Boyfriend—I seriously need to learn his name; I think I heard Serena call him Chet, or maybe Chad, once—laughs too loud, getting the attention of everyone around us, including Mr. Johnson. I look down to avoid his irritated gaze. I hate the thought of him thinking I’m fucking around in class and not getting my work done.
“Are you kidding?” Chad (or whatever) says. “I wouldn’t let my girl near that summer sausage; I’d lose her for sure.”
Serena rolls her eyes and says, “I’m not going to find out, but you are,” she says to me.
“He won’t show me,” I insist. I can’t even imagine how I would go about seeing it. I picture the look on his face as I walk up and say, Good day, Mr. Johnson, how about you show me that beautiful fuck-stick. The thought brings a fraction of a grin to my face. Mostly because the voice I use in my head is British. I’m not sure why. It just pops into my head like that. “He wouldn’t be willing to risk his job. He could lose everything.”
“Trust me, for you, he would,” says Chad with a sleazy grin. Serena jabs him in the ribs, giving him a dirty look. “What? He would. She’s hot.” Her angry look continues to harden until he’s squirming. “But you’re hotter,” he says. The nasty glare continues far too long until both me and Boyfriend are super uncomfortable. After a minute she relaxes. The thin compliment seems to satisfy her enough to move on.
When she looks back at me, there’s more heat in her gaze, as if it were my fault her boyfriend called me hot. “I dare you to find a way to catch him naked and get a look at it,” she says.
“How the hell do you suppose I do that? It’s not like he has a reason to strip down in class . . .”
Or does he?
Ideas begin to fire off in my head. Situations. Possibilities. Probabilities.
Here’s where my curiosity will get me into trouble. I don’t back down from dares, and in this case, I kind of don’t want to. I’m just as curious as everyone else, and I actually think I have a plan on how to see him naked that might just work. I look in my backpack to make sure I have what I need, and with a nervous smile, realize that I do.
Chapter 2
Loche Johnson
I’ve never been interested in one of my students. Never even been tempted. Not until Georgia.
The first day she walked into my classroom I knew I was in trouble. All the typical things played into it: A sexy mane of thick dark hair, silky pale skin, eyes like bright blue planets that suck you into their world. But it was more than that. I’ve seen plenty of beautiful women in my life—been with plenty of beautiful women. With Georgia it was different. It was chemistry.
Part of it was her looks. On more than one occasion I pictured brushing my fingers through her locks. The full lips I’d love to kiss, and the curvy body I want to taste every inch of. It’s everything about her. Looks, yes, but her personality too. The inquisitiveness. That might not be all that of an attractive feature for most men, but for a teacher there’s nothing better. And the fact that she devours my every word, eyes stalking me as I cross the room. I’m used to students’ glazed-over stares as they watch the clock above my head ticking by, waiting for the hour to be over.
Not Georgia. She acts as though I’ve hung the moon, never questioning anything I teach. I have her in my grasp. If she’s as quick of a study in bed as she is in the classroom, she may just be the girl of my dreams. When it comes to sex, I could bend her to my will, dominate her, and she would love every minute of it.
But the distracted girl in my classroom is not the same girl I’m used to seeing on a daily basis. I’ve never seen her talk to Serena and Chad. Normally the Rockefeller wannabes talking in the corner don’t rattle her a bit. For some reason they have been for the last two days. And what was that, when she looked right at my dick yesterday? Not that I’m complaining, of course. It just took me off my guard, and I don’t like to be surprised in the middle of a lesson when I’m trying to get these thick-headed students familiar with chemicals that could easily poison them or burn their skin if they’re not careful.
In the months Georgia’s been in my class, she’s always looked me right in the eye. Yesterday it was as if my cock was giving the lecture. After class I even checked the front of my pants to make sure my zipper wasn’t down and that I hadn’t spilled my lunch down the front of me. Seeing her look at me like that, I’d struggled to keep from getting a hard-on in class. Struggle is putting it mildly. I had to force Mrs. Chambers, the cook in the cafeteria—the one with the mustache and blackheads the size of pennies—into my thoughts to keep my dragon down. Because trust me, when I’m hard, there’s no hiding it.