Her eyes were so serious. “I would never let that happen. I’ll be so careful. I promise. I promise more than anything.”
I sighed. “What’s happening to me? Why am I even having this conversation?” I put my hands behind my head. “You should get off to lunch, and I should be a teacher, at least conserve some semblance of professional dignity.”
“You are dignified,” she smiled. “And you’re amazing, and talented, and brilliant, and enigmatic, and wonderful.” Her cheeks had a fine blush. “And hot, and the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t stop… I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting this…”
I looked beyond her to the windows, and there were a couple of kids kicking a ball around out there on the yard, nothing too major. My view of the art block corridor was clear from my desk. I’d see anyone coming long before they got close enough to see our little tryst. If we were careful.
I was out of my fucking mind.
“We shouldn’t. I shouldn’t.”
“But I… I want you… I can’t stop thinking… I want to know you’re hard…”
“Oh I’m hard, Helen. Trust me.”
Her happiness condemned me. The pleasure in her eyes broke me.
I groaned. “What do you want me to do?”
“It’s my fantasy.” She looked at the floor. “I always wanted it.”
“Wanted what?”
“To touch you.” Her eyes drifted up, and I could feel her gaze. “To feel you, and know you were excited… know you were excited about me…”
“Christ, Helen. This is crazy. Crazy, and reckless, and a strict fucking one-off. I’m serious.” I pulled out one of my hardback Picasso books and set it open on my desk. I slid a stool over. “Sit still, and keep your back to the windows. I mean it, Helen, don’t move a muscle.”
She nodded.
I took my own seat and pulled my chair in tight under the desk, holding the Picasso book up with one hand.
And with the other I took hers.
“You’d better keep talking and make this studying look convincing.”
“I can do that,” she said. “Let’s look at Guernica. I love Guernica.”
I placed her hand on the swell between my legs, and I gripped her fingers tight around my shaft through the fabric of my trousers. And I was hard for her, just like she wanted.
Too fucking hard for her.
“Satisfied?”
Her curious little fingers teased me mercilessly. “This is even better than I imagined.”
“It won’t be if we get caught.”
Her fingers worked their way inside my zip as I held my breath. She pulled my cock out, and I wished the ground would swallow us both up and take us somewhere a million times more private than this.
Her breath was on my cheek. “Can I make you come?”
“No fucking way,” I said. “Definitely not.”
She gripped me so tight. “Have you ever done this before?”
“No, Helen. I’m not in the habit of fucking my students.”
“So this is a first.”
“Yes, of course this is a first.”
Her giggle was an addictive little murmur, her pleasure intoxicating. “So, I’m teaching you dirty?”
I turned a page in the book. “You’re teaching me how to get fired.” I gripped her sweet fingers around my shaft, and controlled them, up and down slowly enough to keep my head.
“I love this… I love the way you feel…”
And I didn’t want to love it. I didn’t want to love this.
“Please wear a bra to school, Helen. I swear you’ll drive me to distraction otherwise.”
“I thought you’d like it…”
“I like it far too much.” I struggled to calm my breathing, looking between Picasso and the door and back again. “We have to stop. This is going to make me come.”
“Not yet,” she said. “Please… I don’t want to stop…”
“You’re going to make me shoot my load all over my fucking trousers.”
She shifted her knees apart on the stool, and I looked past her, to the window. Nobody was looking. “I don’t have any knickers on. I thought you might want to…”
My balls tightened in a heartbeat and my breathing turned raspy, and I was seriously close to coming, I didn’t have long, and Jenny Monkton picked the worst possible time to in the whole pissing existence of mankind to arrive in the corridor. She spotted me through the door, and I had all of about three seconds to push Helen’s hand away and compose myself before she was bursting in.
I rattled off the first words that came into my head. “You see both the horse and the bull are important symbols in Spanish culture. Some believe Picasso intended these figures as some kind of morbid ballet, showing the devastation of war in such a… brutal… fashion.”
Helen picked up the flow like a champ. “I love the hidden symbols. Some see two bulls, don’t they?”
I held the book up higher and smiled a winner of a smile at Jenny.
She held up a hand, oblivious to my torment. “Sorry to interrupt, I was just passing.” She smiled at me, and then smiled at Helen, and we both smiled back and hell knows how she didn’t see guilt written all over my face.