Chapter 24

“Feel better?”

He swallowed a mouthful of coconutty protein and nodded.   Aside from the dizziness, he felt fucking fantastic.

“Yeah, I get a little woozy sometimes, too.” She lifted the bottle from the desk-chair-coffee-table and refilled her cup. “If I don’t eat something when I’m drinking.

She topped off his cup, even though he had only drank a few sips. Her bra was deep red, burgundy maybe.  He could see it through the worn black of her t-shirt when she leaned forward to pour.

“I was thinking, if we just did it already—”  She drank more of her Scotch, only a quarter of the cup this time.  “Then it would kind of be over with and I could focus better.”

 “Um.  Yeah.  I guess that makes sense.”

They stared down the length of her bed at each other.  It seemed unreal that they were occupying the same piece of furniture.

“You don’t want to,” Rona said.

“No!” He gulped from his plastic cup.  Too fast this time.  It burned a fiery path down his esophagus and sunk like hot tar into his stomach. “No, it’s just.”

What was it? Here he had an insanely intriguing student—first-time occurrence—basically begging him for sex—definitely first-time occurrence.   What the hell was his problem?  Her outfit was cute, her face was only a little bruised up, she was pretty but not pretty enough to be scary, she was feeding him power bars and refilling his Scotch.  Why did the four feet between them seem like a hundred feet, like it would be physically impossible to just lean forward and—what?  Kiss her?  

“It feels weird,” he said.  “Maybe because of, you know.  The student-teacher thing.”

“Totally. Yeah, it’s totally weird.” She bit her lip and frowned extra hard for a minute. “Maybe we should pretend to be somebody else.”

Sure, that’s not weird at all.

“Like who?”

“Well, maybe you’re an oak tree and I’m a birch.”

“Trees don’t have—”  He couldn’t even get himself to say the word.  “Do that.”

She rolled her eyes at him, the puffy one and the regular one.  “You need to use your imagination.”

Across the room he saw a field of poppies backed by a distant forest, sunset behind palm silhouettes, a child on a rope-swing.

“Nothing with trees.”

“Okay. How about. We’re the leaders of two alien races from enemy planets.  We’re both corrupt and power hungry, and even though our people are at war, we have this undeniable lust for each other.”

Alien races? He wasn’t super familiar with this whole role-playing thing, but pretending to be an extra-terrestrial or a plant just seemed like a giant—what was that word?—boner killer.  

“Could we be humans?”   

“Humans, okay.  Maybe we’re something like.” She pulled her messy hair out of its elastic while she thought, combed it with her fingers, tied it back again.  “The captains of warring gangs of Somali pirates.”

No.

“Okay, how about: You’re a boring English instructor with no creativity and I’m an annoying prodigy.”

Funny.  It was a great sense of humor, dry, quiet, easy to miss.  But this pretending thing?  It wasn’t gonna work.

Hey wait. 

How did that one porno go again? 

“Okay, what if.”  He searched for the finer plot points beyond just perfect caramel boobs.  “You’re a boarding-school student and I’m the teacher who supervises your dormitory.  And then I catch you trying to sneak out.”

There it was, that secret smile that popped up out of nowhere like an army launching a surprise attack on her face.  Second time tonight—score.

“Hold on.”  She went to the closet, pulled the door halfway shut so that it blocked his view of her.  Less than a full minute and she came out again.  Same black t-shirt, but now a plaid schoolgirl skirt, little black ballet slippers and black socks that stretched just over her knees. 

This was definitely the best thing that had ever happened to him.

She walked to the front of the room and wrapped her hand around the doorknob.  Half a turn, and then she stopped and looked behind her. 

“Oh, no!  Mister…Dickinson!  I didn’t see you there.”

Her knees were kind of knocked inwards, her ass thrust out, her mouth open like she was drinking something really delicious through an invisible straw.  Perfect performance.  Too good.  If she was in a real porn, they’d fire her for excessive realism.

He stood up and crossed his arms across his chest, trying to boom like Talbot De Kesel.

“Where are you going?  Um.”  Fuck, I’m gonna suck at this. “Tatiana!  You know it’s past curfew.”

She put her hand to her mouth for a moment, stretched her eyes into dark, terrified circles.  Schoolgirl with a shiner was a surprisingly adorable look.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to turn you in to the, um.  Headmaster.”

Her lips twisted into the tiniest restrained smirk. Just like the real Tatiana.  Except Rona pulled it together way faster, right back into character.  Maybe she should be an actress or something.   

“Please, Mr. Dickinson, not the headmaster!  I’ll be expelled!”

She walked over to him and put one hand behind her head.  The other one kind of twiddled around the top of her skirt.  She arched her back and squirmed like a baby bird.

“Please, I’d do anything, if it would keep you from reporting me.” 

“What do you mean, anything?”

He hoped he was doing okay.  His booming wasn’t Talbot-level, but he sounded a little intimidating at least. 

“Anything!”  She took a deep breath through her open mouth and tugged downward on the frayed collar of her shirt, showing a glimpse of soft skin and collarbone.   

Okay then.  The time had come. He took a deep breath, wrapped his arms more tightly across his chest, sucked in his gut. You can do this.

“Show me your tits.”

Not his best, a little shaky. But at least his voice didn’t crack like a twelve-year-old or anything.  Anyway, it didn’t matter.  He had said it, or at least Mr. Dickinson had. And since he had said it to Tatiana the naughty schoolgirl, the odds were pretty much a hundred percent that it was going to happen.  Which was awesome.  Still, he hoped she would fight him on it a little.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.” She ran one hand over her chest, like she was defending her modesty, but also kind of like she was feeling herself up through her shirt.  “I mean, you’re my teacher.”

All the blood in Gavin’s body rushed into his dick all at once. 

“Tatiana.” Stern, disapproving.  “It’s the only way.”   What did that guy say?  “You’ll never learn unless you are punished for your bad behavior.”

Her face fell into her normal frown, but it looked sad instead of thoughtful, a scolded-puppy kind of frown.  God, sad-frowning puppy girl in plaid skirt, bare thighs, knee-socks.  Right in front of him. They hadn’t even done anything and this was already beyond amazing.

“You’re right, Mr. Dickinson.  I do need a punishment.” 

And then, yes yes yes!  She grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and pulled upward.  Not all the way off, halfway up, just enough so he could see the bra.  Burgundy.  It was hoisting up what turned out to be nice round boobs over a small ribcage.  She always wore those baggy t-shirts so he couldn’t tell. They weren’t porn-star big or anything, softer and less spherical.  They looked great.  He wanted to go over to her and stick his face in them.

But he took a lesson from Mr. Steele: stick to the plan and don’t show weakness. 

“I’ll need you to take off the bra.”

It didn’t open in front—of course not—but she still managed to take it off in the hottest way imaginable.  She slid her arms out of the straps with the shirt still half-on, one of those girl tricks he’d seen a bunch of times but could never wrap his brain around.  Her left hand undid the clasp behind her back.  Her right clutched the now unattached cups against her chest like she was a pinup model, the soft round sides of her breasts straining to escape.

“Do I have to?” 

Her eyes were wide, pleading, like the real Tatiana’s were, and he almost wanted to tell her, It’s okay, forget the whole thing. But no.  Tonight he was allowed to be a tyrant.  Hell, it was his duty.

“I’m afraid so.”

She nodded, sad but resigned, and lowered her right hand.  The bra dropped to the floor.   

“That’s good.”  His voice did crack this time, not too bad, just enough to make him notice how dry his throat was.  He reached down for his Scotch and took a sip, then a gulp.  “Now I think I’ll need you to.  Um.”

She was still looking at him, attentive, obedient.  Shirt pulled up, round breasts with soft brown nipples swelling out below it, round stomach framed by small waist above and schoolgirl skirt below.  The Klimt behind her, lovers kissing in a bed of mosaic and gold.   

“Suck my dick,” he said.

“Mr. Dickinson!”

“Or I’ll have to report you.”

“Oh, no.  Don’t do that.”  She was already down on her knees in front of him, which was good because it was possible he would explode or at least faint if they kept on like this.  His erection sprang out like a jack-in-the-box the second she unzipped his pants.

“Mr. Dickinson.” She looked up at him, coy and innocent, like a little girl with one of those lollipops as big as her head, and took a long, hungry lick. “Your cock tastes really nice.”  She ran her tongue over her lips like they had something delicious on them. 

Okay, seriously.  His head was gonna explode.  Something was gonna explode.  Look away, think about something else, fast!!! 

He searched the wall of sunsets and flowers. There it was: puppies.  So innocent and comforting, unarousing but not too unarousing.  The perfect complement to a tongue gliding down, gliding up and around, the tightness of sliding lips and the soft inside of cheeks.   

He reached down and placed his hand on top of her head.  Her hair felt warm and sweaty and alive under his hand, her head moving in tempo with the waves of pleasure deep in his groin and stomach.

“Tatiana.”

“Mm-hmm,” she answered. 

Tatiana?    

And it was like, when he said the word, he broke the spell, pop. Right here, actually sucking on his actual dick, was Rona Fucking Gomez.  Who the fuck was Tatiana?  Some girl with perfect boobs, whatever.  Did she draw trees?  Read an entire coursepack in a night?  Did she have original ideas about Liam Stump? Did she know how to box? Assuming the answer was no, what kind of asshole idiot would ever pretend that Rona Gomez was Tatiana the porn star? 

For fuck’s sake, you haven’t kissed her. 

He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her upwards. Up to his face, where he could see her spotty, scratched skin, her purple cheekbone, her big dark eyes and frowny lips. He put his mouth on hers and felt their tongues touching, tasted her cheeks, the warmth and coconut and Scotch in her breath.  Her bare skin pressed against his sweater.  Take it off.  Now he could really feel her, her skin on his skin. Her soft belly pressed into his softer one, the hairs on her arms tickling his neck.

All he wanted to do was make her have orgasms.  All night, a hundred orgasms, with his tongue, with his fingers, with his dick.  And when she had them, he wanted her to scream his name.  Then he would know that this was really happening.  That, out of all the men fighting for her affections, Rona Gomez had chosen him, Gavin Cheng-Johnson.  

Rona chose you.    

Rona was special, magical.  If she had chosen him, it meant, as much as the abject meant death, as much as sign meant signified or anything meant anything, that he was special, too. 

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Chapter 25>