Mr. Sugar

by L. D. Fox

  *

  Jason was marking term papers left behind by his predecessor when Samantha slipped into the auditorium. After Wine’s performance that morning, he couldn’t be in his office without getting a hard on. If he wanted to get any work done, then he’d have to do it here or at home.

  He heard the door swing open.

  Was it Wine? Had she come back for more?

  His hand tightened around his pen. He glanced up, shoulders tight with anticipation. Dick already starting to stir. Heart rate accelerating.

  Then he recognised Samantha’s silhouette. She was making her careful way down the stairs; he’d left the lights off again and the only light was a small circle of illumination cast by the stand lamp on his desk.

  Samantha wore a yellow full-length dress today; one of those that were cinched below the breasts and loose everywhere else. He’d never thought they were in the least bit flattering until he saw her in it.

  “Jason,” Samantha called, giving him a small wave in greeting. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Not at all, Sam. Uh, Samantha.”

  The woman smiled at him. “Sam is fine.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “It’s about Saturday.” She shrugged. “I hate to do this to you, but—”

  “Saturday?” Jason set down his pen and frowned at her. “I don’t follow.”

  Samantha drew to a halt at the edge of his podium. His lamp made Sam’s pale dress glow. She wore her auburn hair up in a bun at the back of her head, but ringlets had escaped their tight prison and framed her face. She had a wide, luscious mouth, free of any lipstick.

  “Bowling?” A faint blush stained her cheeks. “I told you about it yesterday, when you were—”

  “Oh, yes.” Jason shook his head. “I’m sorry, my head is in the clouds. It’s these damned papers.”

  Sam glanced at his table and nodded in sympathy. “Don’t I know it,” she said with a laugh. “Um… may I?” She gestured toward the desk.

  Unsure of what she wanted to do, Jason just nodded. Sam twisted and slid her ass onto the edge of his desk, drawing her right leg partly onto its surface. Jason stared at her for a second and then rushed to his feet.

  “Sam, please, take my seat.”

  “No, this is fine.” She waved him away and began running the strap of her dress through her fingertips. “This is a bit awkward, so I’m not sure…” she trailed off and grimaced slightly at him.

  Jason’s heart began to accelerate.

  What was she trying to say? Was it about him and Wine? About what happened this morning? Did she know about it? Had she walked past and heard something? Fuck, she could have walked in and he wouldn’t have known it, near the end.

  And of course, even just fucking thinking about Wine gave him a hard on. Jason squirmed in his chair, blinking furiously in an attempt to focus on Sam’s face.

  This had to stop. He couldn’t even carry on a conversation with a colleague without Wine’s wide green eyes and her raspberry lips sliding into his mind. Sliding over his dick—

  “…so I don’t know if that’s possible, but I was hoping you wouldn’t mind. You’re so quiet. Jason? Will it be a problem? Jason?”

  He snapped out of the vivid reverie of Wine’s mouth around his cock and stared at Sam, hurriedly replaying what she’d said. He’d missed too much of it.

  “I’m sorry, Sam. Could you repeat that?”

  Samantha brought a fist to her mouth and gently cleared her throat. “I shouldn’t be asking—”

  “No, please. I would love to help you in any way I can.”

  “Oh… well…” She washed her hands in her lap, looking away from him. “My car’s going to be in the shop this weekend — perfect timing, right? — and I was wondering if you could possibly—”

  “You want a lift?” Jason interrupted, voice dripping with relief. “Sure, Sam. Of course. No problem at all.”

  “It would just be on the way back. Terrence — he’s the English teacher — he lives up the road from me. He can bring me, but he’s leaving early and—”

  Jason lifted his hand. “Sam, it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  “Your… family won’t mind? Your wife, I mean?”

  “Oh.” It was Jason’s turn to look away. “I’m divorced. Although, if Kate knew, she would definitely mind.”

  When Jason looked up at Sam, her eyes were wide. She shook her head at him, as if unsure of what to make of his statement.

  “She’s a real piece of work,” Jason added.

  Sam broke into a relieved smile. It really did something to her when she smiled; her brown eyes sparkled, and a tiny dimple appeared in her cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  Sam smoothed her dress over her thigh, one hand lifting to toy with a shoulder strap. Jason could see a hint of muscle beneath the thin fabric. And then he thought of Wine’s long legs, that first day when she’d lifted her skirt without knowing he was there.

  Or perhaps knowing all along.

  He watched Sam run her hand back up the top of her thigh and absently adjust the line of her underwear through her dress. Did she wear french-cut panties like Wine? Or a thong? No, she looked like a boyleg-type of girl.

  As if he was an expert in these matters.

  Jason shook his head.

  “I owe you,” Sam said.

  Jason looked back up at her. Luckily, she was looking down at herself and not at him. He doubted she would let him drive her anywhere if she caught him checking her out a second time. Or if she could see the bulge in his jeans right now.

  “Not at all.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses with a furtive knuckle. “I’m kind of looking forward to it.”

  “You are?” Sam cocked an eyebrow at him. “Bowling? With a bunch of teachers?”

  “You forget,” Jason said. “I’m one of you.”

  Samantha laughed. She hopped off the table and clasped her hands together in front of her.

  “Thank you, Jason.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “See you around,” she said, and started up the stairs.

  Jason ran a hand through his hair.

  “Fuck, I hope not,” he whispered to himself. “You have a habit of turning up in the wrong place at just the wrong time, Sam.”

  *

  Wine didn’t show up for class for the rest of the week. It seemed — when he’d dragged up enough courage to ask — that the cheerleader rarely made an appearance at the university.

  Despite this, she had rather good grades. Maybe chemistry wasn’t that hard for her, after all.

  Just professors.

  He wondered if she’d plied her wares with any of the other male faculty. That led to a horde of dark thoughts about Wine at the end of the chancellor’s dick and he hastily ended that line of questioning before he could lose his lunch.

  By Friday, he’d almost managed to wipe the young student and her pleated skirt from his mind.

  But then he had a moment of weakness that night.

  Having looked her up in the university’s records earlier that week, worried that she might be dead or kidnapped, he’d put her cellphone number into his phone.

  Sitting alone in his apartment on Friday night, with nothing to watch because he was still waiting for his cable to be connected, Jason kept unlocking his phone every few minutes. He would open his contact and stare at Wine’s phone number.

  He’d saved her number under ‘W’, which should have been a massive, blaring warning that whatever he was considering he most definitely shouldn’t be fucking considering.

  Flashes of the epic blowjob she’d given him on Wednesday kept returning, but the memory itself was fading fast.

  He’d had whiskey again that night, glass after glass, until the phone’s screen was a blur. But her initial was always easily recognisable.

  Despite every atom of his being screaming at him not to, Jason sent the cheerleader a text.

  You okay?

  Didn’t see y
ou in class today.

  If you want to talk, I’m at—

  And then he’d paused. If he put his address in and anyone ever found her phone — or his — he would be fired. No two-ways about it.

  But he’d typed in his address anyway, thumb moving almost automatically as he pictured Wine’s breasts, squeezed so tight in that pink tank top, a shade that perfectly matched her rosy lips. He’d shuddered, remembering how she’d teased the tip of his cock with her tongue. How she’d teased him, from the moment she first saw him.

  Wine never replied to his message.

  In a way, Jason was glad. He didn’t regret what had happened, but the time he’d had away from her had brought clarity. He couldn’t do anything with her again, not if he wanted to keep his job. Not if he wanted to keep his self-respect.

  It was simple: he couldn’t bang the cheerleader. No matter how fucking badly she wanted it.

  Chapter Four: An Education in Fucking

  JASON WOKE ON SATURDAY feeling as though a massive burden had been lifted from him. He was even looking forward to bowling, as much as he despised the sport itself.

  And, unsurprisingly, he was eager to see Samantha.

  She’d brought him oatmeal cookies yesterday, saying that she’d almost eaten the whole packet by herself. Saying she would get fat if she ate everything herself. He didn’t believe a word of it, but he appreciated the gesture.

  He dressed in a golf shirt and jeans and decided not to shave. Perhaps he’d try and grow a beard this winter, who knew? Without Kate whining in his ears about his lack of personal grooming, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

  Maybe the move out here was finally starting to pay off.

  When Samantha spotted him at the bowling alley, she walked over with a wide smile on her face.

  She wasn’t wearing any make-up today. Strangely, it made her look younger and prettier. Maybe she wasn’t any good at applying cosmetics. She wore a ‘Go Beavers’ t-shirt that struggled to contain her breasts and a pair of pale capri pants that ended just below her knees.

  He’d been right: her legs were well defined; all the way from her shapely calves to her muscular thighs.

  Realising he was staring, Jason moved his eyes back to Sam’s and forced a smile onto his mouth.

  “You look… different.” His voice wasn’t as casual as he’d hoped for.

  “There aren’t any students here,” Sam said, cocking her head to the side. She held a glass of wine in her hand and, from her flushed cheeks, it probably wasn’t her first. “I swear, if I ever get another student commenting on my ass, I’ll quit.”

  Jason hastily cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine how terrible that must be.”

  She widened her eyes at him, her lips quivering as if she were suppressing a smile.

  “Don’t make it sound like that,” she scolded. “Of course I don’t mind compliments. But not if it’s inappropriate.” She took a sip of her wine. “You know what’s like.” She lifted a finger from her wine glass and pointed at him with it “You’re a handsome one. Female students must come onto you all the time.”

  “Uh—” Jason swallowed.

  “I’m so sorry.” Samantha pressed her fingers over her mouth. “I’ve had too much wine.” She began looking around, perhaps for a place to set her wine glass down.

  “No, it’s fine. I do know what you mean.” Jason glanced over at the faculty members, most of who were already engaged in a raucous game of bowling. “Where did you get that, anyway?” he asked, pointing to the glass.

  “Follow me.”

  It was impossible not to stare at her ass as she sashayed ahead of him, leading him through the bowling alley while she effortlessly sidestepped howling children.

  “Do you play?” she asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “Oh, good,” she breathed. “The last time I tried, I forgot to let go of the ball.”

  “What?”

  She glanced back at him as she emptied her wine. “I almost scored a strike,” she said with a shrug.

  Jason laughed and, after a second, Samantha joined him.

  *

  “Sssh…” Samantha hissed.

  She pressed a finger to Jason’s lips, almost missing.

  “No, but—”

  “Just five secs.” The way she slurred, it sounded as if she’d said ‘sex’. Just five sex. It sounded like fun.

  Sam swayed and Jason caught hold of her elbow to keep her up.

  “Five sex ‘s all I need.”

  Him too. Maybe six, if he was feeling adventurous.

  “My place is a mess, Sam.” Jason propped the intoxicated biology teacher against the wall and squinted at the keys in his hands. One of them had to open the front door, but which? It was like Russian roulette; except if he got it wrong Sam would — in her own words — pee her pants.

  “I don’t give a damn if you’re running a brothel in there right now.” She folded her legs together and slammed her fist into the lintel. “Faster, Jason. Please!”

  Jason chuckled and finally found the right key.

  He pushed open the door and pointed to the bathroom. In his tiny apartment, it was impossible to miss.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Samantha rushed past him and slammed the door closed.

  Jason ran a hand through his hair and glanced around his apartment. It wasn’t actually a mess; Kate had been as strict in her housekeeping as everything else. After ten years, it had rubbed off on him. There was nothing here that Sam could—

  Wine’s panties.

  He’d thrown them away, he hurriedly reminded himself.

  Then why did he have a dim memory of retrieving them from the otherwise empty trash can?

  And where the hell had he left them?

  Jason hurried over to the couch but a quick scan revealed no lacy underwear. In the kitchen, perhaps?

  No. Another dim memory had him thinking they were inside his bedroom. He’d probably stashed them in his bedside table. He seemed to remember doing that last night, after he’d texted her. After she hadn’t replied.

  He heard the toilet flush and prodded his glasses back up his nose. Jason flopped down on the couch as Samantha exited the bathroom, a relieved grin on her face.

  They’d both had way too much to drink at the bowling alley.

  He’d been worried about driving home, but it turned out she lived only a few blocks away from him. And when she’d ask him to make an emergency stop for the sake of her bladder, the closest place had been his apartment.

  Samantha adjusted the strap of her bra. It had been slipping off her shoulder the entire evening. Jason had watched her slide it back up her tanned skin more times than he could count.

  “Thank you, so much. I wouldn’t have made it home.”

  He got to his feet. “Sure.”

  She pushed away from the wall and strode up to him, a crooked smile on her lips. The red wine she’d been drinking had stained her mouth blood red. It lent her face a vintage, pin-up girl air that Jason was finding more and more sexy the longer he looked at her.

  Fuck, not this again.

  He had to get her out of here. The last thing he needed was her thinking he was some kind of pervert; first looking at her ass and then coming onto her when she was drunk. When he was drunk. Drunk? He was wasted. He’d tried matching her drink for drink, but she’d quickly pulled ahead. Maybe she’d been trying to get him drunk.

  “I should get you home,” he said.

  Samantha giggled. “Oh no,” she warned, waggling a finger at him. She sank onto the couch and rested her head back. “I shouldn’t have let you drive me this far in the first place.” She pointed at the halfway open bathroom door. “I just realised in there exactly how bloody drunk I am.” Then she pointed at him. “Which means you’re at least half as drunk as me.” Samantha shook her head emphatically. “You shouldn’t be driving in your state. It’s a miracle we made it this far.”

  Jason opened his mouth to protest, and the
n remembered running a red light and not even realising it until Samantha had stopped laughing long enough to tell him that he couldn’t drive worth shit.

  Fuck, he’d almost gotten them killed. Wasn’t that a sobering thought? And it seemed Samantha had recalled the same thing, because she suddenly sat forward and shook her head.

  “Wow,” she whispered, dragging her fingers over her cheeks. “You have coffee?”

  “Yes.” Jason snapped his fingers at her. “I do. Strong coffee.”

  Samantha chuckled as he rushed into the kitchen. He was pouring cream into their cups when he heard movement behind him. Jason turned, nearly dropping the cream when he saw Samantha hoisting herself up onto the kitchen counter behind her. She seemed surprised that he’d heard her, because she froze with a naughty grin on her face.

  “You mind?” she asked slowly.

  “No. You snuck up on me.”

  “Sorry.” She began swinging her legs under her. She’d taken off her shoes. Her toenails were free of polish, but recently manicured.

  It really sucked that he knew these things; Kate had ruined him, she really had.

  “You have a thing for feet, or something?” Samantha asked.

  Jason tore his gaze away from her feet and cleared his throat. “No! I’m so sorry. My ex-wife—” And he cut the rest of that sentence off with a sharp intake of breath.

  He turned away from her and put the cream in the fridge. Jason handed Sam her coffee, their fingers brushing as he did. She put the cup to her mouth, but didn’t drink, watching him over the rim instead.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “With? Oh.” Jason nudged his glasses back up his nose. “You know. We fell out of love, I guess.” He pointed at Samantha’s feet. “She used to go to the salon every weekend. Would rant about their prices. I eventually ended up giving her pedicures just to get her to stop whining.”

  Samantha snorted over her coffee and then looked embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s fine. I didn’t enjoy it.” He shrugged. “That bitch always managed to get me to do things I didn’t want to.”

  He took a sip of coffee, and Samantha mimicked him. Then she set her cup aside and held out both arms, beckoning him closer. He put his cup down and gave her a cautious look.