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Author’s Note: If you’ve read my series “The Boys Next Door,” know that this story is all about lust and crossing boundaries, not romance — though there’s a definite emotional charge. Enjoy!
Liz Kowalski was exhausted. Usually, she hopped out of her car once she pulled into the high school parking lot, whether the sky was bright with early morning sunshine or still dark and sleeping. But today, she turned off the ignition, leaned her head against the open door, and closed her eyes, just for a minute, remembering how warm her bed had been.
Running the band program at a large public high school was sucking the life out of her. She’d known when she’d signed on to the job eight years ago that it would take work, a lot of work. She hadn’t bargained for just how much, or that her own desire to make the program bigger and better every year, her excitement at seeing it grow, made her job harder, not easier, because she just didn’t know when to back off.
Summers weren’t a time to recharge; they were a time to plan and run band camp. Spring break, already a very long two weeks ago, hadn’t seen her relaxing on the beach with a giant margarita in her hand, the little bikini she hadn’t worn in much too long, and a stack of inexcusably trashy novels at her side; instead, she’d spent the week with eighty kids, eight chaperones, and a busload of instruments, touring Disneyland.
Every morning, she rolled out of bed at four-thirty to stumble to the gym, take a shower, and squeeze in a round of never-ending email before leaving for work at six; every night, she went to bed at nine. Sometimes she thought the only reason she and her boyfriend, Rob, were still together after a lackluster year was that, as a trader, he kept the same damn hours, and they were both too exhausted to go out and meet anyone else.
Stretching her legs, Liz slung her bag over her shoulder and ordered herself out of the car. The April sky was deep blue, streaked with the first threads of sunlight. A light breeze ruffled her hair, but the day would be warm later. Her feet carried her across the wide parking lot, close to empty. She was always one of the first teachers at school, and she liked it that way.
Past the big front entrance, next to the stadium, Liz tugged open the door to the far wing of the school building. Her room lay at the end, soundproofed and safely away from disrupting classes with honking horns and crashing drums. Tucked inside that room was her office — private, lockable, and a place she’d considered sleeping more than once to get out of dealing with her commute.
Liz sighed and brushed her hair off her face. Once in awhile, she made an effort to get a life. But last Friday night, out with friends, had found her asleep in her gin and tonic at ten pm. The weekend before, Rob had poked her awake at some too-mellow concert a friend had given him tickets for, and she realized she’d been snoring. And the week before spring break, which was — Jesus — the last time she and Rob had had sex, it had taken an hour. Not a hot, lust-drenched, bed-banging hour, but an hour during which they’d both kept drifting off. It almost hadn’t seemed worthwhile to finish.
It was probably her own damn fault, she thought, as her teacher shoes — sensible and low enough to stand in for eight hours a day — clicked down the familiar hall to the band room. Here she was at 6:30 in the morning, ready to give her all to the day, because she didn’t know how to dial it down. Find a work-life balance. Whatever the hell that meant. Maybe she buried herself in her teaching so she wouldn’t have to look at her own life — 31, dating a guy who made her snore, bored with her friends’ gossip, ignoring the dust-covered case of her alto sax under her desk. She was supposed to inspire kids to musical heights; when was the last time she’d been on a stage? Taken a risk? Played her heart out? Or even gone to a concert that actually fit her tastes? She couldn’t picture Rob sweaty and dancing at the kind of rock shows she’d loved in college, or swigging beer in a dive bar soaked in dirty blues, or hunkered down at a table in a dim jazz lounge where the music was the point, not the background.
She stepped inside the empty band room, surveying her domain — chairs neatly set up, instruments in their lockers, awards plastering the walls — and paused by the mirror next to her office to check her lipstick. She’d be in front of kids all day; better smooth the wrinkles out of her grey pencil skirt and make sure her tailored white blouse was still tucked in. And shit — that would be an open button on her shirt, popped free right over her full breasts. Quickly, she fastened it. Get in front of a high school class like that, and no learning would happen that day, guaranteed.
Liz shook her head. The woman in the mirror looked polished, even pretty, but she barely thought about her appearance these days. The treadmill in the morning was a habit; Samsun Escort her long, toned body was a byproduct. Makeup was for looking more awake than she felt, not for amping up her large brown eyes or full lips. Five near-identical knee-length skirts, five pairs of business casual slacks, and twelve conservative button-down shirts — that summed up her work closet. At least it made getting dressed a fast proposition in the morning. She could — and pretty much did — do it in her sleep at this point: stumble out of the shower and into her clothes, blow-dry and curl her long dark hair, and run through the same makeup routine she’d done since college, all in fifteen minutes flat.
She was burnt out, no question about it, and everything had come to a head yesterday. Since spring break, the kids had been bouncing off the walls. Hormones, spring fever — she thought she’d seen it all, but this year was special. And as she’d gotten grumpier, they’d gotten crazier.
Finally, in symphonic band rehearsal yesterday, she’d stepped aside to take some pointless call from the office. When she’d turned around thirty seconds later and saw the percussionists shoving the marimba back and forth across the waxed linoleum, the trumpet section snickering over what had to be an explicit photo on someone’s phone, then looking at her blankly, like someone over thirty didn’t know what sex was, and the flutists literally falling off their chairs in hysterical giggles over who the hell knows what — she’d spun out of control. Lost her temper. Pounded the music stand in front of her and yelled that if anyone said one more word — made a single sound — for the rest of rehearsal, they’d get an automatic detention. And on top of that, they could all count on serious repercussions for their fourth quarter grades.
Her outburst had shut the students up, but she’d hated seeing the looks on their faces — some cowed, others defiant and angry. Most of them wouldn’t meet her eyes, but she’d noticed Ryan Sullivan, one of the seniors, watching her coolly from the trombone section. His blue-green gaze had caught her off-guard, but she shrugged it away. He was probably pissed about the grades; she’d seen his name on the honor roll before. Afterward, she’d massaged her temples in her office, trying to get a hold of herself in the four minutes before concert band started next period. It had not been a good day.
An envelope met her now as she walked into her office, sticking out from the endless pile of papers on her desk. Curious, she pulled it out.
The white rectangle was blank, except for her name typed across the front: Elizabeth. Not Ms. Kowalski, not Liz; Elizabeth. A faculty member must have left it for her, while the room was unlocked yesterday. Why didn’t they just use her office mailbox? Quickly, she slit the envelope, pulled out the folded paper and skimmed the opening lines.
I take you in your office. It’s where we want to fuck.
Blood rushed to her face. She snapped the paper shut and sat down hard in her chair. No. Someone — some student — had left an obscene note on her desk. She should open up her laptop, email the assistant principal immediately, bring the note down to the office, and have this situation dealt with before first period. Every so often something like this happened — Mr. Stack the history teacher got an ode to his back hair, written in bad rhyme; Mrs. Kelly the bio teacher found a pair of handcuffs in her desk with a suggestive post-it about her dominatrix abilities — and this was just another flare-up. Another kid — or group of kids — making a stupid joke, or doing it on a dare.
Slowly, she unclenched her fingers around the paper and smoothed it out on her lap.
You’ve had a long day, and you don’t think anyone else is around. You kick off your heels and roll your stockings down your long sexy legs. You don’t know I’m behind you, watching your every move, until I reach around you and start unbuttoning your shirt. You gasp, but you don’t stop me from undoing every single button, my hands brushing your full tits, until your nice tailored shirt falls on the floor. You need this right now. I know you do.
Rob? Had Rob left her a hot letter as a surprise, in what would be the sexiest move he’d made in a long time — or ever? Rolling her chair to the door, she shut it. While she was at it, she closed the blinds on her office window. Then she leaned back in her chair and began to read again.
When I unzip your tight skirt that shows every curve, you feel my hard cock pressed against your ass. I pull your lace panties down, inch by inch, over your smooth thighs. You’re moaning now, but you don’t turn around. Not even when I unhook your bra and run my hands all over your incredible tits.
Breathe. She told herself to remember to breathe. The office was suddenly twenty degrees hotter.
Your nipples are so fucking hard for me, just like I knew they would be. And your pussy is Samsun Escort Bayan beyond wet for me, just like I knew it would be. When I slide two fingers into your experienced cunt, they go in easily. You’re already so close to cumming on my hand.
This wasn’t Rob. She smacked the paper shut again. No question. This was a student. Or — Rob, pretending to be a student, in some kind of crazy hot role-play that was beyond his imagination level in a way she wouldn’t even think about. Let’s just say this is Rob, she told herself. It’s Rob, I’ll finish the letter, and then I’ll deal with reality.
You like it when I play with your clit, don’t you, Elizabeth? You’re holding onto your desk now because you can’t take all the pleasure. But I know you can take a lot more than this. And you’re going to.
A prank, that’s all. God. Her cheeks were hot. Her nipples rubbed against her bra. And yes, that would be an ache between her legs, and it was getting stronger.
You’ve been around, and you’ve had your share of cocks. You know the feel of a man’s body. And you’re so ready when my big cock parts your juicy lips and slowly penetrates your knowledgeable pussy. You can’t stop moaning as I bend you over the desk. You’re trying to thrust your gorgeous hips back at me. Just relax, baby. Let me take you for a ride.
The paper crumpled in her hand. Her head felt light. No. No way was she going to let a joke letter from some student, even if she pretended it was from Rob, send her body into overdrive, tempting her to unzip her skirt, yank down her stockings just like they’d described, reach inside her damp panties, and massage her eager clit until—
A knock on the door startled her into shoving the letter back in its envelope and tossing it on the desk behind her. Before she could croak a response, the door pushed open.
“Hi, Ms. K.” Ryan Sullivan strolled into the office.
“Sullivan.” Liz blinked and cleared her throat. Symphonic band had three Ryans, and she kept them straight with last names. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Practicing.” He nodded innocently toward the row of practice cells just outside the band room, and the instrument lockers nearby. She hadn’t heard any trombone blasts, but the rooms were sound-proof and she hadn’t exactly been paying attention. “And I have a favor to ask you.”
Inwardly, she groaned. One more task right now — it would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. And what timing. Her cheeks were probably still pink; her voice was throaty. Her pussy throbbed, moisture pooled in her panties, and her nipples were hard points. Ryan, eyeing her calmly, had to be able to see those nipples through her white blouse. Don’t think about it, she told herself. You’re the grownup here.
“I can’t make any promises.” And she hadn’t noticed how broad Ryan’s shoulders were until now, or how well he filled out his polo shirt. He was a swimmer, she remembered, and it showed. He kept his blond hair buzzed short, and— Jesus. A few pornographic words addressed to her, and she was like an animal in heat — or a horny teenager, ready to jump any eligible guy in view.
“But I really need it.” Ryan sat down at the small table near her desk, widening his blue-green eyes at her. She sighed, got up from her desk, and sat down opposite him. Normally, the puppy-dog approach didn’t work on her, but she regretted yesterday’s outburst in rehearsal. Ryan’s gaze in particular had stayed with her. She’d felt measured, and it wasn’t comfortable. “Can you write me a recommendation?”
“Sullivan, weren’t college apps due in December? It’s April.”
He leaned forward. “This is for a scholarship. Due on Friday. You support me continuing my music education, right?” He gave her a little grin. Was that the brush of his leg against hers under the table? Liz stood up.
“I support you taking care of your business on time and giving teachers plenty of notice to write you a recommendation. Sorry, Sullivan. I’m swamped and I can’t help you.”
Ryan got up too. Liz was tall, but she noticed that he stood over her as he walked to her desk. “I can see that.”
His gaze swept over the jumble of papers, and she tensed. The note was right there, folded but outside its envelope. A sigh of relief went through her when he sauntered over to her leaning bookshelves.
“You should let me clean up your office, Ms. K. I’m very organized.”
“Thanks, Sullivan,” she said drily. “I’m managing.” Just barely. Yesterday, she’d spent half an hour looking for some forms the principal had requested. She should have just taken that time to make a dent in the mess, but it would have been only that: a dent. There never was time to actually deal with the stacks of papers, the towering piles of music, the unlabeled CDs from God knows when.
“Who’s this?” He’d unearthed a small framed picture from a bursting bookshelf. Rob with his arm around her, taken a few months ago. Escort Samsun The picture had been wedged between a book of Bach chorales and a Downbeat magazine. “Your boyfriend?”
“Why are you hiding him?”
Her lips twitched. So inappropriate, she thought. Don’t laugh. But a smile slipped out anyway. “He’s shy and he doesn’t want students pawing him.” Actually, Rob wasn’t too interested in hearing the details about school. When he’d told her she needed to get a life outside of teaching, she’d answered that he needed to get a life outside of trading, and they’d agreed not to continue the argument and put on Netflix instead. “The bell’s about to ring. Go. Go to class. Get out of my hair. Out.” She shooed him toward the door, trying to send the message: I’m the adult. You’re the kid.
“I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” Ryan said over his shoulder. “You need help. Write me my recommendation and I’ll clean up your office.”
Punk. The door closed behind him before she could react. Ten minutes till first period. She sat down quickly in her chair and pressed her hands to her cheeks. Still hot. Hopefully Ryan hadn’t noticed her flushed face, or the way her heart had been pounding. Could he have written that note? The way he’d shown up right there at her door was a little uncanny. She’d seen his eyes on her during rehearsal — and not just yesterday. But that would take serious balls, leaving a note like that and then waltzing in and demanding a recommendation.
That night in her apartment, sprawled on the couch with Rob while they ate microwave pizza and watched TV, Liz tried not to think about the dirty words burning a hole in her purse. She hadn’t taken the note to the vice principal, or taken any action at all. She hadn’t allowed herself to finish reading it at school. All she’d done was tuck it next to her wallet after Ryan left her office — and told herself she’d deal with it later.
The rest of the day had gone smoothly. Symphonic band especially had been quiet. Subdued, even. She’d barely paid attention. How could a prank note have gotten her so turned on? Twelve hours later, her breasts were still warm and buzzing, heavy with desire. Her nipples ached, the tight buds pressing against her bra. And God — her pussy was slippery again, her panties moist.
Rob, oblivious, leaned forward on the couch, his eyes on the TV. Neither of them had bothered to take off their work clothes, though Liz had stripped off her stockings and pumps when she walked in the door, aware of the shiver as the nylon slid over her legs.
Rob was a nice-looking guy, Liz thought detachedly — tall, with black hair and olive skin. Like her, he dragged himself out of bed every morning to work out before the sun rose. But she’d never felt a thrill when he touched her, more a sense of comfortable convenience. She reached over to tug on his tie.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Rob blinked when Liz leaned toward him, blocking his view of the TV. It was a commercial, but still.
“You should take this off.” She began unknotting his tie, stroking his collar and neck. “Relax with me.”
“Honey, do you mind—”
His voice was muffled by her kiss. Startled, Rob put his hands on her shoulders, opening his mouth to her eager tongue. One minute they’d been sharing pizza; now Liz was nibbling him, sucking hungrily on his lower lip. When he tried to pull back, she gave his lip a good hard bite. Rob started. What had gotten into her? They had sex in bed, after they’d gotten ready and brushed their teeth. That was the way of things. The couch was for TV time, and— She was actually licking a drop of pizza sauce off his chin. Unbuttoning his oxford shirt fast, peeling the smooth fabric off his toned arms. Reaching with one hand for the remote and clicking off the TV.
“Mmmm,” she whispered. “I like the way you taste.”
“Liz, I’m exhausted,” Rob whispered. “Can we take a rain check on this?”
Absolutely not, Liz thought. “I just wanna make out with you.” She gave him a big smile. Actually, she wanted Rob to push her over the kitchen table and fuck her as hard and deep from behind as the note had said, but she’d settle for a hot teenage-style make out session. “I’ll do all the work.”
Before Rob could answer, Liz found his mouth again, jumping at the softness of his tongue touching hers. She’d never been this hot for Rob. She hadn’t been this hot in years, period. Her hands were busy pulling his white undershirt up his chest. She licked his neck and sucked on the smooth skin, hard.
“Jesus Christ, Liz,” Rob gasped. “You’re going to leave a hickey.”
“Deal with it,” she murmured, kissing her way over his collarbone.
Rob tore his gaze away from the microwave clock, away from knowing how late they’d go to sleep if they had sex now, and— God, she was grinding her soft hot crotch against his cock, through his dress slacks, again and again. Her pencil skirt was hiked up her creamy thighs. Her breasts strained at her white blouse. Her long hair was everywhere, tumbling around his face, smelling like her flowery shampoo, and now that he was letting himself feel her, his cock throbbed with a rush of excitement. His hands began to roam over her slim back.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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