Page 4 of Bad Teacher
He shrugs. “No admission, no hose.”
“I think you’re forgetting that’s my hose you have.”
A devilish grin appears as he oh-so-casually hooks a thumb in his front pocket, framing the bulge of his fly with his long fingers. “That’s what I tried telling you all semester, Ms. Fox.”
My cheeks burst into flames. It has nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the unbidden image of what Devin’s “hose” looks like. Stop it, Miriam! “Fine. I’ll just fill it in the kitchen.”
“That’s not a good idea,” he calls after me. “It’s dangerous to walk on tile when you’re dripping wet.”
Turning back, I frown at him. “I’m not--”
Devin flicks the hose straight and holds his thumb partially over the opening so the cold water reaches me in a hard stream, soaking me from head to toe in the three seconds I stand frozen in shock. “You were saying?”
What is it about water fights that are instant declarations of war? Whether you’re five-years-old or fifty-five, the minute someone sprays you with water, it’s universally understood that you will retaliate.
Devin laughs, deep and hardy, and there’s no stopping my huge grin as I push the wet hair off my face. “Oh, you’re so dead, Adler.”
I charge forward, but he doesn’t bother to move. He just kinks the hose again and holds it up high, knowing I don’t have the height or strength to take it away from him. But I’m smart enough to use what I’ve learned by watching him interact with his friends to my advantage.
As soon as I reach him, I tickle his side. He shouts and brings his arm down to protect his sensitive ribs, allowing me to easily wrest the hose from his relaxed grip, open up the hose, and unleash my revenge. Devin lunges for me but I dance away, keeping the spray of water trained on him as we both laugh. I don’t maintain the upper hand for more than a few seconds, though, because Mr. Football uses his skills to take me to the ground.
What he doesn’t know is that I grew up with two All-State Wrestling Champions for brothers. After he tosses the hose away from us, I sweep his legs, shove him onto his back, and pin him in place by straddling his chest. “Ha! I win.”
But the thrill of victory is short-lived when I notice him staring at my breasts through my now-transparent tank top. I immediately scamper lower, which solves the first problem but creates one much worse. We both freeze, neither of us even daring to breathe.
I know I’m standing on the precipice of something dangerous, something forbidden. And yet I can’t bring myself to step away from the ledge. I no longer want safety. Not when I’m staring at the dark promises swimming in Devin’s eyes. I want those promises. I crave them.
Holding his gaze, I brace my hands on either side of his head and lower my hips until my full weight is settled on his huge erection. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. Large hands grip my upper thighs as he rocks his hips up to grind against my center. A tiny mewl of need escapes me. I’ve never ached to be touched so badly that it feels like it’s the only thing that exists inside me. It’s a need so strong it hurts.
But my body knows what will make it feel better. It knows who will make it better.
As though he’s afraid I’ll suddenly bolt, his grip on me tightens, his fingertips digging into my legs. My fair skin bruises easily. I can pretend this didn’t happen all I want, but my body will bear the proof of this moment. Each mark a Scarlett Letter to remind me of my transgression.
“Miriam.”
My given name on his lips sends a shudder through me. “Devin.”
“You know what you’re doing?”
“Not in the slightest.” I bite my lip nervously and search his dark eyes. “Does it matter?”
“Not in the fucking slightest.” Then he palms the back of my neck and drags me down to his mouth.
