HEADMASTER

  “You’re gonna bump uglies with him, aren’t you?”

  “Brett, stop!” I shout, laughing. “It’s not like that between us.”

  I hear him huff. “Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that.”

  “I enjoy his company. That’s all. I’m really sorry I didn’t come by. I mean that.”

  A deep sigh resonates down the phone. “I know. I just want you to be careful, okay? I don’t care how innocent you’re both thinking this is. If you two are caught, then it’s game over—for both of you.”

  God, I hate it when he’s right. I don’t like it. Neither does my belly. The sick feeling I now have is an all too reminder of this.

  “I’ll stay for one more drink just so it doesn’t look like I’m being impolite, and then I’ll go home. Okay?”

  “You don’t have to explain shit to me, sugar lips. I just want you to be safe.”

  That sick feeling in my stomach is replaced by a warm feeling in my heart. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Love you, girl. Send me a message later to let me know you got home safe. Okay?”

  I smile. “Okay. Love you too. Bye.”

  I hang up, take a deep breath and walk back in to find Easton sat on the sofa, a smile on his face and two fresh drinks on the coffee table. I walk towards him and thank him for the top up before sitting down.

  “Everything okay?” he asks with a worried frown.

  “Everything’s fine.” I pick up my wine and take a sip. It’s getting better and better with every mouthful. “It’s Brett. I was supposed to be going to the bar tonight.”

  “Shit. Sorry. If you want to go now, I won’t be offended.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I say, chuckling. “It wasn’t a planned evening or anything. Brett shot me a text to let me know he was working and I said that I would go round for a drink once I had finished dropping the book to you. Well, that was before I knew it was you and you seduced me with your cooking.” When I realise how bad that sounds my face flames.

  “Seduced you with my cooking, huh? That’s a first.”

  “Well, there’s a first for everything,” I answer, trying to make light of what I’ve said.

  “That there is.” He picks his beer up, winking at me before taking a slug.

  My knees start trembling as my mind conjures up thoughts—thoughts I should never be having.

  “Listen,” Easton suddenly says, placing his beer bottle down, “I’ve been meaning to apologise to you for kissing you a few weeks ago. I’ve been kicking myself ever since. The last thing I want is for you to have the impression that I do things like that on a regular basis.”

  That’s the last thing I think. “If I thought that about you, then I wouldn’t have agreed to stay for dinner, and I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to stay behind for a drink. However, I do think that once I have this drink I should be on my merry way.”

  He nods, as if agreeing. “That’s only fair.” He looks away for a moment and I can’t help wondering if he’s still cursing himself for what he did.

  “And another thing.” I watch as his gaze turns to me, and I swallow hard before saying, “If I didn’t want you to kiss me, then I would have stopped you, so please don’t beat yourself up about it. I was invested in that kiss just as much as you were.”

  At first he doesn’t say anything. We just continue staring at each other, because suddenly the thought of looking away terrifies me.

  I can’t fall for him. I can’t let myself get sucked under again. I know Easton’s different, but after what happened with Liam, I don’t know whether to trust my feelings ever again. I know that it’s no way to live. No girl of my age should ever be worrying about such matters, but it’s there, niggling inside my brain until my head starts to hurt with it.

  But my heart doesn’t want to listen. Back then with Liam it was my body that reacted to him. He set the scene perfectly that I bounced off everything he said or did. I was his perfect puppet to manipulate and mould as he saw fit. I know Easton is nothing like Liam.

  So why am I so afraid?

  I ask that same question over and over again when it comes to Easton.

  “Do you sometimes get the feeling we’re being pushed together by some unseen force?” I surprise myself by asking.

  Easton laughs before taking another swig. “It does seem that way, huh?”

  The room temperature seems to heat up a notch. In my effort to cool myself, I take another sip—or rather gulp—of wine, but it only acts to make me feel hotter.

  “Can I use your bathroom, please?” It’s not because I need to use it. I just need an escape from this feeling to reach out and grab him.

  “Upstairs, first door you come to.”

  Nodding my head, I get up and take the stairs to the landing. It’s there that it gets confusing. There seems to be two doors together. I’m about to shout down which one, when I think to just look through. I go to the first door to the right and push through. Immediately I know it’s not a bathroom, because I’m met with the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. It’s dark, but the curtains are open and the lights from the street outside are enough to illuminate the expanse of the room.

  Unable to help myself, I step further into the room when something in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I turn my gaze away from the bed and see straight away what it is that’s hanging on the wall opposite Easton’s bed. It’s dark, but the light seems to be reflecting on it in such a way that I can’t seem to take my eyes off of it.

  I walk further, my gaze unmoving from this masterpiece in front of me. Her eyes, they look lost, but also hopeful. Her hair is a mass of waves cascading gently onto her face. She’s smiling, seeming to look deeply into someone’s eyes. Her head is cocked slightly to one side as she stares.

  A single tear starts to stream down my face, but I make no attempt at wiping it away. I can’t. I’m frozen. Frozen by the set of eyes now staring at me.

  “Sasha, are you,” Easton steps through the door and obviously spots me, “okay?” he finishes asking, but I don’t look at him. I see from the corner of my eye that he’s walking towards me. “I can explain,” he urges. I hear the panic in his voice—hear the dismay at what I’ve found and what this could all imply. And the reason he’s so frightened and so panicked is because in this sketch—in this beautifully sorrowful, but happy sketch…

  Is me.

  Slowly, I turn to face him. I can’t see him fully, but I can see enough to know how shit scared he looks.

  “I know you think this looks bad. I swear I’m not a stalker or anything. I can explain. I sketched this the night that we met, and it’s the only sketch I’ve felt I’ve put my heart and soul into.”

  “You remembered my face.”

  He stops dead for a moment, and no words are spoken until he says, “I remembered everything about you.”

  It takes a second to walk the short distance to him. I know every thought in my brain should be screaming at me to stop this. It will only cause me heartbreak if I don’t. But right now, it’s not my mind making the decisions. It’s my heart.

  I take his face into my hands and kiss him deeply. I know I’ve taken Easton by surprise because at first he stiffens. He was probably expecting me to be somehow grossed out—or even creeped out by the fact he has a sketch of me in his bedroom—but when I look at that sketch, I see nothing creepy about it at all. He seems to have captured everything good and bad about me. My past with Liam, but my happy present with Easton.

  I know I should not be kissing my head teacher, but the knowledge that he thinks of me—even just enough to draw me—is what pushes me on further. I know what I’m doing is dangerous. I know I’m crossing a major line here, but by fuck is it worth it!

  His warm lips open up to me, allowing access to dip my tongue in deep. No holds barred, I practically bare my soul to this man through our kiss. His low soft moans have me begging for more—begging to reach out, touch him, caress him … make love to him.

  “We
need to stop this,” he says after slightly pulling away, but immediately after he’s grabbing my head, back to my lips kissing me like the world will end unless we keep going.

  “I can’t stop,” I reply, gripping his soft, luscious hair in between my fingers.

  “I can’t stop either,” he admits.

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “I don’t want to stop either.”

  He claims my mouth again, but this time it’s more primal. “Easton,” I whisper between kisses. We’re suddenly on the move, getting closer and closer to the edge of his bed.

  This is the time when I should stop. We’re about to go beyond that point of no return. My heart—on the other hand—has other ideas. It knows that this somehow feels right. Despite the lines we’re crossing and the trouble this could cause us, I feel it deep within my soul that here—right here with Easton—is where I’m supposed to be.

  I feel him tugging at my top when he says, “Tell me to stop, Sasha. Tell me this is wrong.”

  In one fell swoop, I curl my fingers underneath the seam of my top and hurl it over my head, exposing my heaving chest and red satin bra. “I don’t want to,” I whisper. I notice that Easton’s eyes are hooded with want as he scans my near naked frame. He looks up, closing the distance between us and capturing my mouth again.

  “Shit, Sasha, I’ve been dreaming of this moment ever since I met you in the bar.”

  His confession has my heart hammering even harder against my chest. “I want to feel you inside of me.” I graze my teeth against his lips, and revel in the heated hiss he releases against my mouth.

  I’m on fire with want. My knickers soaked with desire. I start to unbutton his jeans as Easton pulls his t-shirt off and discards it on the floor. At first I can’t move. He’s like a work of art before me. Every portion of his skin looks smooth and silky to the touch. Needing to find out, I raise my hands and caress over his pecks. I lean forward gently kissing each one and trailing my tongue along his nipples. His hand runs through my hair, wrapping up in a tight fist. The animal in me runs my nails over his chest and again I relish in the hiss he offers me.

  “Sasha, I need you.”

  I lift my head up, capturing his mouth again as I start frantically pulling his jeans down. As much as we want to continue kissing, we have to part momentarily to take our jeans off. When discarded, we both take a couple of seconds to look at each other. Me with only my red bra and knickers, and Easton with only a snug pair of Calvin Klein boxer shorts. His skin, flawless, his stature like a king. If ever someone wanted to create the perfect man it would have Easton as their idea. He’s simply perfection.

  As we take the brief moment to stare at each other, I unhook my bra letting it fall to the floor. My breasts are swollen and my nipples pert, eager to feel his hands on me.

  Easton’s hooded eyes look down a second before he walks towards me, claiming my mouth again. Our tongues are hot and heavy, meshing together in a frenzy. My hands are all over his back, tracing the contours of his torso, as Easton squeezes my hips. In an instant, we’re lying on the bed, Easton snug between my legs. I feel his hardness digging into my groin and I can’t help the flex of my hips towards him seeking more. Damn this pesky underwear between us.

  Easton groans into my mouth, but pulls away dipping his head to take my nipple into his mouth. I gasp out loud, moaning as he swirls his tongue like a pro. I’m getting wetter and wetter, my desire becoming unbearable.

  “Easton, please,” I beg, needing to feel him inside of me.

  He’s so quick, I don’t even have time to register the fact that he’s taken his boxer shorts off and is hooking his fingers underneath my knickers. He starts pulling and I lift my hips up to help them slide off. He’s looking at my bare pussy—the pussy I shaved this morning. I take a small moment to celebrate that fact before he positions himself between my legs.

  “You’re going to be the end of me, Sasha,” he whispers, kissing my deeply again, swirling that delectable tongue with mine. I can feel his hardness digging into my groin again and it’s making my head spin. My pussy throbs with want unable to think about anything or anyone else but being here. Right here underneath this man.

  Again, I move my hips up grinding myself against his erection. “I need to feel you inside me, Easton. Please.”

  “Fuck,” he breathes, lifting himself up. Before I even take a breath he’s inside me. I’m so wet that he pushes right to the tilt, groaning and panting into my mouth. “Shit, Sasha. Condom. I forgot a condom. I can’t think clearly.”

  I hadn’t even thought of that either. I was so immersed in Easton that thinking about something as simple and vital as a condom never even crossed my mind.

  “It’s okay,” I answer. “I’m on the pill.”

  “Even still, I should have known better. I’m sorry.”

  I lift my head up and kiss him. “Don’t ever be sorry.”

  The street lights illuminating the room shows me that he has his eyes closed. His breathing is deep, fanning me like a warm air. I’m filled deep by him—chest against chest and skin against skin. At the tender age of eighteen, I’ve not had much knowledge of life’s love, but I do know this. I feel it down to my marrow with Easton.

  “I don’t want to think about tomorrow,” he confesses.

  Cupping my hand on his cheek, I nudge him to open his eyes. When he does, I say, “Then don’t.”

  That was all the encouragement he needed to start moving. Mutual moans escape our lips as the first stroke turns into two, then three, then four. After the fourth, Easton’s movements quicken, and his breath is heavy against my face. One hand guides underneath my head, his fingers fisting my hair as he manipulates my head. He kisses me deep, then pulls away gently pulling my head to the side so he can kiss and nibble my neck. His body strong, his movements graceful as he grinds into me over and over again. My stomach clenches and expands to my arms and legs. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I can feel it coursing through my whole body.

  “Easton!” I cry, my body stiffening and then trembling. I can’t control this feeling—this feeling of no control. It’s like something’s taken over my body and is holding prisoner on some king of precipice. I remain rigid, desperate for this feeling to let go, and it’s only when it does that I realise—for the first time in my whole life, I’ve experienced an orgasm through sex. I’ve experimented with myself, but that felt nothing like this.

  I cry out his name again, wanting him to stop, but at the same time not wanting him to stop. Tears pool my eyes. I have absolutely no idea why. This feeling … it’s so intense. So potent.

  His movements quicken, and my once limp body through orgasm becomes rigid again. It builds and builds until again, I’m crashing.

  What the fuck’s happening to me?

  “Sasha, fuck, I’m going to come. I can’t hold it in any longer. You’re squeezing the fuck out of my dick and I can’t… Fuck!” he screams before grunting and then he stops.

  At first, I just lie there, feeling completely dumbfounded. I have heard that women can have multiple orgasms, but it just never occurred to me that I could experience that myself.

  I stay still with Easton’s head resting in the crook of my neck. I lift my hand up and start running my fingers through the soft strands of his hair. He is holding perfectly still, and his breathing becomes less and less laboured with each exhale.

  For quite some time, neither of us speaks, and at first I think it’s because we’re giving each other some time to process what I consider to be the most amazing experience of my life. I have no idea how Easton feels, but it was—hands down—the single most surreal and incomparably pleasurable experience I have ever had.

  The silence continues a bit longer than I’d anticipated, however, allowing fear and doubt to creep into my mind.

  Is he regretting it now that the passion is over? Does he want me to leave, but doesn’t quite know how to tell me?

  I search for answers in the dark, but I am una
ble to find any. I wonder if I should move or at least say something to get him to move. Such actions would certainly help me to make my escape, and if he wants me gone, then I certainly don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.

  I’m about to ask him if I can use his bathroom when he shocks me by saying, “I don’t think I can let you go now.” My hand freezes in his hair, and at that point, he raises his head and looks down into my eyes. “I’ve been trying so hard to avoid getting involved with you, Sasha, but after this—after tonight—it’s now quite impossible for me to ignore what it is I feel.” He then sighs. “But it’s not just me in this equation. Every time I feel the selfish need to keep you to myself, I have to remind myself that you will get hurt in this just as much as I will.”

  I know exactly how that feels because it’s the same thing I keep reminding myself of every day.

  I lean my head up, kissing him. A soft kiss that conveys my message just as much as my words. “I know,” I answer. “It’s the same thought I keep wanting to run and hide from.” I know we both have the same question on our minds, but I’m the one to utter it first. “So, what do we do?”

  Easton sighs, before pulling out of me and resting his body to the side of the bed. I turn, facing him, allowing a few seconds to stare into those dazzling eyes of his. I can’t see them, but the light is shining in such a way that they look like twinkling stars.

  “We have two choices.” I manoeuvre myself to get more comfortable and listen for what he says next. “We can either stop this now and try and wait it out for seven months, or we can carry on like this and try to be careful. And we’d have to be very careful.”

  I bite my lips and confess, “I’m not a fan of option one.”

  “I’m not a fan of option one either. But, if you told me that was the only one I would respect that decision. I would wait for you, because some people are just worth the wait.”

  Lifting my hand up to stroke his arm, I smile. “I feel the same. I just know that waiting will suck. It’ll feel like a prison sentence.” I shudder at the thought. I’ve already experienced a prison.