She actually had to fight the urge to call him Mr. Edwards, even now. His house wasn't anything like she had expectedâhis wife must have done all the decoratingâeverything matched, seemed to have its own place, and had a subtle but unmistakable Asian design influence. The Mr. Edwards she had knownâ
hell, Cassie, call him Rick already, would you?
âwas scattered, forgot papers he'd already graded at home, and rarely wore matching socks. Granted, the mismatch was subtle and hard to see unless you were in direct lightâa dark brown and a navy blue, maybeâbut it was just a part of the whole picture that made up her junior year English teacher's persona.
Standing in his kitchen, leaning against the counter and drinking wine out of a glass just like a grown-upâtwenty-eight was grown-up enough, she insisted to herselfâshe watched him fixing a shrimp stir-fry for the two of them, and noticed with amusement that he was barefoot. That solved the mismatched sock problem entirely, didn't it?
"You're sure about your...I mean, that we have the house to ourselves?" Cassie asked for probably the tenth time in a week. Was she nervous about his wife coming home and discovering them? Did 11th grade girls get crushes on their cute English teachers? Which was to sayâhell yes.
"I told you," he said, turning off the flame on the gas stove and tipping the Wok toward the plates he'd already mounded with wild rice. "We have an arrangement."
She couldn't imagine any woman leaving for the weekend so her husband could have an affair with a former studentâalthough she was pretty sure Mrs. Edwards had no idea about the latter, even if she was aware of the former. But she wasn't in her mid-fifties and hadn't been married for twenty years either. In fact, she'd never been marriedâalthough that one romance out of college had been a close call.
"It smells delicious." She moved toward him, breathing deep. He'd always bragged about his cookingâof course, he'd bragged about a lot, she rememberedâbut apparently in the cooking arena, there had been more truth than bluster to it. They'd always gone out somewhere to eat, but tonight, their first real "overnight" together, he'd insisted on cooking. Her stomach felt tight, but she knew it wasn't just hunger. His hand slipped behind her as he pulled her closer, putting the pan down on the stove before his mouth captured hers.
I'm kissing my high school English teacher.
It was the thought that still came first, even after they'd been doing this, what, a month or more now? His mouth was soft, open, a little too eager. She pressed both her hands to his chestâhe was incredibly tall, but she was just a little over five foot. He'd told her he liked small girls. She'd seen his wifeâa pretty, Asian woman, even shorter than Cassieâand she believed him.
"I'm hungry," she murmured as his hands groped their way down to the seat of her jeans, lifting her toward his mouth again.
"So am I." His tongue probed this time, sending shivers through her, making her nipples hard under her blouse. When he got a good grip on the back of her thighs, he pulled her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, putting them on more even playing field, so to speak. But now, she was at his whim, and she had a feeling she knew where this was heading.
"God, I want you," he murmured against her neck, nibbling there, sucking. She'd have hickeys all over in the morning, but there would be no one to hide them from, so she didn't care. "I want to be inside you. I've been thinking about it all day."
So had she. As much as they had done, so far, had been quick fumblings in one car or another, but they'd never had enough time or been in a private enough place to do enough to truly satisfy themselves. Truly, she was surprised he'd gone on with the pretense of dinner at all, and hadn't just met her at the door naked with his cock in his hand. The thought made her smile.
