Headmistress: A Greenbridge Academy Romance Page 5

  “Sir,” I start.

  He shakes his head. “We pay a lot of money for the school lawyers. And they are here to cover my ass as well as yours. I don’t want to hear any more from you about this. End of discussion.”

  Immediately after this board of trustees meeting, Rushmore introduces me to the school’s retained lawyer, who introduces herself as Ms. Degrassi, yet another parent of a student at my school. She steers me into a corner for a quick meeting.

  She is cold and serious and not at all the balm that I was expecting after having spoken to Rushmore.

  “I don’t want to waste a lot of the school’s time, but take my advice. For the sake of your job, for the sake of the school, for the sake of saving us all a lot of bad press, and to make the Chamberlains go away, I’m asking you to leave the statue up.”

  Well, that didn’t take long for things to go sideways with my own attorney.

  I stare at her for a long moment. This woman is so brusque and bossy and so assured that she’s right, I don’t have time to react. So, out of nowhere I blurt out a laugh. I have to. I’m so tired and emotionally wrung out, I’m punch drunk. It bubbles in my belly and then pops its way up my throat and soon I’m feeling a tickle in my throat.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks.

  I shake my head and my shoulders tremble because I can’t speak my words yet. Finally, I ramble through my thoughts while fighting off the giggles. This is very unlike me, but goddamn, I’m so tired. “I just think it’s funny that you, the attorney who’s here to protect me, might be just as big of an asshole as the people suing me…and the opposing counsel…well he’s a very nice man who used to be a student of mine…and he’s been the kindest to me through this entire ordeal. Maybe it’s stress, I don't know…but it’s all very ironic, don’t you think?”

  Ms. Degrassi puts her hands up in a gesture of exasperation and tells me she’ll be in touch.

  I’m so wrung out by the time I reach my car that I realize I’ve completely forgotten about Miles’s text to me.

  I finally look at it and it says, Hope you have a good day. Stay strong.

  But I’m not strong. I’m completely done.

  Sitting in my car, the same car I sat in eight years ago and allowed a student to kiss me and touch me and…oh lord what had I been thinking? I text him back.

  Terrible day. Tired of being strong.

  His reply comes in seconds. Go home. Some pampering is coming your way.

  10

  Miles

  I arrive in the middle of a thunderstorm, thankful that it’s dark enough and stormy enough that nosy neighbors most likely won’t be watching.

  Martha looks at me through the glass on the side of the front door, the small overhang on the porch keeping me from getting any more soaked than I already am. Her arms are crossed in front of her, and she looks apprehensive. Finally she opens the door and looks at me hard.

  “Are you going to let me in?”

  She bites her lip. “This is probably not okay, you visiting me like this.”

  “No, it’s not. But that makes it even harder to stay away.”

  She doesn’t say anything and for a few seconds I think this is it. I should just go home.

  But then, she holds the door open and I step inside.

  “Talk to me,” I tell her when I see the worry lines in her forehead.

  She helps me remove my overcoat and hangs it on a coatrack by the door. Something about this gives me a tight feeling in my chest. This simple, domestic gesture—removing coats and shoes by the front door, asking about her day—is the sort of everyday homey ritual that I never witnessed between my parents growing up. That I never realized I wanted until I met Martha. I want all of these simple things with her, and these simple things seem more urgent now, given that our age difference matters not at all now.

  “Let me grab the wine and we’ll talk in there,” she replies, gesturing with her chin into the living room. Instead, I insist she sit down and let me serve her.

  I retrieve a bottle and two glasses from the kitchen and bring all of it to the living room. I sit close to her on the sofa and pour the wine, handing her a glass. “Tell me everything.”

  She takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes, exhaling a heavy sigh. “The Chamberlains are trolling the PTA and getting to my staff. They’re trying to make my job even harder.”

  Martha tells me about her staff meeting, and about the puzzling discussion at PTA, and all about the school board meeting.

  “At least the board of trustees has some common sense,” I say when she tells me about her attorney.

  “I don’t know how to fix this, Miles. I have an answer for everything but not this. I don’t know how to simply let things play out without trying to fix it.”

  Her feet are moving back and forth across the floor, and that’s when I notice she’s using a cylindrical foot massager.

  I tell her, “You don't have to fix everything.”

  She shakes her head, my stubborn girl. “But that’s my job. It’s my whole life. I don’t know what I’ll do without it.”

  “You won’t do without it,” I tell her. “And you have me.”

  Martha slouches down into the sofa and sips her wine, turning her face to me. Not saying anything, just looking.

  “May I?” My hand hovers above her free hand, and she nods, perhaps too tired to object.

  I take her hand in both of mine.

  “What about you, Miles? You’re risking everything to help me. You could be disbarred or something for what you’re doing, couldn’t you?”

  I shrug and grin at her impishly. “I don’t know; maybe I should look that up.”

  She shakes her head and downs more wine. “I’m serious.”

  “What can I say? I’ve always been a bit of a risk taker.”

  “But this is huge,” she replies.

  I nod in agreement. “I was raised by some very permissive nannies. I never was admonished for changing my mind or changing directions. If this law thing doesn’t pan out, I’ll go do something else. Maybe I’ll be the guy who sweeps up. That might be okay.”

  Martha smirks. “Must be nice to be a trust fund baby.”

  This doesn’t bother me. She’s absolutely correct. “It is, I’m not going to lie. But also you gotta sit back and breathe for a minute, Martha.”

  She closes her eyes as if to avoid the truth of what I’m saying. “I know, everyone says that. But I don’t have time.”

  I sigh in empathy. I know that feeling. I’ll have to take the direct approach to helping her relax. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  She blinks at me. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “No, I’m not sure. I’m out of good ideas and full of bad ones. Personally, this is my favorite bad idea in a long time.”

  She crinkles her eyes at me in a shy smile. “You’re nothing but trouble, Mr. McCrae.”

  I lean in. “And you’re everything and a bag of chips.”

  Our lips meet in the middle; hers are even softer and sweeter than I remember. I’ve relived that moment in the back seat of her car every night in my dreams. Her plump, soft lips brush against mine in a delicious, tempting dance that dares me to take it to another level. I swipe my tongue across her bottom lip, and in the next moment our tongues tangle eagerly.

  I nearly lose control before I remember I came here tonight to take care of her, not myself.

  I break away from the kiss even though my lips don’t want to yet. “Sit back. Put your feet up on me.”

  Her eyes pop open, her brows knitting together. “What? No, you don’t want my gross feet on you.”

  I lean in, so when I speak, my breath brushes her cheek. “I would let you put your beautiful feet all over me if you wanted to.”

  She laughs. “That might be a little too weird for me.”

  I shrug an acknowledgement, then reach out to stroke her cheek. Her skin flushes pink under my touch. “That came out differently than I meant it. Will
you just do what I say for once? Lean back and give me your feet.”

  Sighing, Martha pivots to lie back on the sofa and picks her feet up off the foot massager and plops them up onto my lap.

  “First, we’re going to take off these tights,” I say.

  “I’ve been on my feet all day, they are going to stink…”

  I shake my head. She has got to let go of this stranglehold of control. “Well, I’m not going to massage you through these woolen Amish tights.”

  She giggles. “Okay, fine, let me just…”

  I put my hands over her busy hands and lower my voice. “I got this.”

  I keep my eyes locked on hers in an admonishing stare.

  My hands slide up her calves, over her knees, and all the way up her thigh. I thank my lucky stars that these are thigh highs and not waist-high tights.

  Taking my time, I roll one stocking down gently, rolling it over on itself, all the way down her thigh, pushing with both my palms flattened against her bare skin.

  When I reach her feet I pop the stocking off all the way and then my hands go to work on her other leg, repeating the same action.

  “That was a nice massage, thank you,” she says.

  I smile at her. “I’m not done, sweets.”

  Starting at her left foot, I press the pads of both my thumbs along the sole. The firm motions continue around her ankle, her heel.

  “If you lose your license to practice law you can be a massage therapist because this is lovely,” she sighs.

  My palms slip over her strong calves, where the smooth, creamy skin is taut over her tense muscles. I work them over and switch to her other leg.

  “I’m not interested in putting my hands on a bunch of random people,” I say.

  She laughs softly. “Oh, just me then?” Her eyes go dark when she sees my gaze turn another shade darker.

  “Yes, Martha. Just you.”

  My hands travel upward, paying attention to her tired knees, one then the other, before advancing on her thighs.

  My greedy hands each take one of her soft thighs for themselves. When she lets out a small sigh at my light brushes under her skirt, I nearly give in to the need.

  The struggle to restrain myself must be showing on my face because Martha’s eyes widen in anticipation and perhaps a whisper of fear of the unknown. She studies my face, trying to predict what I might do.

  What I do is press the meat of both my palms deeply into her inner thigh muscles, working out all the tension that I can find.

  Her skin warms under my touch, her body melts and yields. She breathes out a surrendering sigh, surprising me by opening her legs wider to me. My hands pause. I look up to her face and Martha’s lips are parted. Her tongue swipes to moisten them, her eyes hooded.

  “Miles,” she says. “What are we doing?”

  I quickly give in to my greed and both hands travel along the outside of her legs and then down the inside, my thumbs meeting at her pussy. She gasps and her eyes flash.

  “Everything I’m doing is about taking care of you, beautiful. So let me.”

  Her round breasts rise and fall with her shallow breaths.

  My fingers explore the lace of her panties. The hollow between her thighs is damp and tempting. I whisper, “I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

  She breathes out a small whimper, bites her lip and nods. With trembling hands, she sets down the wine.

  I let my fingers reach inside the elastic of her panties and she lifts her hips off the sofa to help me roll them down.

  I take the opportunity to circle one arm under her waist and pull her closer, lifting her ass so she’s now on my lap.

  Martha gasps but doesn’t protest.

  I let her watch me slowly slip her panties down her calves, off her feet and toss them aside.

  She and I never break eye contact while my hands push her wool skirt up to her waist. She’s now completely bare to me from the hips down, her Greenbridge sweater still hugging her tits and her torso. It’s so tawdry and sinful, looking at her like this.

  And so unbelievably fucking hot.

  I smooth my hands over her bare mound and she sucks in a breath.

  “That’s exactly it, baby. Breathe.”

  My palm explores deeper, and she opens up to me more. I slip my fingers between her damp folds, and the wetness I find there makes my cock jerk even more powerfully than I ever remember reacting to her when I was her student. It wants to come out to play and it’s not messing around.

  She moans for me through my strokes, pressing into my hand. She’s so fucking wet all I can think about is climbing on top and sinking into her, claiming her.

  “Soon, buddy,” I say to my dick without thinking.

  Martha opens her eyes. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” I reply, letting her watch me suck her juices off my fingers.

  She gasps. “Holy shit, Miles,” she whispers.

  My hands return to their new favorite home while my other hand holds her tight against my body. My fingers find her tight little clit and swipe it firmly. She gasps again, her body jerking, her face a growing mask of need.

  While the pad of my thumb works over her clit, my index finger penetrates her pussy. Her wetness intensifies with every stroke.

  “Miles,” she moans, her arm now circling my shoulders to still herself while she writhes on my lap. “Kiss me.”

  I claim her mouth hungrily, our tongues eagerly tasting, exploring. A low moan escapes me; she’s so fucking delicious.

  My hand continues to pleasure her while our tongues get reacquainted. I slide in and out of her pussy, stopping every few strokes to explore her folds. I want to commit every inch of her body to memory.

  My unsteady rhythm soon has her bucking against my hand.

  “Baby, I want to keep kissing you but I also want to watch you squirm,” I breathe.

  My whispers and my touches send her back arching with a wave of shattering pleasure. Her gorgeous tits go skyward as she throws her head back, eyes clenched, mouth screaming out my name in her climax.

  I look down and lovingly take in the sight of her pussy clamping around my fingers. Her honey soaking my hand and my pants has my cock fighting against its confines like an angry, hungry bear.

  Martha is the most beautiful sight ever when she comes. And from now until I die, I’m the only one who’s ever going to see this. I’ve decided. She’s too precious to waste any more time. She makes me regret not pursuing her at all for eight long years.

  When Martha calms after the release of her climax, I help her smooth her skirt back down as I hold her close to me, gently kissing every inch of her face, ears and neck.

  “You’re mine, Martha.”

  I hold her and whisper sweetnesses against her skin through sloppy kisses. “I’m going to take care of you,” I breathe into her hair, inhaling her gingery scent.

  But then my Martha bites her lip with a devilish grin while she palms my hard length. “Your turn.”

  Groaning, I almost give in.

  11

  Martha

  I reach for his belt, intent on giving him some relief.

  Miles stays my hand. “Just you.”

  “But I can feel it. How can you stand it?”

  Miles covers my mouth with his. “Baby, tonight is about taking care of you. Now stop trying to touch it before I climb on top of you and get you pregnant.”

  I breathe out the words I’m thinking before I can stop myself. “Would that be such a bad thing?” I don’t know where that came from. It’s so unlike me to blurt out things like that, especially overly sappy, romantic things.

  My remark doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. In fact, he escalates this hypothetical pregnancy scenario. “Hmm,” he sighs, bathing my face and neck with wet, loud kisses, “a bossy little baby girl with your smarts and your beautiful eyes…I could agree to that.”

  I giggle as I melt into his ravenous lips. “And your charm and relentlessness. W
e’d have some little monsters on our hands.”

  His throaty chuckle vibrates down my spine and warms me from the inside.

  We resume kissing and petting and whispering and laughing for what seems like hours, and he still won’t let me relieve his cock. I’m fairly certain that Miles has only drunk one or two glasses, and yet we’ve polished off a whole bottle and half of a second one.

  “I think I’m a little drunk,” I whisper into his ear, my hands touching his neck.

  He moans and kisses me hard, penetrating me with his tongue. “All the more reason for me to go. I can’t take advantage of an impaired woman.”

  I smirk and lick his earlobe. “You had no problem taking advantage a little while ago with your hand up my skirt.”

  He sighs and cups my face. I know that sigh. That’s the noise of someone who needs to leave but really doesn’t want to. It’s the kind of noise, coming from him, that makes me feel more desired than I’ve ever felt in my life. “Yeah, but that was before you were tipsy, love.”

  Him calling me that squeezes my heart. He’s not exactly saying “I love you,” but it has nearly the same effect: it makes me feel as though I’m falling for him completely.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

  “Baby, I’m fairly certain that if I stay, neither of us will get any sleep. And I want us to wait until after you win, or the case gets dropped, before we take it that far.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to earn it from you.”

  I study his face. He’s serious.

  “I don’t know if I can last that long,” I say.

  He gives me another peck on the lips. “You’ll have to. Besides, I have a big day tomorrow and so do you. You’re gonna go ahead and take down that statue because my client never bothered to ask me to file an injunction to keep it in place.”

  I swat him playfully. “Miles! If you were my employee I would fire you! I told you before I don’t want you to make it that easy for me.”

  He crinkles his eyes at me with a wicked smile. “I probably should be fired. But I don’t care. All I care about is protecting you and your assets and your job.”