Robin Wasserman - Lust

Then she leaned over the toilet, stuck her finger down her throat, and made it official.

The words were completely innocent: “Kaia, can I see you after class for a moment, please?”

But the tone told Kaia all she needed to know-specifically, that Jack Powell had finally gotten around to grading those pop quizzes. And had thus finally discovered her little invitation. Took him long enough.

She stayed in her seat as the rest of the class filtered out of the room, alleviating her boredom and excising some nervous energy by mentally rating the girls who filed past her. Too fat, too short, too thin, too gawky, too geeky-no, not too much competition at all, Kaia decided. There was Harper, of course, undeniably gorgeous, if in a seedy, film noir kind of way; but from what Kaia had observed, Harper had too many other things on her mind to think about screwing their French teacher. Her forbidden fruit grew on a different tree. Still, the sultry brunette shot her a curious look as she stepped out of the room. Probably wondering whether to be pleased that Kaia was-to all outward appearances-getting into some kind of trouble, or dismayed because she had snagged some one-on-one face time with Haven High’s Most Wanted.

When the room had emptied out, Kaia finally stood and walked slowly to the front of the room, where Jack Powell maintained his customary position, arms crossed behind his head and legs propped up on the desktop. A perpetual five o’clock shadow only added to his good looks; it gave a much-needed edge to his boyish charm. And Kaia was all about edge.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Powell?” she asked, sitting down across from him and watching his eyes follow her leg line up from her low heels to the high slit in her snug-fitting skirt. It was always nice to be appreciated. “Or should I just take this as a yes?”

Powell looked taken aback, then leaned forward in his chair and grinned.

“Well, you’re bold, I’ll give you that,” he told her. He pulled out a piece of paper from the top drawer of his desk-Kaia recognized her telltale scrawl across the page.

“I’m sure you can guess why I’ve asked you here, Kaia,” he began.

Oh, she could guess all right-although the classroom was a bit public for her tastes.

“Well, I didn’t think it was to work on my pronunciation skills.”

Powell laughed. “No, you’ve demonstrated quite a-proficiency in the subject matter,” he admitted. “I want to talk to you about what you wrote here,” he said, tapping the page with his index finger. “I’m flattered, Kaia, I really am.”

“As you should be.” She smiled to let him know she was joking. Sort of.

“But this sort of thing, teacher-student-it can’t happen.”

She leaned in, giving him easy visual access down the dark crevasse of her cleavage, if he wanted it-which, she could tell, he did.

“Oh, it can happen, Mr. Powell,” she assured him. “Trust me, I’ve seen it.”

“Okay, then,” he said, folding the quiz in half and methodically tearing it into small pieces, letting them filter through his fingers and drift down into the trash can. “It won’t happen. Don’t be embarrassed,” he added quickly. “It’s very common that a student develops a crush on a teacher, especially since you’re new here. I’m sure it’s been a little tough for you to adjust. I can empathize.”

“Mr. Powell,” she interrupted him coolly, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea. This is not some sweet schoolgirl crush. I’m not in love with you, nor do I dream of marrying you someday and bearing your British schoolteacher children.”

“I didn’t say-”

“What I’m offering you is a simple physical relationship with a very attractive woman,” she informed him. “So if we’re going to talk about this, let’s do it adult to adult, instead of pretending I’m some kind of blushing virginal teenybopper. Because I’m not.”

“That much is obvious.” His voice hardened, the genial warmth replaced by a sliver of ice. “You want to be treated as an adult?” he asked, offering a condescending smile. “I make it a policy not to get involved with my students-but even if that were not the case, I wouldn’t touch you, Ms. Sellers. Not if you paid me. You’re trouble dressed up in a miniskirt, and I’d have to be blind not to see it.”

She tried to interrupt, but he cut her off.

“Blind and stupid-which must be what you think of me if you imagined this little Lolita act was actually going to work.”

“Mr. Powell, I-” Kaia broke off in midsentence. For once, she was speechless.

He sat up straight and smiled at her, but the smile never touched his eyes.

“Play all the games you want with the boys your own age, Kaia, and have fun.” He folded his arms on the desk and leaned toward her, their faces now separated by only a few inches of frosty air. “But trust me-I’m way out of your league.”

Kaia left the classroom fuming… but intrigued. This new and improved Jack Powell was even sexier than the old one. Who didn’t prefer Colin Farrell to Colin Firth? No, this cold, calculating front was definitely hot. And promising.

After all, any teacher willing to speak to a student like that clearly had a somewhat flexible understanding of standard school policy-whatever he may have said, she knew he’d be up for bending the rules. It was just a matter of getting him to bend in the right way.

But she still needed something to keep her entertained in the meantime. Down but not out, she decided to take Mr. Powell’s advice and pick on a boy her own size.

So, onward to the boys’ locker room. (Where else?)

By her calculations, the swim team should be just about finished with their practice-which meant that Adam, who despite his halfhearted commitment to the sport was too much of a stand-up guy to ever skip a practice-should be on his way in. Hot, wet, and mostly naked. Perfect.

She burst through the door, and the locker room echoed with enraged shouts of flustered jocks as they whipped towels around themselves and ran from Kaia’s prying eyes.

“Get out of here!”

“What gives!”

“Hey, baby, you want some of this?”

“Trust me, boys, I’ve seen it all before,” she said calmly as they shouted her down. And while that was true, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t appreciate a repeat performance. Once again, she marveled at the caliber of male bodies this tiny town had produced.

She threaded her way through the crowd of flesh, searching for Adam, finally spotting him on the edge of the sea of muscles.

Those orange bikini briefs didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“What the hell are you doing here, Kaia?” he asked, when she stopped just in front of him and stared him down. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said sweetly. “I just wanted to see you.” All of you, she could have added-but it seemed redundant.

“It couldn’t have waited?” he asked, wrapping a towel around himself protectively and slowly inching away from her.

“I’m tired of waiting,” she explained, taking his hand and threading her fingers through his. He pulled away and shot a quick look behind her, where the rest of the guys on the swim team were toweling off and throwing clothes onto their wet and sticky bodies as quickly as possible. Each was keeping a close eye on the live-action soap opera.

“What are you talking about?” he hissed, dropping the towel and pulling on a pair of jeans over his sopping briefs. He grabbed the rest of his clothes and ushered her over to a-relatively-more private area behind a bank of lockers. “Tired of waiting for what?”

“For this,” she said, and grabbed his face and kissed him, sucking in the taste of his soft lower lip before he harshly shoved her away.