I lift my leg as I step, allowing the hemline to go even higher. His thumb hooks around the thin band at my hip and his other hand slips in the panties. I look up at his face, totally transformed. His mouth is slightly agape as he finds my eyes. And then a finger slips in. I let out a small coo, a gasp of breath.
This is so wrong. This is so wrong! But what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to stop this. His hand and fingers are exploring me, knowing me. And all I can do is just stand here, allowing him to do so in my own classroom. My breath is gone, totally and completely gone as his fingers push and pull and it out of my body. And I can feel myself getting wetter, my mouth building up with liquid while my folds lubricate themselves against his rough, thick hands.
He presses against my sex, finding my clit despite me standing with my legs still together. I can tell he’s done this before. I reach backwards, finding the corner of my desk. I tilt back, stretching out towards him. But he just stands there, watching my face as his hands do all the work.
And then he leans down, going to his knees. His head slips under my skirt and I can feel the messy curls of his hair against the inside of my thigh. His breath kisses where my stockings meet my skin and then I feel it traveling north to where his hands are. His lips touch where his fingers are and then his tongue appears. Soft and sensual, he peels apart my folds, finding my spot in seconds.
I let out a huge gasp and lean farther back. His mouth presses up against my bare skin, and I’m lost, totally focused on what he's doing. Every flick of his tongue sets me on fire while his breath cools me like an icy bath. Every subtle movement is just another new sensation I’ve yet to have. Every flick of his tongue just sets me back further and further under his powers.
Then, he stops. His head quickly pulls away and out from under my skirt. He grabs a piece of paper that I missed with one hand while his other flattens my hemline carefully. He coughs a few times before looking up at me with a knowing wink.
A knock and then the twist of the doorknob pulls me back to where we actually are – in my classroom, in our school. The sixth grade English teacher is standing in the doorway, looking up at us suspiciously. I quickly find my spot in all of this, saying breathlessly, “Thanks Mr. Ross. I seem to be dropping everything today.”
Melinda Peabody coughs and then speaks slowly in her usual drone. She hasn’t caught on to what just happened between us. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but, Michelle, do you happen to have a copy of the lessons on pronouns from last week? One of my tutoring students lost his.”
I run to behind my desk, a complete mess after the real spill of papers and my grabbing on for support. I pull out a packet of English lessons and find the one she’s talking about. She walks slowly into the classroom, taking in Cal with her eyebrows raised approvingly. I don’t blame her. Now that I’ve really got to see him up close, I've got to admit that he’s both imposing and handsome – the perfect combo for us teachers apparently. She eyes him once more as she thanks me, walking slowly out.
I stand awkwardly behind my desk, not even able to look up at him. I mutter under my breath, “Thanks for that”
He laughs a bit and says, “Don’t thank me. You didn’t finish.”
I can feel my cheeks turn a burnt red. God, he’s a smartass. “You know what I meant.”
He wipes his mouth with the backside of his hand, surely rubbing my juices from his face. “You know what I meant, too. But what would be the good of getting you fired? No one else would be there standing up for Maddie. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”
In this moment, I’m not sure why he’s here. I can’t think of his daughter or any student. All I want his is mouth back on my * now. I want him to finish that job, and, then, I want to teach him a lesson or two of my own.
Cal can sense I’m not feeling this, that I’m not in any position to talk about Maddie or her progress. He takes out his brown leather wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and silently writes with a purple marker a student left behind on her desk and hands it to me. It’s an address and a time.
“Let’s postpone this. This obviously ain’t the best time to get down to it.” He again winks at me as I try not to read into the double meaning. “That’s my address. Well, it’s the address to the place I manage. Come by tonight. We’ll talk, or something, some more.”
And just like that, he’s gone. He hasn’t given me more than a second to say anything in my defense or time to recover. I look down at the little shred of paper he’s given me, and I wonder if I really want to continue where we left off at.
Chapter 7: Fire Starter
CAL