I tried to convince myself that this was innocent, but I felt like a condemned man from the moment Helen slipped into the passenger seat. I daren’t drive through town, innocent or not, so I took the long route, weaving through a maze of country lanes only to circle wide and head back towards Deerton Heath and home turf. Helen didn’t ask where we were headed. She just stared through the window at the blur of hedgerows, fingers tapping her bare knees compulsively, nervously, a gentle smile on her lips.
A straggly drift of cloud cleared, and the late afternoon sun found the car. She relaxed into the seat, eyes narrowed against the glare, eyelashes fluttering. The light kissed her hair, and the brown wisps around her face turned auburn, glowing like embers. She dared a glance in my direction, and her eyes caught mine staring back. She looked away in a heartbeat, but her smile widened and a thrill ran through me. I had to drag my attention back to the road.
I steered the car off the beaten track, and we rumbled our way across the cattle grid, where the hedgerows turned wild, with trees that stretched overhead. When the track turned to nothing but grassy dirt, I pulled the car onto the verge, parking up in my usual spot. I unclipped my seat belt and Helen mirrored me, stepping out into the country air with a cute little bounce.
She looked almost out of place here. The starkness of school uniform, pleated skirt and black socks. A taboo alone in the countryside. Her enticing loveliness heightened by nature itself.
I gestured to the fence and she accompanied meekly, her steps light.
I made easy work of the fence. A leg up and over in a flash before I beckoned Helen to follow. She looked at me from the other side, then looked down at her bare legs and the precarious modesty the pleats of her skirt offered. I felt the twitch in my groin and savoured the sight of her. A beautiful thing.
“I’ve got you,” I encouraged, and my arms were already out for her, coaxing her across.
She stepped up onto the middle rung and swung a nervous foot over, pinching the top rail between her thighs. I wanted to believe that I was only interested in steadying her as my hands reached for her waist. I wanted to believe that my body pressed itself against hers purely to ensure she didn’t lose her footing on the dismount. I wanted to believe I didn’t take a breath of her soft hair and didn’t thrill at the way she smelled of apple shampoo and innocence. I wanted to believe I wasn’t getting hard.
Her feet landed with a gentle thump, setting her onto solid ground without a hitch, but I remained still, glued to the spot with Helen’s back against my chest.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Steady?” I asked, and the question was entirely redundant, an excuse to snake my hungry fingers further around her waist. Her flesh was firm, her belly just the slightest little curve under my splayed hand.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she said, and her tone was so soft, so oblivious.
I didn’t take my hands from her, not even when she turned in my arms. Her movement made it so easy for my fingers slip inside her blazer, tight against the small of her back with nothing but her flimsy school blouse separating skin from skin. She looked up at me, and I felt her shiver. She took a little breath, and her eyes were full of nerves, her cheeks flushed.
“I… um… this place is amazing, Mr Roberts…”
So innocent.
An innocent little girl with a sketchbook full of fantasies.
“We’re not there yet,” I said, and my voice had a tremor to it. “There’s a brook, amongst the trees. Just a little walk.”
“Great.” She flashed me a sweet smile and I couldn’t take my eyes from her perfect mouth. “I can’t wait.”
But she didn’t move, and neither did I.
Here, in this place, Mr Roberts the teacher was nowhere to be seen, here I was only Mr Roberts the man, and that man was wanting.
Wanting the clammy heat between Helen Palmer’s tender thighs, wanting the hard nubs of her nipples against my palms. Wanting her tight, young *, the feel of her tongue around my cock. Wanting to hear her gasp, and whimper, and come under my fingers, the way I’d listened to her come under hers.
Mr Roberts the man wanted to taste Helen Palmer’s dirty fantasies. Every single one of them. Every single part of her.
The girl was working her way inside my very soul, and her eyes showed not the slightest hint of calculated sorcery, nor the slightest hint of the tenacious little vixen Anna had warned me against. I could feel Helen Palmer in my bones, in my veins, her soft breaths ricocheting around my brain. Yet, she seemed to have not the slightest idea. Not the slightest clue.
Innocent. The girl was innocent.
Yet her sketches were anything but.
I closed my eyes to blank out her image, and then I forced Mr Roberts the teacher back to the fore. I took my hands away, and as I did her body moved with me, just a fraction, but enough to know that her flesh wanted mine.