Lena

 

Period doesn’t go there … that’s not how that word is spelled … there needs to be an indentation there … come on, you know how to write an English essay—

 

It’s just a little after four, and I’m still at work. My odd, wild night of surprise has been shoved very forcibly into the back of my mind. And now? Now I focus on grading English essays that were clearly done the evening before.

 

Not like I can blame the students. The material is terrible that they’re learning from, and they aren’t interested; I still haven’t found a solution to my book issue.

 

One hundred thousand dollars.

 

My red pen stops moving as if of its own accord.

 

Well. There is a solution to my book problem, but it’s so ludicrous I don’t dare even consider it.

 

Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve considered it. It’s just insane.

 

But it doesn’t matter. I haven’t seen hide or hair of Booster Wylde since I turned him down on his offer to have me carry his child. I don’t believe that I’ll be given a second chance to say yes, and even if I was given a second chance to say yes, is money enough to justify something like that?

 

But it’d give you a child, too. One of your own. Not someone else’s to take care of.

 

“Ugh!”

 

I set my pen down on my desk with a hard snap. I’m getting nowhere with these essays with all these stupid, intrusive thoughts of mine. Money … a baby …

 

“Lena, get a damn grip. You’re not going to justify this to yourself just because he could give you things you want!”

 

Jeez. I’ve taken to talking to myself out loud, and there’s nothing but silent judgement to answer me back.

 

I take a moment to calm myself. It’s just the stress, I tell myself. That’s okay. The weekend will be here soon, and hopefully I can relax a little before needing to revisit the impossible situation that I’ve found myself in. When I think I’m ready to get back at the task at hand without weird bikers clouding my otherwise sound judgement, I pick my pen back up.

 

Knock, knock, knock!

 

There’s a rapping at my door, and I sigh.

 

“Come in!”

 

I think that perhaps it’s going to be Principal Walters. He always somehow manages to come in at the worst of times to bug me (despite hating when I take the time to bug him over things that actually matter.) Instead, the door opens and it’s not Principal Walters here to bug me or harass me, but a delivery guy.

 

“Ah, are you Lena?” He glances at a pad in his hand. “Lena Hedlund?”

 

I look behind him, seeing a ton of boxes on a rolling cart.

 

“Um … Yes? Yes, I’m Lena Hedlund.” I get up and go over to him, seeing a larger selection of boxes sitting outside my door, as well. “How can I help you?”

 

“I’ve got your delivery here.” He holds out the pad for me to sign. “Just need an autograph and you’ll be good to go.”

 

I’m … so confused. I didn’t order anything, especially nothing of this magnitude!

 

“Can you tell me what all this is?” I ask him. Maybe it’s some sort of scholastic packages that I ordered and forgot about in all the hectic comings and goings of the school year?

 

The guy shrugs.

 

“I just deliver things, ma’am. Go ahead and sign.”

 

I can tell that he’s just wanting to get on out of here, and I don’t really feel like keeping him longer than he’s willing to be here—I’m more curious about what’s been delivered to me. So I sign for these mystery boxes, much to the man’s delight. He takes his pad, unloads the rest of the boxes from the rolling cart, and makes his way down the hall. I watch him until he rounds a corner, and then I start bringing the boxes in one by one.

 

They’re heavy, and I almost consider getting help when I begin to break a sweat carting all of them in. But that would bring more questions, and considering the fact I haven’t even figured out what’s in these boxes to begin with?

 

Yeah … I’m keeping that to myself for now, until I figure out what’s in here.

 

When all the boxes are in my classroom, I close the door behind me. I mean, I know it can’t possibly be anything sinister. Probably. But I don’t want anyone peeking in here and trying to be nosy about what I’m doing. I get a pair of scissors from my desk and randomly choose a box. Carefully, as if defusing a bomb instead of cutting packing tape off a box, I cut the box open.

 

Oh …

 

Oh my god.

 

Inside are stacks and stacks of books. Brand new literary classics. I can see some are ones that I even looked for when I was doing my research for the books I’d like to buy my class—others are ones that I hadn’t even considered, but are still otherwise invaluable to the classroom.

 

I go through each of the boxes, one by one, losing count of the number that I open. Inside each box is nothing but books—novels, English textbooks, grammar manuals and guides, study texts—

 

This is … everything that I had intended to buy, and more.

 

Who on Earth sent these to me?

 

I’m on the verge of tears, because this solves a huge problem for me. I can feel my gut bubbling in elation, my throat threatening to seize up from the sheer happiness running rampant through my veins. This is the answer to years of problems that I have had teaching at this school. This is—

 

Tap, tap, tap!

 

Not at the door this time, but the window. I jump, my hand coming to my chest as I look over to my open classroom window to see none other than … Booster …

 

He has a gloved hand drawn up, knuckles rapping on my window, getting my attention. There’s a huge grin on his face, and he nods me over. I think that he wants me to come to the window, but as the dots connect in my head, I do him one better.

 

I leave my classroom and seek him out in the parking lot.

 

My mind is reeling. Did he orchestrate all of this? How? And … and why? Does this have to do with our conversation at the bar?

 

These questions are heavy on my tongue when I come around to the parking lot. Those, and more. I’m pretty sure that I’m going to ask every single one of them when I see Booster leaning against his bike, his helmet off and his grin crooked and cocky.

 

I come up with nothing as I stand before him, however. My mouth opens and closes like I’m a fish out of water, and truly, I am. I’ve never met a man like Booster Wylde, and I don’t know whether to hug him or slap him in the face.

 

“I see your books arrived safe and sound,” he says.

 

So it was him!

 

“What did you … why did you … how—”

 

“I told you. Anything you wanted.” He tilts his head, making his expression look even more dashingly cocky than it already was. “I can make a lot of things like that happen, Lena.”

 

“How did you even figure out my last name? Or my classroom—”

 

“I’m resourceful when there’s something I want.” Booster leans forward as he cuts me off. His proximity makes his cologne waft up into my nose, making me blush and my breath hitch in my throat. Then, before I can even think about what he’s said, he takes my chin in hand and draws me closer to him.

 

He’s strong—powerful. His mouth presses to mine and with a gasp, my lips part, allowing his tongue access to deepen the kiss. My eyes widen, and my mind blanks. There’s nothing that fires off in my brain, except the fact that I’m caught utterly off guard, and I really, really like the way he kisses me.

 

He takes control, takes charge, leading me through the kiss, and I follow as my eyes slide shut. My lips move, reciprocating, tongue tentative as I touch it to his. He growls at me, pulling me closer still, and he bites my lip, making me shudder.

 

There’s a tingling, shocking kind of interest that courses through me at the sensation. It has me almost limp against Booster as our kiss slows and he eases off of me. He’s completely taken my breath away; I’ve never been kissed like this by another man before. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think.

 

Luckily, Booster doesn’t give me much time to try.

 

“There’s more where that came from, doll,” he says, going back to that nickname he used with me before. I don’t correct him. I don’t know if he means more things he can get with money or more of those insane kisses—I think he might mean both, and I don’t find myself opposed to either. I stand there, my lips still parted and my face hot. I watch him, wordless, as he climbs onto his bike, secures his helmet to his head, and rides away.

 

I am … completely flustered. It takes me a few moments to get back to myself and collect my thoughts, which right now are centered on how utterly crazy this man likely is—and how much his actions have turned me on.

 

I stand in the parking lot for a few more moments, trying to compose myself. I remind myself that I have things I need to do … yes. The books!

 

I run my hands down my front, smoothing out my clothes as if that will set me straight. I realize it’s very likely that someone’s seen me—we were in the middle of the parking lot, for Christ’s sake! Hoping to avoid the prospect of facing an audience to my surprise indiscretion, I hurry back inside.

 

In the safety of my classroom, I throw myself into organizing my new books. I separate them between what will be for my classes and what will be suited for the other English teachers in the department. I find that there are enough additional materials for everyone at all grade levels, with some spare materials for those occasional overachieving students, when we get them. I organize everything based on this, and make a plan to surprise the other teachers the next day with my spoils.

 

All the while, Booster’s word keep running through my head.

 

“There’s more where that came from, doll.”

 

My mind whirls as I lock up for the night and make my way home. I’m reminded of the first night I met Booster, with how late it’s gotten and how chilly it is. My thoughts wander deeper into that territory.

 

He’s so serious about wanting me to carry his child. That’s not normal. Why doesn’t he just get a girlfriend? Why me? Why this way?

 

As a teacher, you start to pick up things about other people. Take high school students, for example. Sometimes they do outlandish things that make no sense from the outside looking in. You have to look inward, figure out their motives—and to high school students, those motives tend to make a lot of sense. The same logic can be applied to adults—though what’s outlandish in adult-world tends to be bigger than what’s outlandish in kid-world.

 

“I’m resourceful when there’s something that I want.”

 

I felt it in his kiss.

 

He wants me. The only problem is that his motives are still so very unclear, and they leave me reeling. I’ve never been in a situation like this before.

 

By the time I get back home, I’m a mix of curious and flustered. I shut my door with a snap, as if I’m trying to hide my state from the outside world. I can’t stop thinking about Booster’s words and our strange encounter, and try as I might to do so, I can’t forget about the way that he touched me and kissed me earlier. I can’t forget about why. He handed me my biggest dream for my students like it was nothing—and he’s offering me something even more. Something that he doesn’t even know I want too—

 

No. Stop right there. It’s still insane.

 

I head to my room, knowing that I don’t have the brain to grade anything tonight—I leave my bags downstairs without even bothering to unpack them. As soon as I hit my room, I begin to undress.

 

“He’s unhinged,” I mutter, trying to convince myself. “It doesn’t matter what he could give me. No sane man does something like that.”

 

My words to myself don’t go very far as I fall back onto my bed in nothing but my panties and my bra.

 

“There’s more where that came from.”

 

More. Heh. If his kiss was any indication, I can imagine what more from a man like Booster would be. Those hands of his, so big and strong …

 

I touch myself. It shouldn’t be, but it’s so easy to bring my hands to roam over my breasts as I think back to the way that his hand grasped my chin to pull me into the kiss. I bite my lip—I squeeze one of my breasts, hard.

 

A breathy sigh leaves me, and before I can stop myself, I whisper out his name.

 

“Booster …”

 

I squeeze my breast harder, pinching my nipple over the top of my bra. Booster would—

 

No. No, Booster wouldn’t squeeze on top of my bra.

 

I lean up and reach around my back to undo the hooks of my bra. I toss the offending piece of clothing away without a second thought and lay back down. Booster’s proven that he’s assertive … an alpha male. And an alpha male takes what he wants. He’s not tentative. He’s rough.

 

I arch from my bed as I pinch my nipple between my fingers, rolling the already hard bud between them, tugging. My other fingers knead into the supple flesh around it; my chest rises with a deep breath as pleasure pools quick between my legs.

 

Is this how he’d have me? Rough, working man’s hands on my soft, womanly flesh, not caring about bruising or pain? I see it as my eyes close and I can’t help but fall further into the fantasy … yes …

 

He’d toss me back on this bed, barely clothed, rip off my bra, and latch onto my breasts. He’d pinch and squeeze—bite them and suck them—until I was moaning his name and writhing against his mouth and hands.

 

“Booster … more …”

 

Usually I take my time with myself, but I know—I fantasize—that as soon as I let those honeyed words fall from my mouth, Booster wouldn’t hold back. My thighs fall apart, quivering. My free hand slips down my soft belly and over its button, down to play over cotton-clothed lips. I’m so wet. So hot.

 

Usually, I take my time with myself, but not this time. Booster wouldn’t. Booster would grab my legs and pull them apart—so instead of taking my time I shove my hand down into my panties, rubbing my fingers hard against the bud of my clit.

 

“Oh, god!”

 

There’s no god in this room; there’s the thought of Booster with his hard, manly body hovering over me, his fingers playing against my clit until I’m bucking against him like I am now.

 

More, more! Give me more.

 

Booster would oblige; his fingers would plunge into my open slit, forced in so easily with how much I want this.

 

Yes, yes, don’t stop!

 

In, out, the wet, sultry sound of my pleasure mingles with the unabashed moans and cries that fall from my lips.

 

“Oh—oh!”

 

Panties—off. I don’t need them anymore. Booster wouldn’t want me covered, so I lie in my bed, spread out with this phantom idea of him, readying my body to be taken, and taken good. Four fingers in, so full … so stretched. Booster would go hard, maybe even harder than I am right now. I press my fingers deep and hard against my g-spot, sliding against sensitive flesh against my walls—

 

I find that it’s not enough. I have a thumb on my clit, four fingers in, rutting and writhing against them. I pant as I pull my fingers out of me and roll over onto my belly to reach into the drawer of my bedside table.

 

Inside is a cocktail of fun things every single girl needs. Lube, condoms that need to be used—and a couple of toys that have gotten me through frustrating nights like this in the past. I take out the biggest one, imagining that a man Booster’s size has to be carrying a lot between his legs. I don’t roll over onto my back. As soon as I have the toy in my hand, I press my face down, rear up. My thighs are spread and shaking and I don’t even need lube to make sure that the toy will go in easily; my pleasure slides down my thighs hotly.

 

Toy in hand, fantasy back. Booster flipping me, gripping me by the hips to jerk me back. The toy nudges against my hole where fingers used to be and I push in, hard.

 

“Oh!”

 

I quiver around the length and girth, hitting as far as the toy can go, filling myself. My eyes roll, and in my head I see Booster claiming me roughly from behind, having me mounted like an animal since he wants to breed me like one.

 

The thought is filthy, but it makes me tighten and rut back against the toy.

 

“Harder, harder.”

 

My walls are obliged; I plunge the toy deeper and hard and faster, just like I know Booster would fuck me—because he’s not the making love type, I know. It wouldn’t be making love. It would be primal and disgusting and—the funny part?—I actually want it that way.

 

I imagine what it would be like to have his hand fisted in my hair, shoving my face into my pillows where my pleasured screams are muffled. To have it be the flesh of his cock I feel gliding in and out as I’m pounded into from behind instead of impersonal silicone.

 

Still. I clench around my toy. Deeper, deeper—hard. Spasms wrack my body and I shove my free hand between my legs to rub my clit.

 

That’s it, doll. Cum for me.

 

“Ah—ah … Booster—”

 

With it shoved into the hilt, I cum hard around the toy, flowing around it in an orgasm with an intensity that I haven’t brought myself to in a long, long time. I keep moving the toy in me, stimulating sensitive, tight walls—wanting desperately to drag out an orgasm from a partner that isn’t there, to be filled to the brim with seed and let it take …

 

After a few moments, my hand stops, slowing the motions. My panting becomes deep, deep drags of breath, and I lie there soaking in the pure bliss of my orgasm.

 

No one has to know about this, and no one ever will. I’m almost inclined to be embarrassed—but in my mind all I can think about is if fantasizing about this was that good, how amazing would the real thing be?

 

Am I really considering Booster’s offer?