Once in my room, I drop onto the bed and watch the hours tick by before meeting with Mr. Harrington. The ring of my phone signals an incoming call from Sebastian, Quinn's arranged fiancé. His smooth tone permeates the line. "Hey Har, do you know where Quinn is?
"I've hung your dress in the guest room, Miss Aldridge," Anderson says from outside my room.
Covering the mic of my phone, I raise my brows at our butler. Once he shuffles away, I turn my attention back to Sebastian. "Nope, she dropped me off hours ago. She didn't say where she was going. Try your house, she was in a mood, so I doubt she went home." He disconnects abruptly, and I place my phone on silent before slipping it in my pocket.
I can't avoid the desire to see him any longer. Hopping off the bed and skipping down the stairs, I head out the front door, headed to meet Mr. Harrington.
With each mile, my heart rate increases as do my feelings for him. I've never felt this way with Lance or any of the other boys I've dated. The excitement of knowing I'll feel the teacher's lips against mine once again sends an undeniable need straight to the space between my legs.
It's a dangerous line we're walking. A teacher-student relationship is not something well received in the town of Silvercrest or being a child of The Society. I might as well prepare for a target on my back.
But I'm willing to take that risk. I only hope he feels the same.
Chapter Nine
Winston Asher Harrington
Harlyn missed class today, but she'd done as I asked and texted, letting me know she'd be out. The reason wasn't something I'd consider dire as we'd discussed, but since she's still meeting me for her tutoring session, I'll not lower her grade because of it.
Class was a lot less interesting without her in it. There were no opportunities for a glance at her flirty brown eyes or that pouty bottom lip. I'm seated, so she's unaware of my predicament when she enters the room.
Her eyes find mine, and her face brightens with a smile. She doesn't say anything as she dumps her books on the floor, stalks around the table, and straddles my lap before taking my face in her hands. Her lips cover mine. A gasp escapes against my lips, telling me she's realized my situation, but it doesn't stop her assault on my mouth.
She grinds against me.
With her school uniform, the only thing separating us is my jeans and her panties. Her heat warms my cock, and I'm on the brink of losing my load. I wrap an arm around her back, holding her in place while my other hand cups the back of her head, and our tongues dance together.
After a beat, she pulls away, breathing heavily. "Take me, Mr. Harrington."
Her respectful use of my surname reminds me what we're doing is wrong, and I consider stopping this and our tutoring sessions, but the thought flits from my mind as quickly as it came. "Asher," I instruct.
"Hmmm?" She questions with hooded eyes.
"My name …it's Asher. Call me Asher; otherwise, we'll need to stop."
When she leans back, her stare dances between mine; it's as though she's deciding if Asher is who she wants. All this time, I've been Mr. Harrington to her, and at this very moment, we've reached a crossroads.
One direction leads us back to safety, back to a teacher and a student. The other…well, it takes us into a whole new territory—a place where if we're not careful, someone will most certainly get hurt.
Even with clothing separating us, the urge to press my cock against her warm pussy is eating me alive, but I know if I do, it could manipulate her decision, so I wait.
With one final kiss to my lips, she pulls back and looks me straight in the eyes. "Asher, please. Take me right here, right now, in the Mesa room of the Harrington library."
The sound of our family name rolling off her lips sends warmth throughout my body. It's like a song. A beautiful ballad, sung from the voice of an angel. My willpower dissipates into thin air, and my fingers fumble with the buckle of my pants.
She's already swiped her shirt over her head and has scooted back, brushing my hands away so she can unfasten the belt and the button before unzipping my jeans.
Her movements are of someone who's done this before. Not quite an expert but also not inexperienced.
Once she's exposed my briefs, her hand dips beneath the waistband, and her fingers wrap around my cock, pulling it free. She pauses for a moment glancing downward, taking in my size before her eyes lift to mine. She smiles.
From there, everything is in what feels like slow motion.
Standing just enough to pull her panties aside and line up the head of my cock with her opening, she begins to lower herself.
It's not until she's wholly seated and rotating her hips on me, I realize I'm not wearing a condom. I want to tell her to stop, I need to ask her to stop, but her tight pussy is disintegrating every thought in my head and what happens next is pure animalistic.
Gripping her shoulders, I take control. Pounding out a rhythmic pace until she arches her back and cries out her release.
It's a beautiful sight, watching a woman orgasm. An emotion, so raw and vulnerable as it passes over their face, gives men a feeling of power, maybe even control, but in reality, we know they hold all the control.
Apparent when the pussy sheathing my cock contracts, again and again, milking me until my release fills her with the Harrington seed.
I guide her lips to mine for one last kiss before she lays her head on my shoulder, and I lower my arms to around her waist.
We sit quietly, still connected
