Schooled by a Senior

by K. Webster

  After finishing up The Scarlet Letter, I felt inspired to bake. Perhaps if I sweeten up the students, they’ll like me and go easier on me. My cupcakes have worked wonders on Devon’s colleagues in the past. Surely I can figure this out with a bunch of teenagers.

  Teenager.

  The word slightly sours my belly. Arthur Banks is a teenager and a student. And I’ve been lusting over him since the moment we locked eyes. I’m no better than Devon.

  Pushing thoughts of Arthur out of my head, I throw all of my focus into making the best damn cupcakes I’ve ever made. I make the banana batter from scratch, and the house smells heavenly. The cream cheese frosting I also make homemade. These cupcakes are like my super power. Nobody is immune to how delicious they are. At one time, I’d blogged a little. Took pictures of my creations and posted my recipes. Devon shut it down practically even before it began. But while the blogging is dead, my dreams of publishing my own cookbook are not. I still type up my favorite recipes, jot down notes of how I eventually will want my pictures to look, and pin my favorite books on Pinterest so I can make sure to publish something even better.

  One day…

  Devon has long gone to bed and I know I’ll have to be up in a few hours, but the banana cupcakes still need something. I stir up some frosting and mix in red food coloring until it looks like blood. Then, I pipe fancy capital As on the cupcakes—for adultery, as the story goes. After that, I decorate each A with tiny gold sugar pearls.

  The cupcakes are perfect and coordinate with the story so well.

  A smile tugs at my lips. For once in a really long time, I’m able to feel proud of something I did.

  Tomorrow, I will finally win them all over.

  And soon I’ll be free to do as I please.

  Friday

  Today, I’m much better. Devon left me alone for the rest of the night, choosing sleep over clumsy, fumbling pawing in the middle of the night as he sometimes does after a night of drinking. Still high on excitement after baking, I sat back down at my computer and typed up a few questions for the class. And I managed to get to school on time. I’m the first one in the classroom and breathe a sigh of relief.

  Job.

  Money.

  Gone.

  By the summertime, I’ll be halfway across the country doing what I want, when I want, without that asshole dictating and ridiculing my every move.

  I’m just pulling my notebook from my bag when he walks in. Arthur Banks. He’s all swagger and barely-contained anger as he saunters into the room. His eyes bore straight ahead toward the windows where he sits and no doubt witnessed my epic fail in the parking lot on Monday. I’m a little surprised when he doesn’t greet me or even smile. I’d seen his smile a few times this week and while they are typically short, nothing but a flash, they’re still quite charming. He probably has every girl in this school falling at his feet. The fact that I’m even wondering about this has my stomach in knots. Wrong, Maise. So wrong.

  My neck heats, and I inwardly fret about my outfit. I’d chosen a long, fitted grey skirt this time so I wouldn’t accidentally flash any boys from the parking lot. And my black blouse is sleeveless and loose. I’m hoping I give a more professional impression today.

  When the class finally arrives and takes their seats, I start passing out the cupcakes I made. Everyone is excited and gushing over how cool and delicious they are. I make it to Arthur, hoping for an encouraging smile, but he’s too busy silently brooding. However, his eyes light up in surprise by the decorated cupcake. Out of everyone, I hope he enjoys them the most. Why? I don’t know…I just do. I’m dying to watch him eat the sweet treat. Even one look of his tongue darting up to lick the icing will do me in. I thumb through paperwork to distract myself. Eventually, I come across the roll sheet and actually take roll like I was supposed to every day this week and failed miserably.

  “Mandy Anderson?”

  “Here.”

  “Jordan Applewood?”

  “Here.”

  “Brady Bell.”

  “Here.”

  “Author Banks?”

  The entire class sniggers. One quick glance through the roll sheet has horror washing through me.

  “I think they made a mistake on the sheet,” I mutter mostly to myself. “They spelled your name wrong, Arthur.” My eyes lift to look at him, and his gaze is murderous. His jaw clenches in fury, and he fists both hands on his desk. “It’s spelled like Author,” I explain, my voice quivering.

  “I told you to call me Ott.” His expression is icy.

  Blinking rapidly, I attempt to drive the confusion away. “But on the sheet it’s spelled like Author, not Arthur like you’d said and I thought—”

  The roaring of laughter in the classroom silences me.

  “It’s spelled correctly, Mrs. Macmillan,” he seethes. “A-U-T.” Not Ott. His jaw clenches as cold realization washes over me. “Short for Author pronounced Arthur. Now can we move on already?” Not Arthur but Author.

  My eyes drop to the floor as I attempt to figure out what to do next. I’ve embarrassed my only ally so far, and he’s clearly angry with me. Yesterday, I was worried we’d end up doing something that would get me in trouble, and now today I’m worried he’ll throw his desk at me.

  It’s those eyes.

  Glowing green and raging.

  So much like…

  “Um, Catherine Dawson?”

  “Here.”

  I make it through the rest of the roll sheet without any trouble. The lecture goes surprisingly well, considering how educated the students are, and we plow through all of my questions. Once I’ve warned them about a quiz on Monday, they all filter out, eager to get far away from school, I presume. I, unfortunately, am in no hurry to get home again. When I glance around the room to see who’s left, I stop when my eyes lock on Author’s angry ones. I still can’t believe I butchered his name.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  And I am sorry. I remember high school. Kids could be cruel. Mispronunciation of a name was a chance for the entire class to make fun of someone without getting into trouble. It happened to me all the time. Pronounced Mazey but spelled Maise. I get it. I totally failed him.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he mutters as he stuffs his books into his bag. “And it certainly won’t be the last.”

  He stands and strides toward me with purpose. For a moment, I wish he’d go back to being the flirtatious boy who invaded my personal space all week. The brilliant man who would go far in this world.

  But today, something’s different.

  The look in his eyes is severe.

  Familiar.

  Terrifying.

  “Listen, Author,” I start with a sigh. “I’d like for us to be friends. I’m kind of green and I could use your help. Can we put the animosity behind us? I won’t make the mistake on your name again.”

  He clenches his teeth and drops his bag to the floor. I flinch when he approaches me. His eyes are narrowed, flickering with hate. I’m unsure why he’s suddenly decided he hates me, but I don’t like it. It reminds me too much of home. And home is certainly better left there.

  His body moves in front of mine until he’s towering over me. I get a whiff of his scent. Clean and masculine. Not at all boy. Most definitely man. I’ve grown so accustomed to Devon’s scent, I’m almost turned on by the scent of another. A shudder ripples through me, and I tear my gaze from his searing one.

  “Most people respect other’s personal space—ahhh!”

  His finger and thumb bite into my jaw, and he brings my face back up to his to meet his stare. “I’m not most people,” he snaps.

  My brows pinch together in confusion. “What happened between yesterday and today?”

  The anger flees for a brief moment as his eyes drop to my lips. A flutter of butterflies takes flight in my belly. I like the way he inspects my mouth like he might want to devour me.

  And this is highly inappropriate.

  “Oh my God,” I
murmur and press my palms to his chest—his very firm chest—to push him away. “If anyone saw us, I’d be fired on the spot. This looks worse than it is.”

  “Maybe it looks exactly like what it is.” He breathes against my mouth. “Maybe it looks like a teacher seducing her teenage student. Maybe it looks like you’re using your position to lure a boy into your bed. Or maybe…”

  His lips brush against mine causing me to shiver.

  “Maybe it looks like a man kissing a woman.”

  Kissing. Kissing. Kissing.

  That’s the only thought I have before his warm lips are pressing against mine. Soft but demanding. Imploring me to open my mouth to grant him access. When his large hand grips my hip, I let out a sigh. It’s just enough for him to get his tongue inside my mouth. Wet and domineering. Tasting every inch of me as if he’s been there before over and over and over again. I lose all sense of reason as Author kisses me more passionately than any other man has in my entire life.

  His other hand slips into my hair, and he does that gripping thing that has me rooted in place. My lips are under his command. My body’s on fire and needy for his touch.

  I’m a dumb, dumb woman.

  Too careless.

  Out of control.

  “We can’t do this,” I whisper and lean away from him. Everything in my body screams to wrap my arms around him. To beg him to lie me over Mrs. Lovell’s desk and fuck me until I have to go home.

  “We’re already doing this,” he says with a growl that ripples its way to my core. His words tickle their way inside me causing my heart to race and my nerves to flicker with need. “No turning back now.” I’m practically drooling with the desire to taste him again. It’s wrong but the need is overwhelming to the point I’m beginning to physically ache for more.

  His mouth is back on mine and I let him kiss me. And I let Author Banks consume me. It feels good—so damn good—to be wanted. Desired. Not treated like a possession.

  I let out a whimper when he grabs my ass, pulling me closer. I can feel his cock between us. Thick and hard. Eager. Eager for me.

  “Author,” I try again. “What if someone comes in?”

  He breaks from my lips and grabs my wrist. Then, he drags me around to the other side of the desk to where I can see the door. I let out a gasp when he pushes me down over the desk.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss out, fear lacing my voice. Not fear of him, fear of getting caught.

  “I’m giving you what you want, Mrs. Macmillan.”

  I’m about to argue and tell him otherwise, but his deft fingers are already shoving my long skirt up my thighs and over my ass. My eyes fly to the small rectangular window on the door. Nobody walks by. Not yet, anyway. But they could. At any moment. I’m pondering what sort of trouble I’ll get into when he slides my panties down my legs.

  “Author…” My heart is racing in my chest. Fear choking me to the point I can hardly find the words. “Someone will see,” I say in a shrill hiss. “This is so bad. If we get caught, I’ll be ruined and—”

  “Just relax,” he coos.

  His softly spoken words work wonders because I do exactly that. I don’t even argue when I feel the tip of his cock against my wet opening.

  “Are you wet, little turtle?”

  I let out a laugh at the name, but my eyes never leave the small window to the hallway, preparing to shove him away if someone so much as peeks inside. “Little turtle?”

  He ignores me and slowly pushes into me, causing me to cry out. My next moan is silenced as he lies on top of me and covers my mouth with his palm.

  “Shhh,” he breathes against my hair, freeing my mouth again when his hand slides away, “I want to come deep inside you before we get caught.”

  His words have their intended effect. I’m at his mercy as he fucks me against Mrs. Lovell’s desk. Her cup of pens topples to the floor with a clatter. My phone that was sitting on the edge slides right off and crashes to the floor as well. Both sounds that could draw attention of another teacher or student. I don’t care about anything aside from the way this man stretches me wider than anyone has before. I’m too focused on the fact that his free hand has circled around my hips and is massaging my clit with such expertise it’s jarring.

  My body trembles at his touch, all too eager for release at the hand of another. “What if someone sees?”

  “Let them see,” he grunts. “Let them fucking see your creamy white ass as I take you from behind.”

  His words send a quiver running through me—equal parts fear and excitement. I’ve never done anything remotely like this before, and I can’t say it doesn’t thrill me a little.

  “Ohhhh,” I whimper, my entire body thrumming with the need for release. “This feels good.”

  “Fuck yeah it does, beautiful.”

  Beautiful. My heart soars at such a silly word spoken by my student. Another shudder cripples me. Student. “This is so wrong.”

  “It doesn’t feel wrong to me,” he says with a fierce grunt, thrusting deep inside me. “Your pussy sure seems to like it.”

  I clench around his thick cock in response to his words. He’s right. Every part of me likes it.

  “Say you want this,” he hisses. His skin slaps against mine, and it echoes in the classroom.

  My eyes slam shut, the worry of getting caught momentarily forgotten, as I give into him. “I want this.” God, how I do.

  He circles and pinches and probes my clit while he bucks into me. The sensations are overwhelming. This is surreal. Like I’m watching some cheesy student-teacher porn on Showtime, except I’m the star of said porn and my co-star is quite the professional. Definitely no amateur.

  When my body shudders with a long overdue—and not at all fake like those dumb pornos—orgasm, his heat explodes into me not a second later. Our heavy breathing is the only sound in the room for several moments.

  He pulls out of me and cum runs down my inner thigh. I immediately panic.

  “You didn’t use a condom,” I blurt out.

  His palm slaps my ass, the sound echoing in the empty classroom, causing me to yelp. He then yanks up my panties and lets my skirt fall back into place before righting his wet cock back into his uniform slacks. “Yeah? So?”

  I’m saddened to see his face has gone back to being angry. Hot tears fill my eyes.

  “So? Are you clean? How do you know I’m clean? What the hell, Author?”

  He smirks, and a wave of disgust washes over me. I know that smirk. All too well. I’d been in denial, but there’s no denying that damn smirk. Before I can stop myself, I lift my hand and smack him across the cheek. Both of our eyes widen in shock at what I’d done.

  I’m about to apologize when his palm grips my throat, and he all but drags me to the blackboard. The back of my head thumps against it as he brings his face inches from mine.

  “Don’t ever fucking hit me, bitch.”

  With a growl, I try to hit him again. He snatches my wrist and smashes it against the blackboard. When I use the other to swat at him, he releases my throat and pins that one as well.

  “I’m not a bitch.”

  At this, he smiles. It’s handsome and sweet looking, but I’m still pissed.

  “You’re cute.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “An asshole who just came deep inside your greedy cunt,” he murmurs against my lips.

  I close my eyes and try to ignore the way heat pulses through me. “What’s wrong with you?”

  His laugh is harsh and cruel. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask my dad? What should I call you anyway, Mrs. Macmillan? Is Mommy okay?”

  She fucking explodes. The bitch has a full on temper tantrum but thankfully is weak. Despite her squirming and cussing and spitting, she’s still pressed against the blackboard in my grip. Still fucking mine.

  Mine to fuck with.

  Mine to tease.

  Mine to taste.

  Mine to own.

  “I hate you,” she sp
its out at me, fury making her normally pretty face fucking stunning as hell. It’s a look she doesn’t wear often, but it’s a look I could get used to. In fact, my cock is alive and raring to go once again.

  “Come on,” I snap and release her. “We’re going somewhere private. I’m not done with you.”

  She shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I’m not going anywhere with you. Do you know how sick on so many levels it is what we just did? I’m your…” Her lip wobbles as the anger fades to fright.

  “Stepmom. Get over it. You weren’t complaining when your pussy was eating my cock like it was the best goddamned meal.”

  Her body wracks with sobs and her shoulders hunch. “This is so bad. Oh my God. What am I going to do?”

  Stalking over to her, I grab her jaw forcing her to look at me. I see the flicker of need in her eyes. She likes it when I make her eyes meet mine. It’s written all over her face. Parted lips. Flaring nostrils. Wide, heated eyes. “You’re not going to do anything. You’re going to let me fuck you because you liked it. I liked it, too. Now gather your shit and let’s go. I don’t need to worry about the janitors walking in and fucking up my scholarship to Dartmouth because I fucked my stepmom teacher over a desk.”

  “Maise.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Maise. Please, just call me that.”

  She has a weird name, too.

  I don’t want to kiss her. I want to punish her. I want to spank her ass and fuck her until she begs me to stop. But, fuck, I want to kiss her, too. Her mouth was sweet and supple and so damn needy. Seems like ‘ol pops can’t keep his woman satisfied in the sack. Just the fact that I’ve fucked his wife is enough to erase a small amount of hate I’ve bore for him over the years.

  Fuck you, Dad.

  “Maze,” I murmur against her lips. “Cut the shit and let’s go already.”

  When she goes to argue, I once again kiss her despite my desire not to. My head tells me it’s stupid because she’s so goddamned addicting, but my mouth doesn’t give a shit. My mouth loves owning hers with every thrust and lick of my tongue.

  “Okay.”