Page 65 of The Headmistress

Lily watched the moment with wide eyes, then rose to extend a high five to Sam, who answered it mostly on instinct.

“You are my hero, teach. Absolute legend! Way to go! Happy for you. From a nerd to a heroic romantic lead who melts the Ice Queen. That’s such a trip.”

Sam and Magdalene exchanged amused glances before Magdalene chuckled out loud.

“With Sam as your mentor, is it a surprise you, too, are a fan of lesbian romance?”

However, Lily was no longer easily cowed, no matter how imposing the Headmistress looked. And Magdalene had an undeniable talent to fill the room. Her presence alone put people on notice, and notice they did. Everywhere she went, she was the absolute star of the show, the center of attention, and the main attraction of every gathering. It would have been disconcerting if Sam hadn’t been as proud, as awed and as in love as she was. How did she get this lucky? But she was definitely that. Because here stood a woman who owned every room she had ever entered, and yet she’d chosen to enter Sam’s. To announce loud and proud that she’d be spending the night with the nerdy, injured math teacher. How ridiculous. How wondrous.

Her line of overawed thoughts was interrupted by laughter, and now both Magdalene and Lily were giggling, delighting a confused and rather stunned Sam.

“Wha..”

“Ha, eloquent as always, teach. Which makes this whole thing an even bigger character development arc. Cause you obviously have to have some moves and some mad skills to get the Ice Queen, but she still falls for a total geek like this. My point was that I confess to being a lesfic reader, but for anyone to know a classic trope like Ice Queen, they have to be familiar with the genre themselves. So Headmistress, admit it!”

Magdalene just laughed at the girl’s antics.

“I plead the fifth.”

Her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose were covered in a dusting of freckles that were normally hidden behind her pristine makeup, and Sam felt her treacherous heart stutter in her chest. She knew she was staring, knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“Yeah, I think under the circumstances my offer to sleep in the corner armchair is not such a good idea. You seem to have it under control, Headmistress, even if this one doesn’t.”

Sam feigned outrage but knew she didn’t quite pull it off.

“Skedaddle, pipsqueak.”

“And there she goes, the romantic hero, in a bout of sexual frustration resorting to insults!” Lily theatrically clutched at her shirt, and with one final peal of laughter and a quick hug for the convalescent Sam, made her exit.

“Are you sexually frustrated, darling?”

Well, when Magdalene employed that particular tone, the lower octave, part gravel, part bourbon, all sex, Sam was a total goner.

“That should be illegal, Headmistress.”

“What should, Professor?” Magdalene’s fingers, some still covered in bandaids for the deeper cuts they’d endured when saving Sam, were making slow but steady work of the many buttons on the front of her own oxford shirt.

“My voice?” She came closer, placing a knee on the edge of Sam’s bed. As she leaned over, the sides of her shirt hung limply, revealing a familiar lacy ivory bra. Sam’s throat went dry.

“My lingerie?” The pencil skirt, with its little slits that showed nothing, yet enticed beyond measure, was riding up, now revealing dark grey thigh highs, and Sam tried to moisten her lips with no success.

“My kisses?” The moment those full sensuous lips descended, enveloped, gave and took in equal measure, Sam had to stop all attempts at figuring out an answer to the questions Magdalene was asking. Were those even questions? Or just a cunning tactic to render her totally powerless in the face of sensory overload?

“You make me weak.” Sam wasn’t even aware she’d spoken out loud as the kiss ended, but Magdalene just looked at her, shedding the unbuttoned shirt and wiggling out of her skirt. Sam was certain it wasn’t meant to be seductive, but rather efficient. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but choke and cough as she watched the material slide down those endless legs, revealing the masterpiece that were the thigh highs in full technicolor.

Then, instead of allowing Sam the pleasure of removing said masterpiece, Magdalene just rolled them off herself and pulled on a rather large, misshapen hoodie that looked remarkably like Sam’s worn Boston College one, which had gone missing after the Connecticut trip.

“Not to sound particularly like an idiot right now, but what’s happening?” Sam repeated her earlier uncomprehending facial expression and Magdalene, who was putting away her clothes, turned around and smiled.

“I can’t seem to keep my hands or mouth to myself where you’re concerned, Sam. And you’re injured. You need rest, I apologize for my earlier less-than-noble intentions.”

Damn. Sam pouted. How unfair was that? She certainly hadn’t intended for her words to sound like a complaint. Her professed weakness wasn’t of the faint or dizzy variety. Sam pouted some more, knowing full well that arguing would be useless. Protective Magdalene had made up her mind. And indeed a couple of minutes later, the infuriating woman emerged from the bathroom, hair pulled back, leaving her looking younger and more vulnerable, in Sam’s grey hoodie and a pair of boxer shorts.

Pout forgotten, Sam gaped.

“These are comfortable to sleep in, Sam. Stop staring, it’s not polite.”

The sheepish comment was softened by Magdalene climbing into bed behind her and spooning Sam closely.

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