Page 9 of Bad Teacher
“That, Ms. Fox, is what they call fate.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Devin, I’m new in town. I searched for local landscapers and chose the one called ABC because I’m a teacher. They call that a coincidence.”
“Tomato, Tomahto. Either way, I’m no longer your student, which means we’re just two consenting adults.”
He’s right, I know he is. Hearing him say it aloud somewhat eases my mind, but it doesn’t completely eradicate the sense that I’m a bad person for even entertaining the idea of doing more with Devin. I should chalk this afternoon up to a severe lapse in judgment from heat stroke and send him home. Legal or not, eight years is a huge gap in age when I have a masters degree plus three years of a career behind me and he hasn’t even started college.
Speaking of college... “So,” I start, hoping he doesn’t mention the sudden subject change, “what are your plans for the fall? You were accepted into Notre Dame, right? That’s really impressive, Devin. Your parents must be really proud.”
A wry smile curls a corner of his mouth. “Thanks, they are. But if it’s okay with you, I’d rather not talk about my future.”
I stop eating and put my utensils down. I haven’t eaten much, but I’m too all over the place to have much of an appetite anyway. I hate that I’ve offended him, especially after he went to all this trouble for me, regardless of his motives. “Of course, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s not that. You’re having a hard time reconciling what you want with what society says you shouldn’t. So let’s put ourselves in a bubble. The rest of the world, our age difference, the past, the future--it can all stay out there. In here, only the present is allowed. Just you, me, and the way we make each other feel.”
Devin takes my hand in his and draws slow circles above my knuckles with his thumb. They’re just circles, the simplest of shapes and completely innocent. They shouldn’t be this...sensual. He’s only touching my hand, but I swear it feels like he’s tracing lines around each of my nipples, coaxing them into hard, aching peaks.
“A bubble,” I say, struggling to keep my thoughts from misfiring, which I know they are because the bubble sounds like a damn good idea. “Pretending that for a night could work.”
“Not one night. I need more than that to do all the things I’ve fantasized for the past six months.” His thumb moves down to my first and middle fingers, probing and separating them enough to rub the juncture between. My breaths grow shallow and my lids fall to half mast. Why does this feel so good? It’s almost as if... I inhale a soft gasp. Almost as if he’s rubbing between my legs. And suddenly it feels like there’s a direct line from the web of my fingers to my throbbing clit. What he does to one, happens to the other.
“Let me stay with you while I finish the job. I’ll work hard on the landscaping for you during the day.” His voice is smooth, his words confident, like a practiced salesman handing over a pen to close a deal. “But I’ll work even harder for your body at night.”
I stop breathing when he holds my gaze and lifts my hand to his mouth. Then the tip of his tongue snakes out to lick between my fingers, and a corresponding rush of warmth soaks my panties as I mewl like a needy kitten.
“Here’s my proposal: one week. No strings. Anything goes.” His mouth quirks into that cocky grin. “What do you say, Ms. Fox? You in?”
Damn him and his handsome, smug face. He knows he has me. I tipped my hand the second his tongue made contact with it. Either I fold and walk away from the table, or I take the risk and go all in.
I always was shit at poker.
“I say it’s time you put your money where your mouth is, Mr. Adler.” I lean forward and give him a cocky grin of my own. “Show me what you got.”
