“That’s not what I think it is,” Mr. Hale says from the doorway.
I freeze. Dylan’s hips stop moving against mine, his fingers still dug into my waist. My skirt is bunched around my stomach, my panties hooked on one ankle.
The classroom lights are off, the projector is humming, and the door is supposed to be locked.
Mr. Hale steps inside and shuts it behind him.
“You’ve got about ten seconds to explain.”
Dylan pulls out slow. I feel the wet slide of it, the sudden empty ache, and I clamp my hand over my mouth because I don’t trust what sound is about to come out.
“Mr. Hale,” Dylan says, calm, “we can be cool about this.”
“Can we.” Mr. Hale sets his bag on a desk and walks down the aisle.
He’s not yelling. That’s somehow worse. He looks at me at my thighs, still split over the edge of his desk and then at Dylan, and something in his jaw shifts.
“You didn’t lock the door.”
“Slipped my mind.”
“Then it’s going to slip someone else’s mind, too, unless you’re smarter than you look.”
Mr. Hale pulls a chair to the end of the desk. Sits.
“I’m not writing anybody up tonight. But I’m not leaving, either. So.”
He nods at Dylan. “Finish what you started.”
Dylan looks at me. I look at him. My chest is going up and down like I’ve been running stairs, and I don’t say no.
I shift back onto the desk and let my knees fall open again, and Mr. Hale makes a low so und in his throat, button of his sleeve working loose as he rolls it up.
Dylan lines back up and pushes in, and this time I don’t cover my mouth.
Dylan finishes with a grunt and pulls out, and Mr. Hale stands up from the chair.
“Get dressed,” he says to Dylan. “Wait outside.”
Dylan grabs his jeans, doesn’t look at me, and the door clicks shut behind him.
Mr. Hale walks over, undoing his belt.
“You okay sweety?”
“Yeah,” I say. My voice comes out wrecked.
“Good.” He steps between my knees and pushes two fingers into me, slow, testing.
“Because I’m not as gentle as that boy is.”
He pulls his cock out and pushes in all at once. I grip the edge of the desk, knuckles white, and he sets a pace that rattles the projector cord against the wall.
His hand clamps over my mouth when I get loud.
“Shh, little school slut” he says against my ear, not slowing down.
“Unless you want the whole school to know what a good little girl you are.”
I shake my head, and he laughs, low, and drives deeper. The desk edge bites into my ass every time he slams into me. I’m so wet it’s dripping down onto the wood, and he notices, drags a thumb through it, presses it against my clit.
“There it is,” he says. “Come on.”
I come with his hand over my mouth and his cock buried to the root. He follows a few thrusts later, pulled out at the last second, finishing across my stomach.
He steps back, tucks himself away, and fixes his sleeve.
“Twenty minutes,” he says, straightening his tie. “Then the two of you are going to forget this ever happened.”
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