Page 37 of Lesson Learned

She’s so beautiful, so playful, so fun.

So much forbidden wrapped into such a tidy little parcel. I blink and in my mind’s eye, I slam her back against the bookshelf, her legs wrapped around me as I punish her for her little tease, as I finally teach her the lesson I’ve been wanting to since day I walked in to see her sat in the front row of my class.

I remember how light she was, outside the club. How easily I lifted her, pinning her to the wall with the force of my thrusts. It would take nothing for me to hitch her up, pounding into her waiting body until every book shook loose from the crammed shelves.

A flush spreads across her throat, the colour leaking down her chest, turning her collarbones rosy, pulsing until I can sense the heat.

I imagine how warm, how welcoming the rest of her body would be. My fingers itch to creep up the pale skin of her inner thighs, to feel how drenched she is between her legs, to hear the eager sounds escaping from her throat.

The volume in her hand is in danger of falling again. Her eyes are glued to my crotch, where my imagination is being channelled into the physical reality of my hardening cock.

There’s no space for embarrassment, no regret. My lips curl as I indulge in the vision, watching her watch me, her eyes widening as she sways a little, back and forth, being charmed by a snake.

I work the book free from her loose fingers, placing it on top of the shelf behind her. While my hands are occupied, she leans across and places her palm flat against me.

My cock jumps at the touch, blood rushing in my ears in time with the pulse as he throbs.

My gaze quickly moves to the gap between the books and the shelf above. June is at the desk. The few other students are out of sight apart from one girl who’s so low in the beanbag chair near the entrance, she’ll struggle to clamber out.

“That’s inappropriate, Ms Hubbard,” I whisper in a voice designed to pierce no further than the muffling shelves beside us.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and I pinch the top of her blouse between my finger and thumb, gently gaping it open until I can see straight down to her bra. As I do so, her palm makes a few tentative motions. The subtle movements create an incredible friction, the pleasure rippling out across my body until the hairs on my forearm stand on end.

She tilts her hand, using the back of her fingers to caress me. The change creates an entirely different sensation to her palm, increasing the surface area, the ridges of her knuckles making my blood pressure rise until I see stars.

My hips tilt towards her, seeking more, encouraging her exploration. She strokes from my base all the way to the head, filling me with rapture until I have to touch her, need to stroke her hair back so I can stare into her eyes, stare at her reddening lips and the tease of her tongue flicking out to wet them.

Her hand finds a subtle rhythm, moving up and down while her nipples stiffen under her shirt, visible even through the thickness of her bra, as my hand finds her shoulder, sliding close enough for my thumb to stroke against her neck.

The door to the library bangs open, a male voice calling a greeting to the librarian, and we spring apart, both of us retreating, startled out of our immersive daydream.

I turn to the shelf, turning my back on her, gulping in air to clear my head.

My hand clenches into a fist and I drive the knuckles into my thigh muscle, focusing on the pain as I turn it, anchoring myself in the present. In the real world not the fantasy I create in my dreams.

“Sorry,” she whispers, with a light touch on my upper arm.

“You don’t…” I adjust myself so I don’t expose my arousal to everyone who might wander past before turning back to her. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

Daydreams are fine. They’re free. They’re fun.

Whatever the fuck I’m doing right now is the opposite. I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath through my nose, counting off the seconds before releasing it in a controlled exhalation. Once I repeat the effort, I find the will to raise my eyes again, to meet Paisley’s openly curious gaze.

“I am the staid old guy in charge, remember?” She smiles and some of the tightness in my chest releases. “I shouldn’t have allowed that.”

She frowns and I presume my behaviour confuses her. It confuses me, too, but that’s hardly going to be of comfort. And I mightn’t be staid, but I can feel every day of the eight year gap between us.

Because it’s not just the age. It’s the experience. It’s me being raised by people who buy and sell girls like her and never have a twinge of concern except for when their profits are down.

I should stay away for my sake, to avoid the blowback I’d get from my uncle if I managed to fuck my way out of this job. Better yet, I should stay away for her sake. Nobody deserves to get involved in my family’s particular brand of trouble.

But the moment the decision is made anew, I glance at her quizzical smile, at the crimson streaks of colour highlighting her cheekbones, and my inhibitions sag.

“Twenty-five?”

I’m so lost in thoughts of her that it takes me a second to click that she’s backtracked a few minutes, is guessing my age. “Close enough. Add a year’s experience and you’re there.”

She pulls a face. “I suppose it’s notthatold,” she drawls then chews on her bottom lip, sending another wave of desire coursing through my bloodstream, washing away my resolve.

---