Flirting, to me, was like breathing to everyone else. The boys and the girls, they all adored me. With a laugh or a scowl, it was easy to see the way they were affected by my attention and I reveled in the power that afforded me. I strived for perfection and I liked seeing the results of my efforts.
As the school’s track champion I was their role model, their person to love—and their person to hate. I was important because I was their star. Everyone, including the teachers, knew me, and everyone loved me. Except for the man standing at the front of my World History class, he definitely did not love me yet, but I’d always liked a challenge. It was in my nature to win.
Slowly my bag slid down my shoulder and onto the floor. I crossed one leg over the other and returned my focus to the man whose eyes were moving methodically over each and every one of us, before finally coming back to rest on mine.
He studied me for a moment in a way that felt calculated before moving on to Kylie, who was seated in the aisle to my right. Just like that—I was dismissed.
“My name is Mr. McKendrick. I’m obviously going to be your World History teacher this year, not Mrs. Ross. I have very few rules, but one of them is to be on time,” he stated in a perfunctory tone as he paced across the front of the room. “The other is a little unorthodox. I want you to be curious…but respectful. Ask questions. Challenge one another. I want you looking outside the box, so to speak, because that is where you’ll find some of the most fascinating discoveries.”
Mr. McKendrick.
He was intriguing and definitely outside the box.
I was without a doubt, fascinated.
~
She watched me from her seat—third row from the back, two aisles in—with eyes so blue I could see them from where I was seated. They locked on to me the second she settled, and she continued to scrutinize me.
As I stood at the front of the class, introducing the course and myself, I waited for my morals and drummed in ethics to assert themselves. To remind me that I wasn’t supposed to be affected by a student’s inspection. Thirty minutes later and I was still waiting.
I moved to sit behind my desk, watching the students quietly, but my eyes continued to be drawn back to the young lady who had shown up late.
She was positively captivating in a way that punched you right in the solar plexus. From her porcelain skin to the waves of chestnut hair that swayed against the curve of her high, full breasts—Addison Lancaster was more woman than girl, and she was dangerous.
The other males in the room knew it too, if the way they acted around her was any indication. They seemed caught on every lick of her plump red lips—and yes, I had caught those too.
So there I sat, trying to work out what it was that was making her impossible to ignore, and then she glanced up and I knew.
It was those eyes. They held emotions they shouldn’t have. Dark, sad, and inviting all rolled into one, and yet she was far too young to possibly understand any of those emotions in their absolute form.
Breaking the searing connection, I looked down at my textbook, but all I continued to feel was Addison Lancaster, watching me.
~
The first day of school went by quicker than I expected and everything was exactly how it should be. Except for Mr. McKendrick, I had not expected him.
Lying between the white cotton sheets of my bed, I enjoyed the coolness of them as I parted my bare thighs and slipped my hand down between—to touch. Nighttime was my time, a time where I could imagine whatever I wanted and that night, I imagined my World History teacher.
The man who had dismissed me in the blink of an eye. The man who was making my body weep as I lay in my bed. Why I found his rejection so appealing, I was unable to pinpoint, but it was almost…challenging.
Biting my top lip, I slid two fingers along the elastic edge of my panties. I wiggled them in under the pink cotton and flexed my toned thighs. As I parted my legs further and arched my back, I pushed my body into the weight of the sheet, enjoying the feel of it over me, imagining that it was him. I teased myself, flirting my fingers over my bare mound. My mouth parted on his name as my fingertips grazed my clit and then dipped below to slide inside.
I’d been doing this from an early age, learning my body and exactly the way I needed to be touched. Brandon never got it right, he was always in a rush and it was over before it began—didn’t that apply most boys? But Mr. McKendrick…
I knew he’d be different. He would touch me the way I desired and he’d fuck me the way I craved it. Not like a boy—but like a man.