Halfway through her first year on the job, Melissa Montclair decides the best part of teaching is winter break.
And the best part of break is the Perfect Ten she meets in a bar on New Year’s Eve. Why not celebrate a semester under her belt with a Perfect Ten in her pants? The one night affair is all she hoped for, until she walks into school a week later and sees Mr. Ten is Student Twenty-nine on her roll call.
She should be mortified—and she is—but that doesn’t stop her from banging him again. And again.
So much for job security.
Posing as an exchange student at Hamilton High is finally the assignment Officer Spence Vega has been hoping for. Now he has a shot at getting to the bottom of the town’s recent molly epidemic. There’s only a couple of problems: first, history is taught by the curvy bombshell he banged on New Year’s. Second, his growing suspicion is that she’s the dealer he’s looking for.
The job was supposed to be an easy in-and-out, not the teacher.
If only they could stop getting under the covers, staying undercover would be so much easier.
I run my hands across the small of her back softly, swaying against her as she arches into me. We are dancing without music, a sexy tango of clothes and lips. (See what I did there? Tango. Oh wait, that’s Argentina. Never mind.) And soon she is standing in nothing but lace. I run my hands over the swells of her breasts and relish in her gasps and moans. She’s wound tight, and I plan to play her like a violin. (That one works much better.) Her bra drops to the floor, and she stands flushed and unashamed before me.
My teacher. Goddamn. I am going to go home and sponsor two more orphans.
“Take off your panties,” I order.
She hooks her thumbs into the elastic and spins in a slow circle, leading with her ass. Slowly, she slides them down, her shapely ass still in the air, and lifts one leg at a time, my own private strip show. All we’re missing are the glasses and the chaste updo. Although, truly, I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. She’s totally bare, always a treat, and already I can remember her sweet taste on my tongue. I pick her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist, giggling as I spin her around. I set her on the island and kiss her cheeks, her neck, across her collarbone, and down to those tits I’ve been longing for.
Each nipple pebbles under the warmth of my tongue, like they were waiting for this very moment.
Like they were waiting for me. The two new orphans I promised to care for. She drops her head backwards and moans, encircling her arms around my neck. I secure her to me with my right arm and use my left hand to cup each breast as I adore it with my tongue. I can’t stop thinking of what sheer perfection her body is. She smells like a honeycomb, tastes the same, and her skin is as soft as silk. Our bodies move together like they were made for one another, calibrated to the other exactly.
It’s the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with someone, and we haven’t even gotten to the sexing yet. I said I was riding a unicorn before, but this girl is a unicorn.
My cock begins to ache in anticipation, rising again to the challenge. I lay her down gently across the island, my own personal feast, and bend over her. I can’t stop my hips from moving as I kiss her again, and work my way back down her body. Past the delicious swells of her breasts, down the tight curves of her stomach, past her cunt smelling incredibly of her sex. I love on her legs and her calves, paying special attention to the tender skin behind her knees and on her upper thighs.
She growls playfully, wriggling her body each time my lips cross over the spot she wants me most, but I don’t give in. Instead I give her a single long, slow lick down her blissfully pink pussy and return to her stomach, then back up to her breasts. Her nipples are tight nubs and I gently bite down on each.
“Tease,” she breathes.
I only grin wickedly at her. After all, she’s the one who suggested that this last all evening.
“Lick me.” She’s (impossibly) even sexier when she commands me.
“Only when you beg me.” She might be my teacher, but I can show her a thing or two myself.
She shudders a little. “I never beg.”
“Tonight you will.”
Kayti McGee is a former Kansas Citian who now follows the Royals from Colorado. Besides writing, her hobbies include travel, cooking, and all thing Whovian. She also writes as the latter half of Laurelin McGee. Like her co-author Laurelin Paige, she joined Mensa for no other reason than to make her bio more interesting.
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