tell me where you get your money. Or bare your ass for a spanking.”
All the blood drains from my face to my feet. There is no choice.
I flex my hands against Ivory’s waist, my entire body strumming with the thought of reddening her tight ass. But my brain screams for her to make the other choice, to tell me her secrets and steer me away from this dangerous temptation.
With the wall at her back and her gorgeous tits rising and falling against my chest, she lifts her brown eyes and whispers, “The spanking.”
Her breathy response hits me in the gut and tunnels to my groin, wrenching a guttural sound from my throat and propelling my hips into a hungry grind against hers. She gasps when she feels me. Fuck, how could she not feel me? I’ve never been this hard in my life.
This is a mistake. It’s Shreveport and Joanne and a goddamn slippery slope to ruination all over again.
I hold my body stock-still against hers, my fingers digging into her waist.
She’s not Joanne. This isn’t love or attachment. It’s not even sex. I’m in control, and her punishment is due.
Releasing her, I step back and calm my breaths.
I gave her the choice, and I’m a man of my word. “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”
Her face is a sheet of white as she pivots slowly and follows my order. The slim brown skirt cuts an erotic outline around her pert ass—much better than the black tarp thing she wore a few days ago. The swells of her cheeks are neither too big nor too small, proportioned with her narrow waist and perfect for my hands.
But the frayed hems and roughly faded material of her clothes are reminders that this isn’t just about what’s under her skirt. Beyond my hunger for discipline and pleasure, I feel this deep aching desire to provide for her in all ways.
“Don’t move.”
I back up and adjust the bulge behind my zipper. Stepping out of the alcove and into the main part of the classroom, I glance at the door. It’s still closed. There’s no lock, but the hinges will creak if it opens, giving me about five seconds before an intruder makes it through the room and around the corner.
As I head back to Ivory, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Irritated at the interruption, I consider ignoring it, but maybe it’ll distract me away from the mistake I’m about to make. I glance at the screen.
Joanne: I’m in town this weekend. I need to see you.
The hollow space around my heart clenches tightly. I pull a stick of gum from my pocket and gnash it between my molars.
The phone buzzes again.
Joanne: Need your address.
She’s persistent enough to find it, but she won’t get it from me.
And now I’m more worked up than I was thirty seconds ago.
I power the phone off, toss it on the closest desk, and return my attention to Ivory.
Hands flat against the wall and gaze on the floor, she hasn’t moved. Except her feet. They’re closer together, and her knees visibly shake below the hem of her skirt.
She knows this is improper, that we’re doing something we shouldn’t be doing. But I doubt she’s aware that the thrill in that risk, the chance of getting caught, is currently increasing her brain’s transmission of dopamine and heightening the excitement spiraling through her body.
The possibility of getting away with something so wickedly forbidden only feeds my beast and makes me hungrier.
I prowl closer. “Widen your stance.”
She slides her feet apart and tilts her head, as if listening for me. I soften my steps, forcing her to concentrate harder to track my approach.
When I reach her, I invade, pressing my arousal against her backside. Not grinding. Just letting her feel how well we fit together as I hold her against me with my hands on her hips. Her shoulders tighten around her ears, and her inhale catches in her throat.
I brush her hair to the side, trailing a finger across her nape, as I slide my cheek along hers. “Last chance to change your mind.”
Don’t change your mind.
Her words rush out on a shredded breath. “Just get it over with.”
My heart races as I shift to the right and slam my dominant hand against her ass. It’s just a warm-up strike, but she flies up on her toes and lets out a sexy squeak.
My cock swells, pulsing and trapped against my leg. My fingers tingle to touch her, to stroke and welt her flawless body. “Open your mouth.”
Her profile pinches. Then her lips part, hesitantly, her chin quivering with apprehension. So damn beautiful.
I remove the softened gum from my mouth and place it inside hers. She jerks back, but I hold her head and set the cinnamon adhesive between her molars with a swipe of my finger.
“Bite down.” I stroke her jaw as it flexes. “Good girl. Now hold it there. No screaming.”
I glide my hands down her thighs, stretching to reach bare skin. Her breathing quickens as I gather the skirt in my fists, inching it higher, higher, above her gorgeous butt and around her waist.
Goosebumps prickle beneath my hands a
s I caress the backs of her legs, the crease between her thigh and ass, and the trim of panties where they cut high on her cheeks. Hooking my fingers under the bottoms of the lacy edges, I drag the material upward, pulling the tiny scrap along her crack to expose more flesh.
Her glutes flex and twitch in my hands, and my pulse revs. She’s so soft and firm, shivery and warm. So goddamn responsive.
I want to rip her panties off for this, but a glimpse of her pussy would make it impossible to keep my dick in my pants.
Listening for the door, I step back. The sight of her ass trimmed with lace and the pull of the cotton cupping the titillating shape of her cunt threatens to buckle my knees.
“Four strikes,” I say gruffly and strengthen my voice. “Two on each cheek.”
She stares at the wall, her fingers curling against the bricks as a series of twitches ripples across her buttocks.
With a deep breath, I let my hand fly, applying more force this time, but I still hold back. The slap echoes through the room, and her body responds like a guitar string, stretching, vibrating, her vocal chords humming exquisitely. Then she settles, becoming stable and still.
A pink hand print blooms across her flesh. I massage the heated skin, and she wriggles her ass, only slightly, but it speaks volumes. She’s scared, probably terrified, but she’s not running or screaming or pushing me away. She’s rubbing her ass against my touch, ready for me to take her where I want her to go.
Stepping to the side, I fire off the next three smacks in rapid succession, each one harder than the last while alternating cheeks. She whimpers softly, bows her back, rocks her hips, raises up on her toes. And never lets go of the wall.
She likes it rough, wants to be humiliated, needs to be dominated. If she’s aware of this, she would never admit it. Probably because she’s never experienced it in the right environment with the right person.
In a classroom with her teacher…still not right. Yet here she is, hanging onto that wall, with her feet spread and ass out, because I gave her an order.
She’s made for me, to be instructed and punished and enjoyed. I want inside her with such agonizing intensity my body quakes. I want in her mouth, her cunt, and her soul. I want to rip her apart with my shaft, piece her back together, and do it all over again. Fuck, I need this girl.
And I can’t have her.
Her forehead rests against the wall, and with a heavy sigh, the tension drains from her muscles.
I crouch behind her and straighten her panties, gently rubbing the pink skin and thrilling at the way her legs tremble with each of my strokes. I adjust the skirt with the same care, kneading my fingers across her ass and thighs in a soothing motion. When I return to a standing position, I turn her to face me, my hands on her hips to steady her.
She blinks up at me, eyes unfocused, and grooves crease her forehead.
“Where did you go, gorgeous girl?”
“Somewhere deep.”
Endorphins, adrenaline, fear, and arousal make a heady cocktail, and she looks absolutely breathtaking in her discovery.
I grip her chin, lifting it higher. “The gum.”
She covers her mouth and whispers behind her fingers, “I just swallowed it.”
Next time I’ll remind her to keep it so she can pass it back to me while my tongue is between her lips.
I scoop her up, hooking arms behind her knees and back. She appears so sturdy and solid with her height, curves, and full tits, but with her cradled against my chest, she’s feather-light, barely a buck ten.
Sitting on the piano bench, I hold her sideways on my thighs and drag a finger down her arm.
She shivers and squirms in my lap, wreaking havoc on my throbbing erection. But she doesn’t scoot away from it and instead shifts to face me.
“That thing you just did with your finger?” With one arm trapped between us, she glances at the other, where it bends in her lap. “Will you do that again?”
A touch? That’s what she wants?
She wants affection.
I move my mouth an inch away from hers and steel my gaze. “Beg.”
Her chin drops, jaw clenching, but she doesn’t look away. After a heartbeat, two, three, her face relaxes, and her lips part. “Please.”
A wave of warmth circulates through me. I’m a slave to that word on her breath.
Touching my fingers to her shoulder, I trail them over her short-sleeves, down the satiny skin of her slender arm, and linger on the knuckles of her hand. When she stretches her fingers, I trace the length of them, marveling at how such fragile bones can move so ferociously over piano keys.
Her lashes flutter down, and her nostrils flare with long, deep inhales. She loves this, my hand on hers, giving her pleasure.
When her eyes open, enlarged pupils saturate the brown hues. “What else do you do?”
Christ, this girl is killing me. Her innocence, curiosity, precious submission, it’s all putty, begging to be shaped. But it’s not just that. Her authenticity and lack of privilege pinches something inside me. It makes me feel protective. Possessive. Maybe even…wishful?
“I can do many things, Ivory.” I touch the side of her face and push my hand through her thick hair, dragging fingers over her ear and cupping the back of her head. “But this situation…it’s delicate.” Sinful. Hazardous. Criminal.
I want to show you anyway.
I lean closer, so close our breaths meld.
I’ll show you while I’m buried deep in your throat.
So close our lips brush together, separate, and hover in anticipation to touch again.
I’ll show you while I’m coming against the walls of your cunt.
Her thighs clench against mine, and my heart races.
I’ll show you while I’m marking you. Owning you. Cherishing you.
I want to kiss her. I have to. Just a taste.
Tightening my hand within the tangle of her hair, I draw her to my mouth—
And stop.
Did something stir around the corner? I jerk forward and register the creaking hinges a few seconds too slow.
The petite blonde teacher from the strings department emerges around the corner just as I drop Ivory onto the bench beside me. A bitter tang floods my mouth. Did Ms. Augustin see her in my lap? She definitely saw us pulling apart.
Her beady eyes narrow, ticking back and forth between me and the student I just erotically spanked. I hold my breath.
Here’s the thing about erections. They don’t deflate just because the rest of the body is freaking the fuck out. The school could be on fire, and the damn thing will stand tall and proud like a flagpole, drawing attention at the worst possible moment.
Thankfully, the piano sits between my flag-waving boner and Ms. Augustin.
“Am I interrupting something?” Suspicion clips her tone. “It’s after seven, and I thought…”
She thought she could follow up on all those heated looks she’s been giving me in the hall, teacher’s lounge, and staff meetings all week. She thought she could swing by on a Friday night and talk her way into my bed.
“No problem,” I say casually. Andrea Augustin is a problem, one I’m prepared to resolve. “Miss Westbrook was just leaving.”
Ivory slips off the bench and walks away without looking at me. No, her attention centers on the other teacher. I can’t see her face, but she gives Ms. Augustin a wide berth, her strides stiffening as she vanishes around the corner.
“Have a good weekend, Ivory,” Andrea calls after her.
The door to the hall closes with a despondent click.
Every muscle in my body tenses to run after her, but I have to deal with this problem first.
Andrea turns back to me, hands on her hips, her tone shifting from pleasant to snarly. “What were you doing with her?”
In the faculty hierarchy, she’s technically beneath me. I’m the Director of Keyboard Studies, and she’s just a teacher. I want to use that to my advantage, but she saw what she saw. Enough to report my b
ehavior. Enough to get me fired. Or arrested.
With Ivory, I want nothing between us but the naked truth. But Andrea? All I’ll give her is the best-dressed lie. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Her arms lower to her sides, and she blinks. “You were?” Her eyes return to slits. “Why was Ivory Westbrook on your lap?”
I sigh for effect, and now that my cock has finally calmed down, I stand. “I need to gather my things. Follow me, and I’ll explain.”
As we walk to the front of the classroom, I shift close to her, closer than socially acceptable, with my arm brushing hers and my neck craned to give her the full impact of my gaze. “You know her father died? He was killed a few years back?”
“Yes. Everyone knows that.”
“Well, I didn’t.” At my desk, I pretend to shut down my laptop, and instead pull up a program and angle the back cover toward her. “She just told me about it, got a little weepy, and I comforted her.”
“In your lap?” She crosses her arms.
It’s an absurd lie, even on the fly. I’ll have to fix this the hard way.
I stalk around the desk, hands behind my back, and let my gaze roam over her body. “I know what you want, Andrea.”
She steps back, bumping into the student desk behind her, and her fingers reach up to toy with her earring. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t be coy. I’ve seen you watching me, your flirty smiles, the way you play with your hair and jewelry when I’m watching you.”
Her hand drops, and she breathes, “Emeric…”
In three strides, I close the distance, crowding her against the desk without touching her. I loosen my tie the rest of the way and slide it from my neck. If Ivory’s heard the Shreveport details, it’s likely Andrea heard as well and is thinking of it now. I wager those rumors are the reason she’s here, face blushing and hooded eyes tracking the trail of silk as I wrap it around my hand.
I put my mouth next to her ear. “You want me to tie you up.”
She sits back, her ass perching on the desk behind her. Her knees part then spread some more, welcoming the nudge of my hips.
“You want me to feed you my cock.” I roughen my voice and quicken my breaths, insinuating I want that, too.
