And these type of women? I wasn’t among them.

He stared at my popcorn ceiling in contented silence.

“Say something.” I cleared my throat, glaring. I had my head propped on one arm behind my head, my chest still dancing up and down. We were both naked, and it was starting to get chilly on my floor. But I wanted him to speak. Needed him to, badly.

“I’ve just fulfilled a fantasy.” He slanted his head so we were looking at each other. “I think I’m allowed a moment to regroup.”

“I was your fantasy?” How could that be? He was perfect, rich, and handsome. Young and sexily dangerous. And I was…his boring teacher.

“Ms. Greene…” he started, cupping my cheek.

I leaned into his hand before I realized what I was doing. By the time I felt his warmth against my skin, it was too late to pull away. “Please, call me Mel when we’re alone.”

His lips twitched, but he fought his smile. “Mel,” he corrected. “You’re it. You’re so. Fucking. It. Smart, sassy, and witty, and unimpressed with all the wealth and bullshit drama around you. You have no idea how hot you are. Which makes you even hotter. This is fucking happening, baby. We’re happening.”

I nuzzled into his neck, knowing that I was fueling a delusion that was just waiting to explode into calamity but not giving a damn anymore. His words moved something inside me. Not gently, either. They shook me to the core.

“Just until school ends,” I whispered into his warm muscular shoulder, trying to convince myself more than him. He brushed his thumb along my back, sending goosebumps to my arms and scalp.

“This ends the last day of school,” he agreed.

We had a deadline.

We had a plan.

And for a moment there, our warm bodies on that cold floor, with the haze of sex and bliss clouding our minds, I believed we were going to keep our careless promise. There was a little earthquake—a literal one—that moved some of the boxes as we made this agreement. I thought it was a coincidence. It wasn’t. It was the devil in hell down below, rattling the earth with his laughter. Laughing at me.

At how wrong I was.

THE NEXT WEEK AT SCHOOL was paradise. My classes were perfectly behaved. I didn’t struggle to hold the students’ attention, because my new fuck-buddy, an intimidating senior jock who made people fall in line with his stare alone, spread the word not to mess with Ms. Greene. No one was ballsy enough to ask why. Everyone naturally assumed my fucked-up car and his freshly painted Range Rover and its retreat to the student parking lot were the answer to that question. To them, Jaime wanted to keep me happy since he bumped into my car.

No one suspected we were bumping a few other things in our free time.

I taught all my classes then sat with Jaime in detention. I used the time to work, while he used the time to text. On the last day, I kept glancing at my watch, tapping my Sharpie against my desk. I couldn’t concentrate on anything with him in the room. There were no words spoken between us. When his time was up, we both picked up our belongings and walked out of the classroom. I went to my car, he went to his, but by the time I got home, he was waiting inside my building, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

“Would you like to come in?” I sloped my chin down, biting a smile. He, too, grinned at his shoes. We were giddy. I liked that. I liked that and I hated that I liked that.

“Nah…I can’t. Football practice for the exhibition. The Kings are going to kill those pussies playing next year for the Saints if we don’t pull their shit together. Trent’s pissed. A scout’s coming to watch the game and look at his leg. They might reconsider his scholarship now that his rehab’s done. Seven okay?”

“Seven’s perfect.”

He nodded. We stood there, staring at one another, before he shrugged and closed the space between us with a long step. “Screw this shit, I missed those lips.”

Then came a hard, desperate kiss where his lips assaulted mine for a good minute.

Breathlessly, I unlocked my door and disappeared behind it, pressing my back against it with a sigh.

That didn’t feel forbidden, or bad. Just a boy and a girl liking each other.

He came back at ten after seven, and for every extra second I waited, anxiety and disappointment built in my gut. I opened the door, frowning. “You said seven. I hate tardiness.”

“That makes two of us.” He roughly pushed me into my apartment, oozing charged energy. “So, about that missionary position…” The quarterback giant stepped into my orbit.

His cut lip and new purple welt were even more prominent with the pink flush on his cheeks after a grueling workout, and his hair still wet from the shower. Between footfall and Defy, there were a lot of injuries among the HotHoles. A broken ankle had ended Trent Rexroth’s football career in the fall. That happened in a locker-room accident. But it was almost like Jaime wanted to fuck up that pretty face of his. The Saints practiced and scrimmaged even in the winter, but he was a senior. He and his friends wouldn’t be part of the team next year.

“Flip your dress up.”

I did, without even blinking. He should’ve been the teacher with that kind of authority. Exposing my baby blue panties, I awaited further instructions.

“Turn around and bend down to touch your toes, Little Ballerina.”

I had no fucking clue how he knew I was a dancer, and asking him about it would force me to deal with the truth.

That he was a crazy stalker.

And that I absolutely liked that about him.

So, I just did as I was told, my ass in the air, presumably level with his groin. The throbbing ache between my thighs demanded release. I felt his fingers clutching my pussy from behind. He ripped my underwear off in one go and served them to me from behind.

“Still wet, despite my tardiness.” He rubbed them against my lips. “Not that mad, I see.”

Shit. The wet spot was obvious, even now, when my panties were merely a string.

“Can you please stop tearing my stuff apart? Not everyone’s under mommy and daddy’s financial wing.” Goodie. The cat was out of the bag now.

He laughed, his abs bouncing against my ass, then thrust three fingers at once into my entrance, making me stumble forward. He caught me by the shoulder before I fell headfirst.

“This week was an introduction,” he warned. “Today…today, baby, I’m marking you as mine.”

It sounded crazy. And hot. Crazy hot, actually. I was immediately game. If I was going to fuck up my career, better enjoy the ride, right?

“Let’s see your ballerina’s balance as I fuck every other guy you’ve ever had out of you.”

With that, I heard his zipper rolling down as he freed his cock from his pants. His bulging head found the lips of my pussy, and I quivered in anticipation, lifting up slightly to gain more balance.

“Hands. On. Toes.” He bit the crook of my neck from behind and drew circles with his tip around my pussy, making me mad with need. He was also fucking bare.

“Jaime, wrap up and get in before I die.” My voice trembled.

“Shh,” my stalker said, ripping the condom wrapper with his teeth, still teasing my entrance from behind. “You just keep holding on to those toes, ballerina. I’ll take care of the rest.”

He went in slow. Painfully slow. Every inch of him took a second to go in, then slid back even slower. My legs quivered. I cried out in pleasure and frustration. This was torture of the highest level, but I was enjoying every minute.

“Faster,” I begged under my breath.

He wouldn’t listen. The next time he went in, it was even slower.

“Jaime.” I bit my lower lip. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Then act like you fucking want it,” he growled, grazing my shoulder with his teeth. “Don’t stand me up. Don’t give me shit when I’m ten minutes late, and don’t try and act like you don’t want this.”

Inch. Another inch. Another inch. It was a beautiful torture. I wanted to push him away and run to my bedroom to finish my business with my plastic boyfriend, Victor the Vibrator. But I wasn’t strong enough to resist him, no matter what he did to me.

“Fine,” I grunted. “Fine, I promise. Now fuck me.”

“That’s better,” he murmured, thrusting himself all the way in and making me stumble. He gathered my hair into a ponytail and jerked my head upward, pulling my body close to him so I wouldn’t crash. Then he fucked me so hard I felt numb from the waist down before he was done with me.

That’s what happens when you come seven times in one night, I thought as I wobbled toward my bed. By the time he went home, around midnight, I couldn’t feel my clit. Or my legs. Hell, not even my feet.

But he’d made his point crystal clear. And me? I wanted him to make it all over again.

DAYS FILLED WITH CHAIN ORGASMS and hurried kisses in hidden corners and deserted classes ticked by. A blur of bliss and danger, abandoned lust. The trick was not to think about it. Any part of it. Not about my future—as a teacher and an adult—or about what I was doing. And definitely not about who I was doing it with.

No longer in detention, Jaime found other creative ways to stick around after school and spend time with me. Mostly, we fell into a routine where he visited me at my apartment after his football drills with next year’s team.

Three weeks into our affair, when another Saturday rolled around, I was glad he had other plans. I finally mustered enough fake bravado to collect my thoughts and try and make sense of it all. The Saints were playing an exhibition scrimmage against the Kings of Sacramento, and technically, I could’ve supported my local team and watched Jaime play but decided against it. Putting some space between us and reminding myself that this was just casual fun was in my best interest. His too.

Besides, I’d made my own plans to meet my parents at an Italian joint in downtown Todos Santos this evening.

I did pass by the game on my way to Target that afternoon, taking the long way just so I could catch a glimpse of the game. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t about Jaime. Football was a big deal at All Saints High. But no matter how you looked at it, when I stopped at the red light and glanced across the road to the field, I was looking for number four. For Jaime Followhill. For the HotHole who always made my stomach dip like I’d just gotten on a rollercoaster. For the boy who felt too much like a man. And, sadly, for the guy who filled the void in me with more than just his arousal and hot flesh.