Page 24 of Life Lessons

Moody Bastard: You fucking know why. It’s not as easy as you are making it out to be.

Booty Call: Of course it is. We just have to keep it a secret.

When he doesn’t reply, I look up and see he still has the phone in his hand. He looks like he is thinking, but I know that his overthinking is what has got us in this mess. If he follows his heart and his big dick, instead of his brain, that will get us both a much better outcome. I decide to nail him down before he has the chance to run.

Booty Call: Leave your window open tonight. I will come around about 11pm. I will show you what I’m wearing under your t-shirt, and you can have me count out exactly how many spanks I’ve earned from being a bad girl.

I watch him as he reads the message and can see his response is exactly what I was going for. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously. He shuffles slightly to rearrange his erection that I just know will be straining against the dark jeans he is wearing, and his eyes look over at me with fire. Our gaze meets, and I am surprised that everyone around us can’t feel the chemistry sizzling away between us.

Moody Bastard: You have earned a lot. I heard you arrange to meet Harley tomorrow. I’m gonna make your ass so red and sore that you will have difficulty sitting down, never mind training. Still want to come?

Booty Call: Fuck yes.

Flexing my hand into a fist and flat again, I marvel at the redness that has only just begun to settle. I spanked Nightingale so hard last night, I thought the sting against my palm was here to stay. I’d told myself she was a mistake I couldn’t afford, to lock the window and not let her back in, in all senses of the words. But I just couldn’t do it.

She’s been climbing in through my window for the last couple of weeks, since seeing her with those dickheads from my class made me jealous. That night I spanked her properly for the first time, and each time afterwards she has learnt to take more and she fucking loves it.

The practice sports event was rained off much to the twins’ annoyance, as they may have told Thorton this is why you don’t organise sports events in winter. It’s the first weekend we spend the whole time together, listening to the rain pounding against the windows. We fucked in between rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning. Every day it became easier to be together, and harder to end things.

Every time we fuck when we tell ourselves we shouldn’t, every time we flirt by text, she makes me feel young again. I’m only thirty for fuck’s sake, my prime is hardly behind me. But there’s something different about the way I am with her, compared to the grumpy, bitter bastard I am with everyone else. When did I forget how to live?

The door to my classroom bangs open and I jump to my feet, scowling at the shitheads barrelling inside. The boys freeze, wide eyed at the sight of me before cleverly scuttling away to find me a coffee. I’ve trained them well. Nightingale is in the next wave of pupils, her knowing blue eyes slide to me with a smirk before taking her usual seat at the back. Settling myself down in my leather chair, I continue to flex my hand beneath the desk again—as if the action soothes every part of me that needs to drag her over my desk and sink my dick into her. Closing my eyes, I try to steady myself for the day ahead, but only find images of her waiting there for me anyway.

I could have throttled her for falling asleep in my bed last night, her alarm jerking us both into action and making me early for once. That alone is enough to deserve another spanking, preferably with my shatterproof ruler, but she enjoys that way too much. If the jolt of reality, which hit this morning has done anything, it’s proven to me we can never repeat this weekend again. Ever. Again.

Usually, the air of snobbery filling my room would have been enough to drown out all other thoughts, but not today. Today, I’m intentionally sober, hoping to clear my stupidity enough to put an end to this thing once and for all. But clearly, I’ve officially lost my damn mind. Seeing her across the classroom has just cleared that right up for me. Not just any classroom either, but mine.

I don’t give a shit about our code of conduct or contracts, attraction is attraction. It’s the attachment that has me rattled. She’s beneath my skin, making me act impulsively and she brings out my juvenile side. None of which is good for my plan to live completely isolated from all drama or emotional ties. I don’t want to be the asshole that breaks the heart of someone already broken. Hopefully she’ll remember she’s graduating soon and connect with a guy her own age instead. Just the thought of that has my hand tightening on the table’s edge.

Clearing my throat, the class before me falls deathly silent, except for the chairs scraping, as pupils rush to find their seats. I always hate when December 1st rolls around and every fucker on campus checks out for the holidays, forgetting they still have three weeks of classes to get through. Not in my class though; I have a reputation to uphold for delivering ruthlessly difficult lessons during the advent session, each day making the brats before me beg for the sweet release of Christmas break. My mind trails to the image of an empty campus and the possibility I could fuck Nightingale out of my system before New Years.

As if she can read my mind, the all-knowing blue eyes in the back row bore into my skull, distracting me from my lesson plan. Instead, I turn away and begin to write on the interactive whiteboard.

“Today we’re going to look at the ‘Twin Prime Conjunctive’,” I state, underlining the words on the board twice for effect. Keeping my back to the class, I’m able to hide my smirk at their collective groans and continue writing. “As you all know, primes with a difference of 2, such as 11 and 13 are called twin primes. It’s argued that with an infinite amount of prime numbers, there should also be an infinite amount of twin primes. Your first task is to list as many of these as your feeble brains can comprehend.”

A shuffle by the door has me turning on a growl as I prepare to discipline Harley and Jackson for being late, regardless of fetching my coffee. However, it isn’t them, but Principal Thornton, edging his way around the room to an empty chair and setting his thick binder on the desk. Fuck, today isn’t appraisal day, is it? I had already managed to delay it once, but it looks like he decided to do a random one.

I have no problem with my result output or teaching methods, but I can’t stand being watched and judged while moulding these little assholes into marginally lesser assholes.

“When you’ve done that,” I continue and reface the board. “Your second task is to test the following theory. The first twin prime is always one less than a multiple of 6, which means the second must be one more than 6. So if all primes after 2 are odd, they must be either 1, 3, or 5 more than a multiple of 6. This means one of those three possibilities for odd numbers causes an issue, because if a number is 3 more than a multiple of 6, then it has a factor of 3 and therefore, isn’t a prime. Everyone still with me?”

I turn to a sea of blank faces despite having basically covered all of this in their first year with me. The only one who doesn’t look confused is Nightingale, her head already down and pencil moving. Finally, my coffee order turns up and I tell the class to get started regardless, slouching back in my chair.

Thornton’s pen scratches on a thick pad of paper, his head shaking and loudly tuts, catching everyone’s attention except mine. Sipping my coffee, I recoil at the taste of what can only be soya milk and get out my red marker. The two in the front row groan as I scrawl a ‘D’ on their last test papers, the offensive noise making me change it to an ‘E’.

I’ve begun to relax, my usual smugness making a reappearance when a head of silky black and blue hair approaches. I avoid her eye line at all costs, my gaze drawn to the fitted, V-neck t-shirt which is hugging all of her curves the way I want to. Her cleavage is right there, so tit-alizingly close and my cock jerks against the zipper of my jeans. Great.

“I’ve finished, Sir.” Her voice filters into my ears. I fight against a moan, remembering how she called me that last night. ‘More, Sir. Harder, Sir.’ My teeth are so clenched, I’m about to crack a tooth until I look upon her work. A smile graces my lips. Instead of rows and rows of numbers like the rest of these twits will write, she’s used algebraic formulas to show (6n-1, 6n+1) for primes up to 20 place values. I can’t help but meet her eyes, the mirth there reflected in my own.

“Fair enough, Newbie, you’re done for today. You should probably grab a power nap before your training session with Davidson. The practice may have been cancelled, but the main event is still going ahead next year, and I’m sure you two need all the training you can fit in.” I twist away from the class and block Thornton out of view behind her for a quick wink. I told myself to push her away, to stop this madness, but it’s impossible. For whatever reason, possibly the fact it’s a secret or that I finally have a reason to revive the playful me from my past, I can’t resist her. Nighti— Abbie giggles beneath her breath, moving to turn away when she’s interrupted.

“But, Sir!” Harriett jumps up, her screechy voice using that word making me cringe. Stomping across the room in ridiculous wedges, particularly in this winter weather, Harriett takes a swift look at Abbie’s work and her face turns as red as a lobster. “You can’t just let her leave. She’s—”

“Used her brain? Yes, refreshing isn’t it. That’s what students who are in my class due to their potential do, as opposed to those who are here because of the donations their parents have made. Now, the next time you tell me what I can and can’t do, Longstaff, I’ll be telling your mother I can’t teach that thick head of yours anymore through fear of combustion.”

Laughter spreads throughout the room like a vocal Mexican wave, the multiple emotions pulling Harriett’s face in all directions makes me think she might actually explode. She settles on throwing daggers at Abbie with her eyes, her body shaking slightly as if she thinks concentrating enough will cause Abbie to turn to ash. I prepare myself to separate the impending fight, which would unfortunately show the whole room the bulge I’m sporting in my jeans, but Harriett spins fast enough to get whiplash and stomps back to her seat. Jerking my head, Abbie thanks me and ducks out of the room just as Musgrove seems to appear from nowhere. I don’t have time to think about it as another voice grabs my attention.

“I think I’ve seen quite enough.” Thornton rises on a scoff, shuffling his way towards the door. I salute him when he looks back, throwing my feet up on the desk. Thornton can have the rest of the school, inside these four walls—this is my domain and I am King here. My rules aren’t fair, yet my word is law. That’s all there is to it.

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