25. Oliver

TWENTY-FIVE

Oliver

Incomprehensible to me is the split second of rage I feel when I think Georgia is going on a date with a new boyfriend. Mine , I think, that lipstick is mine . Mine to smear all over her lips, mine to smear on my cock.

Maybe not beyond comprehension, though, since I’ve spent almost every night jacking off to the memory of the feeling of my finger jammed in her mouth.

I avoided her all week, keeping my office door locked. I didn’t trust myself, afraid that if she came in and we were alone, that I would take her over my knee.

Not trusting myself to not cross the line, the line safely dividing the two of us from professionalism and the DOE code of conduct. Not entirely sure it was worth the risk, especially with both of our jobs under a magnifying glass held by Superintendent Daniels.

The risk becomes worth it in that moment, however, that instant I imagine that lipstick all over someone else. Someone else who isn’t me. Maybe just this once. Maybe just to get it out of our systems. There’s only one place you’d probably enjoy her brand of crazy, and that’s in bed. Preferably tied up .

I spend the next forty minutes trying to get Lina out of my office, not caring, perhaps for the first time in my career, about the work I need to do.

“Lina, I have to go,” I snap impatiently, at the forty-minute mark, ten minutes after Georgia says she will be at Tim’s. After looking up from my watch, I realize Lina was actually mid-sentence about something or other.

“—check in with…” she trails off. “Oh… sure, Oliver.” She looks down at her watch, too. “Wow, sorry. Didn’t realize how late it was. I gotta get home to Mike,” she says, referring to her piece of shit boyfriend who I’ve met once or twice.

Normally, I would go off on a diatribe about how much of a dick he is, “ can’t he make his own dinner? ”, etcetera, but today is not that day. I stand up and start cleaning my office while she gathers her things.

“Okay, see you tomorrow, Oliver,” she says, and leaves.

I wait at the door for a full thirty seconds before ripping it open and striding out.

The first thing I do when I arrive at Tim’s is to scan the room for any PS 2 teachers, staff members, or parents. When I see none, I feel secure enough to zero in on the luscious auburn waves of the woman sitting in the back of the bar.

Georgia’s back is to me, but the back wall is mirrored, so we make eye contact through the reflection. I walk to her, slowly, holding her eyes the entire time, thinking about what part of her body I want to touch first.

When I reach her, I decide, hair . I wind my fingers through the strands, close to the scalp, and tug lightly, watching her face in the mirror. Her eyes are half closed. I move my hand down, down to wrap around the front of her throat, lightly resting around it. I feel her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird’s, her throat vibrating as she moans lightly.

“Get up,” I murmur. “Get up and move to that booth over there,” I tell her, gesturing with my head to the one isolated in an alcove in the far corner.

She stands, body slightly trembling, and takes her things and moves. I stand still, watching her hips sway in her jeans as she goes.

I turn on my heel, order a beer from Tim, and finish half of it on my way back to the booth. I sit across from her, making sure I can see the front door, and clock the gorgeous flush that has spread up her chest to her neck.

She doesn’t say anything, choosing to stare at me instead. We catalogue one another in silence, eyes roaming.

“That smart mouth of yours has nothing to say, for once,” I tell her, not recognizing my own voice.

She seems to collect herself. “You’re late,” she says.

“I’m here,” I say, taking a sip of my beer.

“I thought you chickened out.”

I think for a second about how honest I should be. “I was all in once I saw the mouth of my nightmares painted in red. Once I thought about how good it would look wrapped around my dick.”

She squirms. “This version of you is… surprising.”

I frown. “Is it too much?”

“I’m dying for it,” she whispers.

My cock gets impossibly harder.

“Take off your bra.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Here?”

I stare at her and wait instead of answering. She reaches around and unclasps her bra, slipping the straps off each of her arms under her sweater, pulling it out, and stuffing it in her backpack. Her nipples poke through the thin material of her sweater obscenely .

“Are you wet?”

She nods, imperceptibly.

“Show me.”

Georgia looks around us, making sure no one is near. She uses her right hand to reach under her sweater and down the front of her jeans. She pulls out fingers that glisten with her arousal. “Want a taste?” she asks me.

“Rub it on your nipples,” I tell her instead. “I know they’re aching for it.”

Looking a little shell-shocked, she follows my command. She uses her left hand to pull her sweater slightly away from her body and slips her right hand underneath. She makes slow circles around the tip of her perfect breast, her mouth falling open, never breaking eye contact, whimpering just loud enough for me to hear.

“Talk to me,” I demand.

“It feels so good. But it’s not enough.” Her pupils are blown out, only a small amount of blue left visible around the edge.

“What do you need?”

“I need you,” she pleads.

I use one hand to press against the massive erection in my pants, and use the other to reach across the table and roll the nipple she’s been playing with between my fingers. It’s small, tight, and rock hard through her shirt. Her eyes close.

The door to the bar blows open, a cold gust of wind entering. I yank my hand back. I watch in horror as the president of the Parent Teacher Association walks in with other parents from the board.

Fuck . This is such a bad fucking idea.

Georgia follows my eyes to the front of the bar, then turns back to me, wild-eyed.

“I... We can’t do this,” I tell her, regretting it as soon as it leaves my mouth .

“What ?” She is horrified, still flushed red.

I stand up from the booth and, keeping my head down, run. I move to the other back corner of the bar, stride down the long hallway leading down to the bathrooms. I need to splash my face with water, get my act together, rinse myself of this woman all together. Of course, both of the single stall bathrooms are occupied. I lean against the wall, rubbing my face.

“Oliver,” the voice of my nightmares calls. I look up to see her, furiously stomping down the hallway, magnetic, every cell in my body pulling towards her. She gets right in my face, the tips of still hard nipples pressing against my shirt. “Don’t run. Don’t be a coward. I know you want this?—”

I switch our positions, taking her body and practically shoving her against the wall. I move both my hands to rest on either side of her head, pressing my erection into her stomach and watching her pupils dilate once more. “Obviously I want it. That’s not the issue here. We’re breaking about a thousand rules?—”

“You crossed that line as soon as you jammed your finger in my mouth?—”

I can’t stop staring at it, now. “That was a mistake?—”

“We’re two consenting adults, and no one has to know?—”

“There are about seven parents out there from the board of the PTA. If one of them catches wind… it would be incredibly unethical,” my mind now whirring, thinking of what parents would say. Principal Flores is banging that student’s teacher, they get special treatment, their grades are higher than everyone else’s, I’m going to call Superintendent Daniels ?—

I feel a small hand massaging my cock from outside my pants, using her palms starting from the very bottom and using her fingers to pay special attention to the tip. I squeeze my eyes shut, resting my forehead against hers.

“No one has to know, Oliver.” She takes my hand, taking my fingers and resting the pointer and middle on her luscious bottom lip.

I open my eyes, look at the image of my fingers on her mouth, removed, as if I am looking at a photograph. I press down on her lip and smear her lipstick down her face.

The door to the bathroom swings open. A stranger walks out. I take a step back, peel myself from Georgia’s body, getting a good look at her from this new vantage point. Her hair is a mess from my hands, lipstick smudged down her mouth, nipples peaked through her shirt, a pink flush over the skin of her chest.

I take a deep breath and make a decision. “Give me your phone,” I order her.

She hands it to me. I swipe and type, then hand it back. She looks down at it, and her whole body slumps down dejectedly. “You’re sending me home.”

The wave of want I feel for her overcomes the urge to bang my head against the wall. “No,” I tell her. “I’m sending us to your home. My neighbors are PS 2 families.” She smiles. “Go grab your things and walk out first. Keep your head down. I’ll follow you out in a minute.”

She is radiant now, glowing. She licks her lips and moves closer to me, shifting up on her toes, as if to give me a kiss. I nip her bottom lip instead, soothing the sting with my tongue, luxuriating in my first taste of her. “Later. Go.”