Page 20 of Hot Four Teacher
“Damn,” she says. “Drinking makes you thirsty. How ironic.”
Setting her bottle down on the counter, she walks over to stand in front of me. “Now, I believe you were saying something about some orgasms.”
I can’t help but smile. “I did say that.”
“Unless you aren’t a man of your word.” She gives a wicked little grin.
“Oh, I have no doubt that I could. I wouldn’t stop until the job got done. But I don't want to do anything that you don’t really want.”
She looks up at me. “Dane, I am going to do something that I literally never do.”
Before I can ask what that is, she stands on her tiptoes and pushes her lips to mine.
It’s obvious that she doesn’t often do this. It’s not bad. In fact, I love it. But even with her being tipsy, I can feel her apprehension.
When she pulls away, I waste no time in bringing her back. I hold her face in one hand and the small of her back with the other. I can feel her instantly relax against me.
I should stop this.
She’s drunk.
I should just go home. But when she moans into my mouth, it’s like my feet are suddenly stuck in cement. I don't want to go anywhere.
I run my tongue along her lips, and she instantly opens for me. I take total control, commanding the kiss. It’s amazing.
We are both lost in the moment until she suddenly pulls back.
Before I can ask if she’s okay, she says, “I’m going to be sick.”
I figure she’s going to run to the bathroom, but there’s not enough time. Instead, she rushes to the sink and starts to hurl. Wanting to help, I stand behind her and gather her hair in my hands. To make things flow down smoother, I turn on the water.
“I am so sorry,” she says between heaves.
“You don't need to be sorry,” I assure her.
When she’s been quiet for about a minute, I grab a rag off the counter and dampen it so that she can wipe her mouth.
“I am so embarrassed,” she says.
“Don’t be.”
“That kiss was…perfect. I don’t want you to think me throwing up in any way was caused by you.”
“I know,” I tell her. “It was the rum.”
“And the Jello shots.”
Jello shots?
“Come on. Let’s get you to bed,” I say. “Where’s the bedroom?”
“Just take me to the couch,” she replies.
I begin to lead her to the living room, but she stops on the way to say, “I can’t take it anymore.”
Before I can ask what she means, I look over to see her taking off her pants. I try not to stare because I’ll seem like a pervert.
“I fucking hate jeans,” she says.
