He kicked her ankles apart with his. "When I am good and ready, little girl."
She sidled under him and he commanded her to hold still. The willing captive obeyed as long as she could. Jake nibbled at her belly and hips. He established a wide perimeter. Hillary whimpered and tried to roll toward his mouth. He gave her a little smack, causing her to yelp.
"I told you to hold still!"
This time she did better, though she ached to so much as wipe the perspiration from her breasts. Jake circled closer. Eventually she could feel his hot breathing at her cleft. It was agony to wait for the kiss she craved, but the torment was sweet, and she held her breath.
Jake looked up from his vantage point. Between the hills of her lovely breasts, the beauty queen's face showed total submission. She would do anything he asked, and he knew it.
He used both thumbs to open her slippery entrance.
"When you feel my tongue, Miss Fairchild, I want you to cum in my mouth."
With satisfaction he saw her nipples harden in response to his words. Desire transformed her face so that she almost looked like a different person. She really was a slut.
He slid his hands under her ass to hold her fast, and stabbed his tongue as deeply as he could into her hot pink flesh. The acrid wash of her orgasm burst against his face. Her cry was nearly that of a woman in pain.
Jake retreated and petted her mound. "Very good, Miss Fairchild," he praised her. "Can you do it again?"
"I," she breathed in and out, "I think so."
Without warning he renewed his attack on her tender folds. Hillary bucked and groaned. Jake slid two fingers inside the girl and saw how desperately she was trying to hold the pose he'd given her.
He scooted up so they were face to face. "Are you sore? Do you want me inside you?"
"Yes, yes please, I want you," she begged.
"What do you call me."
"Please, Mr. Olaffsen, fuck me."
He rolled on top of her and did as she asked.
By morning they had made love twice more. In the early light the teacher saw that his pupil was smiling in her sleep. He kissed her very gently, so as not to wake her, and slipped off to the shower.
When he came out, she was in the kitchen chopping an onion. The fumes didn't seem to bother her.
He ghosted up behind her in a silence born of necessary practice. "Would you believe that always makes me cry?"
Hillary whirled and clutched at her collarbone. "Oh! I didn't hear you come in."
He hugged her, noting she had already grated cheese for their eggs. Lightly he dropped a kiss on her hair. "Thank you for cooking."
Her smile was shy for a young lady who'd spent the night with her legs wide open. "Least I could do."
Jake was wearing only a towel slung around his hips. Her admiring gaze made him feel good. She indicated the stylized "7" on his bicep. "Lucky number?" she asked.
He looked at it. The memories were too old to bother him any more. Well, at least not every day. "Seventh Regiment," he answered.
The blank look on her face made him sad and amused, all at the same time. I could say 'Son Thang' and she'd think it was a rapper, he thought. He shook his head at her innocence. Sex, big deal! By the time he was her age, he'd killed a man. More than one, actually.
Hillary furrowed her brow but didn't press. She went on chopping onion. Jake broke eggs in a bowl and took them to task with a wire whisk. Together they made breakfast. Their conversation was ordinary, as if they met every day to share a simple meal.
Jake was trying to figure out how to break things off with her, and hating the idea. He had no wish to hurt her; he really did care for her wellbeing. The latter made it especially important that he set her free as soon as possible. They'd had a great time, but their relationship could not continue.
He was trying to find an opening when the phone rang.
"Olaffsen."
"Where have you been? I tried to call you three times last night!" Stan sounded anxious, almost angry.
"Oh. I've been having trouble with my phone lately." Jake had plugged it back in shortly before he stepped into the shower.
Stan filled him in on the events of the night before.
"Shit!" Jake exclaimed. "Is everybody okay? Are those two little assholes in jail?"
Hillary watched her lover's face. His words calmed after that, but his face was set in a mask of wrath. Cautiously she sipped her coffee. This wasn't the stern expression he wore when they were playing. Something much darker shaped his features. Involuntarily, she found herself pulling back.
"Stupidest thing I ever heard of. ... In a busy restaurant on a Friday night, how dumb can you get. ... Yeah. They wanted attention, all right. I guess they got it. ...Uh-huh. Later."
Jake hung up the phone. His normally brown eyes were almost black.
"What happened?"
"Last night Stan took Dave and Allie and Craig out for pizza. There was a shooting at the restaurant. Everyone's alright!" he added when a little scream fell from her lips.
"They're safe," she whispered. She wanted to hear that part again.
Jake nodded. "They're safe. But I could have prevented it." His eyes were odd again, turned inward to look at something she could not see.
"How?" She shook her head and lifted one shoulder. "Nobody can prevent that."
Jake envisioned Jeff Mullins, the same punk he'd easily defeated after the fall concert. As casually as drinking a glass of water, he could have squeezed the kid's wrist and slapped the weapon from his hand. But he hadn't been there.
He hadn't been there to stop it.
The old emotional wound shoved aside his intention to tell Hillary he was not in love with her.
Send to your friend
