Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
A couple of minutes later, I find myself parked down the street from Ivory’s house with the engine off and my attention glued to her front door. She should’ve come home by now, but all is dark beyond the front and side windows. Where the fuck is she?
I consider leaving when an orange sportbike pulls up to her curb. The rider removes the helmet, revealing black hair and a dark complexion. Black or Latino? He’s too young to be dating Lisa Westbrook. He fucking better not be Ivory’s boyfriend.
I pitch forward against the steering wheel, craning my neck as he strolls to the porch and peers in the window. He doesn’t knock on the door and instead meanders into the narrow alley between the houses and disappears around back.
My nerves tighten. Is he a family friend? A cousin? A fucking burglar? I type the bike’s license plate number in my phone, and a moment later, he emerges from the alley, puffing on a cigarette. A leg goes over the bike, helmet on, engine roars, and he’s gone without a glance in my direction.
That was weird.
I should go. I have no business here.
Thirty minutes later, I’m still telling myself that.
With each hoodlum that walks by, with every car that cruises down the street, my impatience multiplies, twisting through me with spastic fits and starts. Eleven o’clock on a school night, and she’s out there somewhere doing God knows what. I want to tie her to her bed and belt her for being so reckless. Where the hell is her mother?
This isn’t my problem. I reach for the ignition just as my phone beeps with a text message.
Deb: We still on for tonight?
When I messaged her between meetings while staring at Ivory’s tight body, I was raring to go. But now?
Me: Another time
Deb: I’ve been such a bad girl today. Spank me!
My cock doesn’t even twitch.
Deb: I can pretend to be her again.
By her, she means Joanne. Only Joanne isn’t the her that’s fucking with my head.
Me: You sound needy. The opposite of sexy.
Deb: *pouts*
Me: Also not sexy
Deb: I’m sorry, sir.
Me: You can make it up to me by moving forward on that favor I requested.
Deb: The GM guy?
Beverly Rivard’s husband, Howard, owns a chain of GM dealerships. I hear his business practices are as sleazy as his wife’s, but I’ve yet to confirm if he cheats on her. If anyone can seduce him, Deb can.
Me: Yes. Use discretion and pay attention to lighting. His face needs to be clear on the video.
Deb: Yes, sir.
Deb: I can’t change your mind about tonight?
Me: Good night, Deb.
What am I doing? Why am I here? To make sure she arrives home safely?
Fuck me, I just want to see her again. Just a glimpse before I face the emptiness of my house.
Ten minutes later, my wish materializes on the sidewalk up ahead. Even in the faint moonlight, the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, and the flare of her hips are distinguishable. Erotic. So goddamn captivating.
With my car tucked behind a truck, my whole body cants against the door panel to keep her within my sight.
Her long legs carry her toward her house, slowly, leisurely, her chin held high and shoulders relaxed. She’s not afraid here, not like she is in my classroom. How ironic given the dangerous neighborhood.
In the depraved innards of my soul, I thrill at being the thing she fears. I want to claim her apprehension, dread, and uncertainty. I want to take ownership of all of her emotions and be the sole reason she trembles and cries.
In that moment, I pretend I’m not her teacher. With my hand curled around the steering wheel and my shoulder pressed against the door, I watch a beautiful woman walk toward me. She’s strikingly exotic with her enormous eyes and long dark hair, so impossibly stunning I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from approaching her. I would pause a few feet away, hold her gaze, and let the malleable silence enfold us in an intimate cocoon. I wouldn’t need words, just her awareness of my body, my intent, and my confidence to give her what she craves.
She may not know it but she needs clearly-defined boundaries, discipline, and a man she can trust to push her beyond her comfort zone. She may not yet recognize me as that man, but she will. Then what?
Parked five houses away, I can’t focus on anything but her. What happens tomorrow when I sit beside her on the piano bench, breathing in the scent of her skin? How the fuck will I focus then?
With the engine off, the lack of air is stifling. My shirt is soaked through with sweat, the tie long-ago discarded. I’m burning up, antsy, aching for her. Horny as fuck.
She stops at the front door and unlocks it with a key from her satchel. Reaching in to flick on the interior lights, she doesn’t make it over the threshold before an orange cat races out. As it prances around her feet, throwing its body against her ankles, her words come back to me.