Teacher's Pet (21 page)

Lynn grinned back. “No more hiding.”

“No more lies.”

They kissed.

“No more terrible notes.”

He kissed her neck.

“No more fucking behind trees.”

Matthew pulled back to look at her. “I don’t know, my sweet. That was kind of hot.”

Lynn giggled. “It really was.”

“You know what else drives me crazy?” He growled in her ear. “You. You look scandalous in this shirt and your immaculate tits are calling to me.”

Lynn pulled her shirt up over her head and threw it across his tiny office, exposing her bare chest. “What, you mean these?”

Want erupted across his face and he pounced on her, sweeping her up in his frenzied passion. They fumbled across his desk, knocking over stacks of paper—“I don’t care about those anymore!”—and cups of pens—“Who the hell uses pens anymore anyway? We’ve gone digital!”—until they were both naked and his desk was clear.

Matthew pulled a condom from his wallet with a grin. “I guess I’ll need to stock up on these again, eh?”

“Can you buy them in bulk?” Lynn stole it from him and tore open the packaging with her teeth. “Perhaps you can find a Costco on your way home tonight.”

“Oh!” Matthew ran over and snapped the lock on his door. “Just in case. I don’t need a scandal quite yet. But more than that, no matter what I said, this body is for my viewing only.”

They kissed again as she rolled the condom over his erect cock. She grabbed his neck and pressed her lips to his ear.

“I don’t want any goddamn foreplay. Just fuck me, Matthew Flint, Broadway Star.”

Matthew groaned and grabbed hold of her hips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I said fuck me.”

He grabbed her arm and spun her around so they were ass-to-cock. Lynn bent over the desk and propped up on her tiptoes, shaking her ass a bit to taunt him. Matthew bit her ass and ran his tongue along the length of her swollen cunt once.

“Lubrication,” he said thickly.

“Forgiven,” Lynn gasped.

He spread her lips and pressed his tip to her opening, thrusting slowly until they fell into a rhythm. Lynn moaned so loudly, Matthew had to stop and take a deep breath. And then someone knocked on the door.

“Mr. Flint?”

It was Aria. Lynn almost died laughing. Matthew pulled her up against him, covered her mouth with his hands, and thrust his cock deep into her, all while Aria kept knocking on the door. The door window was covered with show posters, serving as their own privacy. They heard Aria try to peel them back, Matthew thrusting harder into her, his mouth muffling her moans and cries of pleasure.

Lynn couldn’t stop laughing. Between the euphoric feeling of Matthew back between her legs and the knowledge they were fucking mere feet away from her nemesis, it was almost too much. Matthew, that bad, bad man, slipped a finger between her folds and fondled her clit. Lynn had to bite down on his hand to keep from giving them away completely.

This was better than fucking in a park. Way better.

“If she doesn’t leave soon, I’m going to kill her,” Matthew grunted in her ear. He moved his hand from her mouth to her tit and squeezed. “I need to come inside you so bad.”

Lynn moaned as the rushing, vibrant fingers of an orgasm moved across her chest and inched her close to tumbling over the edge. “Fuck her, I’ll come whenever you tell me to.”

Matthew pulled out and turned her to face him. He lifted her gently and pressed her up against a wall. His cock slid right into her and he kissed her slowly, letting his tongue curl around her upper lip.

“Come with me,” he whispered. “Look at me and come with me.”

“Now?”

“I can hear someone in there!” Aria pounded on the door. “Mr. Flint, I demand to see you this instant!”

Matthew took one of her breasts in his mouth and sucked until Lynn cried out. She giggled sheepishly. “Sorry!”

He pressed their heads together and stared at her with an intense air of love. Lynn had never felt so close to anyone before, or so complete, never in her life. Even with someone banging down the door, it was still the best sex of her life.

“Matthew.” She gasped. “Matthew, I’m going to come.”

“That’s my girl,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Lynn covered his mouth with her hands, and he covered her mouth with his, and together they shook and moaned through powerful orgasms that left them sweaty and elated.

He sat her down gently and handed her a tissue from the box on the floor. They giggled happily together, quietly cleaning up and finding their clothes in the tornado-esque disaster left in his office.

Aria appeared to have given up, because all was quiet, but they still clung together and whispered. Lynn loved the closeness. She didn’t want to ever top touching him ever again, and he seemed to feel the same.

When they were certain the coast was clear, they gathered their things and closed his office.

“We need to get you a desk for your apartment,” Lynn said.

“Fuck yes we do. And you need one of those Catholic school girl outfits.”

She picked up the yardstick resting in the chalk holder of his blackboard. “Do you think you can steal this? It could be fun to use. You know, later. In case you need punished again.”

“I thought about taking home the chair I tongue fucked you in during rehearsals. Or walking off with one of the set pieces we defiled.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Could be fun to reenact one day.”

“I think I’ll settle for our super hot director.” Lynn said coyly. “He seems like a fun memento to keep.”

“As long as you actually use him, instead of putting him into a box under your bed with ticket stubs and letters and stuff, then I think I can allow that.”

She giggled. “Who does that?”

“I’ll have you know,” Matthew turned off the lights and draped his arm across her shoulders. “This was a very popular thing to do when I was in high school.”

“You’re so old.”

“You’re so perfect.”

Lynn linked fingers with him and left the school behind, finally in her own happy ending. Just when she thought the day couldn’t get any better, they passed the teacher’s parking lot. A firetruck, a tow truck, and a row of students were gathered around a Mercedes perched precariously on top of another car.

“What on earth?” Matthew pointed.

Lynn just shrugged and laughed. “I guess karma works in mysterious ways.”

“
G
reat job tonight
, everyone!” Viv, the stage manager, pushed the headset piece in her ear and fiddled with the knobs on the radio clipped to her belt. “Matthew, Rebecca, Mr. Lewis wants you both in tomorrow for an early round of rehearsals. Come prepared to work the nightmare sequence.”

Matthew gathered his things and bumped fists with Eddie, his best friend in the show. “Way to kick ass tonight, man. You certainly didn’t hold back.”

“Hell naw,” Eddie winked at him. “I’m gonna knock your ass out during the performance, don’t worry. Won’t have to act out shit.”

“Thanks.” Matthew held up a hand. “I’ll get ya back.”

“Game on, amigo.”

Matthew found Rebecca and worked out times for their morning rehearsals. As he left, it struck him, not for the first time, how fortunate he was to have landed this gig. Posters were already going up all over town, all with his name on them, and he never felt more alive than in rehearsals.

He was in a Greg Ficcus production. In-fucking-credible.

He pulled out his phone once he cleared the theater doors and sent his girlfriend a text to let her know he was free for the rest of the evening. Girlfriend. It still made him smile. On his last day at school, Lynn hid a teddy bear dressed as Shakespeare in his desk drawer.

“To cuddle when you miss me,” she’d teased.

Pinned to his ascot was a note—
Will you be my boyfriend? Check yes or no!

It made him laugh. She brought such a crazy level of joy to his life, and he still couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be with her. And now he could
really
be with her, no more sneaking around or hiding. They got to hold hands in public and make out on the subway and play ridiculous carnival games and watch movies in the park while fooling around under a picnic blanket. It was perfect. She was perfect.

Life couldn’t be more amazing. Though, once he did run into Nadia, while picking up some dry cleaning. Turns out, she fell out of the good graces of the Theater Gods and was working overnights at some sleazy diner on 9
^th
. She looked like a hot mess.

Matthew sort of felt sorry for her. Life had clearly not been kind to her over the past two years. She was a cheating whore and did him wrong, but he wasn’t heartless. He wished her the best and went on his way … and paused to text Lynn a note about how much he loved her.

It was a pretty awesome reminder of how sweet life was, even if it was at the expense of his ex-girlfriend.

Matthew stopped at a hot dog vendor for a quick bite. He knew he should avoid them, had lived in the city long enough to know better, but he loved them. It was becoming something of a tradition these days—rehearse all day, hot dog for dinner. He was slathering on the mustard when his phone rang.

Lynn’s beautiful face beamed up at him. He smiled back and swiped into the call.

“Hey beautiful!”

“Guess what!”

“You love me more than you love chocolate? Aria got pregnant? Your parents have decided they want to give me a million dollars?”

“You wish, I wish, and they still don’t know your name. My acceptance letters finally came in today!”

Matthew pumped his fist in the air. “That’s amazing, babe! Which schools?”

“A whole bunch I don’t care about and NYU!” Lynn squealed over the phone. “I’m going to be moving to Manhattan!”

“I happen to know a great apartment complex for you to check out.” Matthew dropped his voice an octave to layer it thick with innuendo. “That’s so incredible, Lynn! I’m so proud of you and can’t wait to have you here in town with me!”

“Things are finally coming together. I can’t believe it.”

“Let me take you out to celebrate tonight!”

“I thought you had rehearsal early in the morning?”

He scoffed and took a bite of hot dog. “Baby girl, did the school year prove nothing? I would stay up all night for you.”

“If you’re sure, I’ll head to the ferry now.”

“One hundred percent.” Matthew waved to the vendor and turned in the opposite direction. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Matthew.”

He whistled as he walked and finished his hot dog. He made a few phone calls to score dinner reservations, dropping Greg Ficcus’ name to bump them up the list, and swung into a flower shop to pick out the biggest bouquet of roses they had.

This was the way life should always be. It seemed impossibly real and perfect. With Lynn by his side, he knew he could do anything. And now they were going to be in the same town, unrestricted by rules and societal expectations. If someone asked him, at the beginning of the year, if he believed everything would turn out happily ever after with Lynn, he could have called them crazy.

He sat on a park bench and waited for his love to join him in the city that never slept. Maybe tonight he would take her back to the rooftop garden and relive their first kiss. He was feeling poetic.

E
njoy this bonus book
,
Badass in My Bed
.

M
y life is music
. I play it, I live it, I breathe it. Next week, I start my dream job playing cello with the Boston Symphony. My father might finally be proud of me, and I… well, I’ll have my music.

Then I met Dylan—tattooed, badass, always-hard Dylan. He’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever been with before. Just one night can’t hurt me.

But sometimes when you play with fire, you get burned.

C
opyright
© 2015 by Rae Lynn Blaise

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

I
’m not
all about the bass, but this song is pretty catchy.

Alexandria—Alex—sets my glass of white zin in front of me before sliding onto her bar stool and clinking her glass against mine.

I take a sip of the crisp, cool wine. Passable for a bar’s stock. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I listen to the chorus playing overhead. “What song is this?”

“Oh, Rachel.” Her blonde curls bounce with her vigorous headshake. “You need to toss the Tchaikovsky and take in the Trainor.”

I smile. Last girl’s night two weeks ago she told me to ‘set down the Stravinsky and snatch up the Sia.’ Alex is all about alliteration. “I’m not against pop. Just, when I’m not playing the classics at school, I’m practicing them at home.” There’s not room for any more sound than that.

“You unwind with silence, not the radio. I know.”

I grin. “I’m beginning to think we’ve had this conversation before.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Once or twice, usually when I’m trying to recommend a band.”

Now I feel bad about brushing off her recommendations because I was too busy or uninterested. “How about you make me a playlist and I promise to listen to every song all the way through at least once.”

Instead of smiling, sadness clouds her pert features. “I’m going to miss your highbrow music tastes. Promise to call and talk snobby to me at least once a week. Or better yet, skype.”

“I will.” I drown the lump of emotion in my throat with more wine.

Alex suggested the bar, a small, subterranean place with rave reviews but not much exposure—we didn’t have to fight for a table to ourselves. White-painted brick walls, tasteful beige and black décor, and recessed lighting provide ample ambiance, but the crowd’s thankfully thin for a Thursday. Tonight’s the last day we could meet before I get on the plane Monday morning to start my new life, the final girl’s night with Alex for who knows how long, and I want to make it count. “I won’t be too far away,” I remind us both. “It’s Massachusetts not Mongolia.”

“True. And if nothing else, I managed to wrench that huge instrument from between your legs one last time.”

“Alex!” I hiss, looking around at the nearby tables. Fortunately, our few neighbors are more focused on their intoxication than our conversation.

A guy sitting at a booth by himself catches my eye, but not because I think he might have heard. He’s too far away. His head is down so all I see is shaggy dark hair and a tight t-shirt showing off the tattoos all over his massive biceps.

He’s not my type, but I still look at him. Can’t stop looking at him. He’s much stronger than the men I spend time with—the delicate-handed artists who don’t lift anything heavier than their bow. This guy could easily lift me. Could hoist me over his shoulder, if he wanted.

I’m not sure why I find that so exciting.

“You deserve a little embarrassment for abandoning me for Bean Town.”

I force my gaze back to Alex who has pushed her lips into a cherry red pout

I toy with the stem of my glass. “For work, not a vacation.” I glance back at Tattooed Guy hoping to see his face, but the waiter is delivering drinks to the table nearby, blocking my view.

Alex sighs. “That makes it worse because you won’t be coming back in a week. The windy city is going to blow without you.”

“
S
omething tells
me you’ll survive just fine,” I joke, but the words have a morose edge. Most of the things I’ve done off campus—and outside my apartment—are directly because of her nagging me to get out more. I thought there’d be more time after graduation to bond and explore the city, but here I am getting ready to leave it. I don’t regret my dedication to my craft, and landing a spot with the Boston Symphony is a dream come true. But I can’t hep feeling like there’s something missing in m y life. Something I should have done that I didn’t. If there’d been more time…

The waiter finishes his delivery, but now my view is blocked by a tall guy with a backwards cap who leans over the side of Tattooed Guy’s booth to give him a high five.

“This is all your Dad’s fault.” Alex’s voice is bitter.

“Hmm?” I look away from the bad boy and drain half my glass as Alex repeats her statement. “He just wants what’s best for me.” It’s true, but only half the story. The whole story is that he’s mortified about my career choice. And he’ll stay mortified unless I can prove to him that I’m a good enough cello player to make a name for myself.

I
draw
swirls in the condensation of my glass with a fingertip, my stomach knotting as I’m reminded of my father’s constant criticism.

“
I
should have taken
out student loans instead of letting him pay my tuition—maybe that would have earned his respect.”

“Probably not.”

“Your Dad’s so shitty.”

I take an extra big gulp of zin. “Now you see why it’s a good thing I got this job in the Boston Symphony.” I prop my head on my fist and sigh.I bet Tattooed Guy doesn’t have to answer to an overbearing parent. I bet he doesn’t answer to anyone. I bet he’s the one in control of the people around him.

And, if he were the one bossing me around, I bet I wouldn’t be so opposed. What it would be like to be a woman who could let him do that.

I prop my head on my fist and sigh, imagining it.

“You okay?”

My cheeks heat as though she could read my mind. I attempt to cover. “Yeah. Just, you know. All of this. It’s a big change. But at least I’ll be playing.”

Alex squeezes more lime into her beer.

“
Y
eah
, but at what price?” The directness of her stare unnerves me.

“I prefer to think of it as mapping out my future. Not leaving things to fate.” Things like my career, or love. It’s a smarter course of action than, say, hooking up with a stranger in a bar. Especially a strong, inked, in-control-of-his-own-life hottie like the one at the back of the bar.

I cast my gaze again toward him and bingo! I finally see his face.

God, his face...

Now that I see it, I’m not sure I can ever look away. It’s striking. Stunning. Strangely beautiful.

His eyes are inset, his jaw and nose strong. And his mouth…it’s perfect, his lips full but not girly. The set of them always with just a bit of a curve, never straight. They’re sin and sex, yet, as he smirks at something on his phone, also quite boyish. It’s the kind of mouth I could stare at for hours, watching the way it shapes words and slides into smiles. The kind of mouth that feels good to kiss and better to suck and my, oh, my, I bet he sucks down there so right that I wouldn’t need to grab a vibrator after.

Where the hell did that come from? I’m not a prude, but having dirty thoughts about men in bars is really not my style.

It’s a sign of stress, that’s all. In my mind, Beautiful Tattooed Boy is the personification of chance encounters and not having a plan. It’s the other road—the road I didn’t take. Correction—
wouldn’t
take. He’s nice to look at, but other than that we’d probably clash. Big time. I’m only attracted to him because, although I’m happy with my choices and my plans, I can’t help being curious about what else might have been.

Yeah. That’s totally it.

But what if I’m more than curious?

I take another large sip of wine and ask the question that no one can answer. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

Alex hesitates. “I think you know what you want. You’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.”

“But…?”

She looks around as though the words are floating somewhere to the left of my face. “But it feels so final. I just hope it really is what you want and not what your father really wants.”

It has to be. “It is.” And if it isn’t, I’m not sure what is.

“Then you’re definitely not making a mistake.” It’s impossible for her to know that as confidently as she’s said it, but I cling to her reassurance. “But you need to at least have a good fuck before you leave.”

I’m glad I wasn’t drinking at that moment or I’d have spit my wine. “You are so inappropriate. Why do I take you out in public?”

“Hey, you’re the one who practices
fingering
. For hours at a time, I might add.”

“For music.” I laugh, now warmer from the wine than embarrassment. “And I don’t need anything. Besides, even if I did want a hookup, there’s no one I’m attracted to.”

Except for
him
.

My gaze flits back to the tattooed stranger sitting in the dark booth. His large hand engulfs the bottle in his grip as he brings it slowly to his mouth and swallows deeply. Would his palm be strong, his wrist firm as he ran his touch over my—

“Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“To whom?” Damn those observant blue eyes of hers.

“Tall, dark, and delicious over there. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You’ve been checking him out since we got here. And I approve! He’s alone, you’re alone—”

The thought of talking to him causes a strange flutter low in my belly that I don’t like. Or I do like. I’m not quite sure yet. “Funny, I thought I was sitting with my friend Alexandria, getting some quality girl time in before I move.” I uncross and re-cross my legs, feeling restless and needy.

“You need to
get it in
before you move. One last hurrah before being a real, responsible adult for the rest of your days.”

I couldn’t.

Could I?

I scan my eyes over the topic of our discussion and notice a leather jacket slung over the booth beside him and the tight cling of his jeans to the leg viewable under the table. He’s so at odds with my conservative style. How could we ever fit together?

Though, something tells me he knows exactly how to make things fit. And s
tyle isn’t really an issue when no one’s wearing clothes.

I’m instantly shocked at my thoughts. I shake my head, hoping to clear away the unwanted dirty idea. “No hurrahs. Anyway, he’s not my type.”

“What’s that? Uptight?”

“Studious.”

She rolls her eyes. “Passionless.”

“He is not a nice guy. And I like nice guys.” Guys my father would approve of.

“Are you trying to convince me or you?”

“I’m not trying to convince anyone. I’m stating a fact. I need a man who appreciates that I practice music for hours a day and don’t have the time to fawn all over them. My career comes first and any man I hook up with has to understand that. He also has to be respectable and responsible.”

“And uptight,” she repeats with a smirk.

“Compatible.”

“Boring. We’re going for Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Right, Rachel. One night with someone who doesn’t meet your fantasy pansy list isn’t going to deter you from your dreams.”

She’s got a point. As always. But a man like this guy…I subtly tip my head in his direction. “He’s just such a…”

“Perfect Badass?”

I wouldn’t have said it, but it’s the perfect description. “Yeah.” The word sounds uncharacteristically dreamy and edged with lust. I shake myself, realizing this whole discussion is too ridiculous. And too tempting. And too bad of an idea. “No. I couldn’t.”

She tilts her head. “TMI time. How long’s it been since you had sex?”

I twirl the end of my ponytail and pull it over my collarbone, unwilling to admit it’s been almost two years. “Maybe I’m saving myself for marriage.”

Alex snorts. “You have to be a virgin to do that, and I know you’ve fucked at least two guys.”

“I’ve had two boyfriends, yes, who I slept with after an appropriate amount of courting, but we didn’t fuck. That’s gauche.” And way too exciting of a description for the things we did in the bedroom once or twice every couple weeks. I’d expected something…different, but when my second boyfriend’s performance was on par with the first, I realized I needed to lower my expectations. Regular sex or not, I was still pulling out my vibrator to really take care of things myself. I mean, the act of intercourse was fine, nice for bonding with someone, I guess, but I never saw what the big fuss is about.

“It’s gauche if you’re doing it right.” Alex’s eyes twinkle.

I adjust my infinity scarf and look at the hot guy again. My pulse speeds up when I accidentally make eye contact. I need to look away—I want to—but I can’t, frozen from the intensity of his gaze as it sends a sizzling spark all the way to my core. It’s entirely too intimate, too penetrating. Too badass.

I force my focus to the tabletop in front of me. What is it about him? I’m mesmerized.

“He’s totally checking you out too.”

My throat feels suddenly dry. I notice my empty glass and wave at the server for another round of the same. “He caught me staring, is all. He thinks I’m a weirdo. Guys like that don’t go for girls like me.”

Alex leans closer. “Guys like him love girls like you. Look at yourself. Minimal makeup, long chestnut hair in a simple ponytail. Skinny jeans showing off your hips, but you’ve got a long sleeved V-neck and a scarf hiding any cleavage. You’re a good girl. Big brown, doe eyes. Face it, Rachel, you’re Snow White with an amazing ass. You’re the pretty, uptight girl every man wants to corrupt.”

Again, that unfamiliar rush of excitement trills through me. “If that were true, someone would have tried before now. Not that I’d have accepted.”

“Your mind’s so occupied by music, you haven’t noticed all the men who have tried.. Come on, Rachel. When a straight guy says, ‘Nice scarf,’ he’s only using it as an excuse to stare at your tits. He doesn’t give a crap about your accessories.”

Is she right? How much have I really given up for the pursuit of my career? Is it too much? And is it too late to fix that if it was?

The answer is yes—it is too late. I have other commitments now. Specifically, one very big commitment. “It doesn’t matter. The past is past.”

“But you could make up for a whole lot of past with just one night with that badass.”

The space between my thighs throbs as though my libido things it has a say in this discussion.

It doesn’t. I press my legs together. “I don’t have any more time for him than I did for any other guy. I’m leaving in a few days and have way too much to do.”