Teacher's Pet (25 page)

He reaches around me, seizing one of my breasts, pinching my nipple. My pussy tightens around him. I had no idea I liked it rough. But damn, do I like it.

H
e fucks
me until my hips ache and I collapse on the bed, not wanting him to stop. Dylan grabs my hair and firmly pulls, steadily increasing pressure until I rear up pressing my back to his front and he takes both of my breasts. “Rub your clit for me, baby. My hands are full.”

I’ve never done that in front of someone before, but my hands can’t obey fast enough, fingers frantically circling the swollen nub of flesh while he pounds into me from behind, kneading my breasts and stimulating my nipples.

It’s too much.

It’s just right.

I come viciously with a silent scream, unable to even exhale beneath the onslaught of sensations. Wave after wave crashes through me, and I shake with the intensity of it. Dylan’s teeth graze my neck and he shudders inside me a moment later, dragging himself slowly in and out, milking the moment for all it’s worth. Pulling me close, cock still buried inside me, he lies us down and curls around my body, nuzzling my neck as our breathing evens out.

I
can’t believe
I did it.

I had sex—amazing sex—with a stranger.

My muscles have never been this languid, and yet I’m energized. Parts of me are sore, deliciously aching, and yet I could go again. I trace my slightly tender lips. How did he get me to do all those things? I laugh silently, once. Like an orgasm fueled wind-up doll, he turned and turned me on and that was it, my mind was gone, worries were gone, all that was left was my body.

A body he made feel—

“That was amazing.” His husky voice breaks the silence a few seconds later.

I’m glad my goofy grin is safely out of his line of vision with him behind me. “
Mmm,
it was.”

He pulls out of me, making my hips twitch from the unexpected but pleasant sensation. He sits up and kisses my shoulder. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to take care of this.”

I wait until he grabs his underwear and is outside the door before moving, snatching up my bra and the cutest t-shirt that hasn’t been packed yet, and rooting around for a pair of shorts, trying to move quickly to outrun any thoughts of regret or responsibility on my way through my apartment.

I get to the bathroom just as he’s exiting, and duck under his arm. “My turn!” I firmly close the door and lean against it for a second, knowing I’m being coy, but unable to stop myself. I need a minute to myself to calm my racing heart.

What’s he going to be like now that we’ve…been together?
Stop overthinking it, Rachel
. It’s a one-night stand. The less time we spend together, the better; there’s less chance of complications that way. Besides, he’s just some tough rocker wannabe. Who cares what he thinks?

My eyes are wild in the mirror, shining like they’re lit from within. My skin’s flushed and rosy, but it makes me look like I’m gently glowing instead of blotchy and red, lips sensually puffy from his kisses. The only disaster is my hair, heading towards rat’s nest chic, but I wet my hands and finger-comb it.

What a way to get a makeover. After a few minutes, I’m ready to head back out. Time to face the music.

“What’s this?” I gesture at the sheet he’s spread out on the living room floor and covered with a few dishes.

“Hey.” He grins at me, looking way too good in just his boxer briefs. “Carpet picnic.”

“I haven’t got much in the way of food.”

“You’re telling me.” He kneels on one edge of the sheet. “Luckily, I’m king of impromptu snacking. Have a seat.”

I can’t decide how I feel about this picnic idea. On the one hand, it would be easier to deal with the after awkwardness if he went on his way. On the other hand, I don’t think I’m ready for him to leave.

The second hand wins out. I sit cross-legged opposite him on the sheet, and accept the plate he hands me. “So, what’s this?”

“Peanut butter and olive cracker sandwiches.”

“Uh.” I poke at it. “Do I get a pass?”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” His voice lowers an octave and he holds a tiny sandwich to my lips. “Open.”

Oh, boy, I learned that lesson tonight. I open my mouth to let him feed me. Salty, silky, tanginess erupts across my tongue. The cracker gives it a crunch that takes the edge off what would be an off-putting texture.

He winks and snaps into one himself.

I lick my lips. “It shouldn’t work, but it does.”

“Right?” He nods at the apartment, pretty much devoid of everything except cardboard columns. “You weren’t kidding about the boxes. He nods at the apartment, pretty much devoid of everything except cardboard columnWhen do you move, again?”

“Sunday, but the movers come Saturday to get everything. I’ll probably spend the night in a hotel by the airport.”

“You don’t seem that jazzed about it.”

“Moving universally sucks.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “But you’re moving to your dream job. I’d have thought you’d be a little…perkier.”

“It’s not my dream job.”

“So why do it?”

I slowly savor another cracker sandwich to stall for time. Talking about my new, refined life with the tattooed stranger I just slept with is surreal. Then again, he’s safer because he has no idea who anyone in the situation is, and he has no emotional stake in it—unlike Alex or my father. If I dared, I could tell him all of it.

But I don’t dare. I’m a different person tonight—with him—but not
that
different. So I stick with my stock answer. “It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.”

“I hear that. You just don’t seem like the type of person who does anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Mirth pulls at my lips. “That’s a pretty accurate assessment.” I wash my bite down with a glass of cran-grape juice that’s unexpectedly sweeter and fizzy, and throw him a questioning glance.

“Snack voodoo.” His eyes twinkle in a way that makes my stomach flutter. “I mixed a can of sprite with the juice to give it a little personality.”

“Are you a chef?”

“No.” He drags out the word, seeming amused at my guess.

“Hmm. Then tell me, Dylan-is-not-a-chef, how did you become so skilled in the art of making something from nothing?”

“Well.” He considers, and I wonder if he’s imagining opening up to me the same way I was imagining opening up to him. “I suppose I learned out of necessity. I grew up without much.”

I swallow, hard. It’s an awfully personal statement and seems more intimate than anything we’ve done. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, but his posture is tenser than before—this isn’t something he’s over. “It was just my mom and me. Dad left when I was a kid.”

I look around the room and see the evidence of my privilege all around me. Even with most of my belongings packed away, it’s evident. The number of boxes I have. The quality of this blanket we’re lying on. The apartment itself is luxury. It’s suddenly embarrassing.

“That sucks.” I don’t know what else to say. I feel off-balance having a heart-to-heart with this man. I’m afraid of what words I’ll end up sharing in return.

Or maybe I’m afraid that I won’t end up sharing anything. That I’ll let this moment pass me by without connecting.

I try again. Try giving something that is real. “I must seem like a spoiled brat. I mean, maybe I am. I never thought of myself as a greedy child, never demanded new cars or designer anything, but I always had the best anyway.”

“I’ve only known you for a short time, Rachel, but I promise that you’ve done nothing to indicate you’re either spoiled or a brat. So you have nice things. I’m guessing your parents have money? That doesn’t reflect on you.” He shifts to look at me better. “What I see of you is someone who works for what she wants, even if she doesn’t have to. If you have as much as you’re hinting at, I’m guessing you didn’t need a career. It’s admirable that you pursued one anyway.”

His voice lowers, as he grows more serious. “I also bet you’re really good at that cello of yours. With all the things that money has bought you, maybe music is the only thing you’ve found you can truly own.”

My throat is suddenly dry. How does he know me so well? This stranger who’s known me all of a couple of hours? I want to tell him how perceptive he is, how well he’s hit the nail on the head.

But the words stay silent on the tip of my tongue.

Dylan finishes off a cracker, dropping peanut butter on his thumb.

I use the opportunity to change the subject. “You have some…on your hand…”

He extends his hand toward my mouth, sticking his thumb between my lips. His lids grow heavy as I lick off the peanut butter, swirling my tongue around his knuckle like I did around his cock not too long ago.

“That mouth.” The gravel in his tone says he’s remembering the same thing. He breaks into a song, something I don’t know about doubting I kissed my mother with “that mouth”.

I have a feeling the song’s supposed to be suggestive of something. Not only do I miss the reference, but I’m too distracted by the clarity of his rich tone. It sends a jolt down my spine, curling my toes as effectively as the orgasms he gave me.

“
Y
ou have a really good voice
.”

“So does everyone nowadays.” He shrugs off my compliment as if I’ve finally found something that makes him uncomfortable.

“No, I mean, like, really good.” I’m fascinated by his sudden shyness. Also, I want to hear more. “Sing me something else.”

He digs another olive out of the jar and pops it in his mouth. “Can’t.”

“Why not? Shy?”

He crawls around the perimeter of the blanket. “My mouth is busy with other things right now.”

I swallow my bite just as his lips hit mine. Our kiss tastes like a warm, dirty martini, and even though Dylan left me completely satisfied not even half an hour ago, I want him again.

I want him inside me again.

I suck his tongue into my mouth, sighing happily when he understands my physical invitation and presses me to the floor, plunging his tongue deeper, kissing me harder. The carpet provides minimal cushioning so when he lies on top of me it’s like being embraced from both sides. He nudges my legs apart, sensuously grinding his hips in a slow, rolling motion that tips my head back.

H
e licks
and sucks his way down my neck, shaggy hair tickling my skin as he moves lower, stripping off my shirt and covering the skin beneath with kisses and caresses.

“Hold on a sec.” He abruptly stands, leaving me panting on the floor.

“Where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer as he moves the cranberry-grape juice to the coffee table. “Don’t want to lose your deposit,” he says with a wink.

“Thanks.” I’m shocked that I hadn’t even thought about the mess that could have been made. It’s exactly the kind of thing I normally fret about. Who am I with this guy?

This guy
shoots me a sexy glance. “Stay there.”

I watch every ass-flexing step he takes to my bedroom, entranced with him. Entranced with who
I am
with him. I wonder if she’s someone I could be more often. If she’s someone I could grow to like.

Dylan’s back before I have an answer.

“I believe we were going to use this.” He throws his hand out.

Something soft lands on my chest. My scarf. Oh, boy. “I’ve never actually—”

He laughs, but it’s not mean. More…adoring. “I know you haven’t. I bet there’s all kinds of interesting things you haven’t done.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “We’ve done a few of them tonight.”

“I bet we have.” He stands over me. “Hold out your hands. We’re going to do a couple more.”

I kneel, the fabric delicately sliding across my inner wrists, and before I can think of worrying that letting a stranger tie me up is a Very Bad Idea, my hands are bound in front of me.

He pulls a condom from the band of his boxers, kicks them off and slides the protection down his erection. “Stand. Now, I want you to walk to the window.”

I scramble to my feet. “What?”

He slaps my ass. “Don’t argue.”

I let out a gasp. My ass stings where he hit me, but as it dissipates it sends a hum to my lower regions. A delicious hum. So delicious, I consider not doing what he says, hoping he’ll do it again.

But I’m too eager for what he has planned. Folding my hands up so my forearms cover my nipples, I walk to the window. “What now?”

The lights go out and a moment later, his chest heats my back. “Now you look down on the street where you’ve lived, where you’ve given all these people songs of their own. And this time, instead of giving, you’re going to take.”

I lean back against him. “What am I going to take?”

My shorts and panties hit the floor.

“Whatever I give you.” He guides my hands up and hooks them behind the back of his neck, baring my breasts for the street to see—if anyone cared to look up. I suppose I’m not really exposed up here, but my breaths leave my lungs in ragged gasps.

Dylan pushes me forward until my nipples press against the cold glass, and reaches between my legs from behind, plunging two fingers deep inside me, buckling my knees.

“You like this, don’t you? I can see your face in the reflection, Rachel.” He adds his other hand, pinching my clit between two fingers.

I whimper.

“Look at yourself,” he whispers, breath hot in my ear.

My gaze obeys him, shifting focus from the street below to my face, pale and perfect in abandon, in pleasure.

“You’re so sexy.”

I am. Right now, I am, and it’s because of this man. “I want…”

“What do you want?”

“I need...”

He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and presses his hard cock against my ass. “What do you need?”

“I—”

“Rachel.” He nuzzles my neck. “Don’t be ashamed to ask for the things you need.” He abruptly takes his hands away from me, and I groan.

“Please.”

“Tell me what you need.”

Frustration borne of desire tears the words from my mouth in a demanding voice. “I need you to fuck me in front of this fucking window.”

He kicks my feet apart and nearly splits me in two with the depth of his first thrust. I cry out and pull on the scarf, wanting desperately to brace my hands on either side of the window, to push back against him to better feel every inch of his cock plunging inside, unable to do more than spread wider and moan, taking what he gives me.

“Anyone could look up and see me fucking you.”

Exhilaration and fear jolt through me, spiraling in my belly, sharpening my senses, which only makes everywhere he touches that much more sensitive. I’m hyper-aware of his hard body pressed against my soft curves.

Of his mouth, tracing patterns with his lips and breath against my neck and jaw, and the incredibly delicate skin below my ear.

Of his ten fingers digging into my hips, urging me off and on his cock to a rhythm he’s creating.

Of that cock, stretching and filling me, stroking my g-spot, weakening my knees.

Of my spine curling when everything tightens and blows out my senses with a deep orgasm wracking through my core and rippling out in a crescendo of
yes
.

He unhooks my bound hands from behind his neck and holds me tight, pressing me against the window, burying himself deep as he comes.