"Thanks to you, I can hardly walk," Raul, the sexy Spanish teacher, said, holding a textbook awkwardly in front of him.
We'd been exchanging flirtatious glances and littering our emails with racy double entendres for a while now, but none of it amounted to any real misbehavior. Yet here he was, in person, in my classroom after hours, sporting an impressive tent in his pants.
"Hardly?" I smiled. "Was that intended to be a pun?"
"Exactly," he replied, his Castilian accent beautifully decorating the word. His glance flickered toward his lap and he grinned sheepishly.
Widening my eyes and lowering my voice I said, "Can I see?" I meant it playfully, but I was more than half serious. My heart thudded loudly at my daring, and I could feel my pulse even in my fingertips. The room felt unusually warm.
A smile played across his lips and he rose from where he was leaning on a desk and shifted his balance indecisively. He shook his head slowly as he said, "This is a very bad idea," but his steps carried him toward me nonetheless.
His confidence seemed build as he approached my desk, and he stood behind my chair. I was paralyzed with indecision. He shifted his weight and said, "I can't get any closer," unequivocally giving me permission, more than daring me, essentially commanding me, telling me to act on his proximity.
I could smell the leather of his coat, the faint scent of coffee, and something else. He smelled masculine.
Licking my lips and not breaking eye contact, I reached for his thigh, and slid my hand up his leg and under the hem of his coat to the crease of his groin, my thumb making contact with something very warm through his tailored dress pants. A slight nod of his head, a lift of his chin, another look that said, "I dare you," encouraged me to continue, and my fingers followed his warmth to its source, and I finally rested my hand on the mound of his rigidly erect penis. He blinked and his expression changed slightly, became more intense, as my breath escaped me and my posture shifted, arching my back and instinctively assuming a more vulnerable position, exposing my neck submissively as my hand began to massage his erection, my fingertips memorizing its contours and sensing the pulse of his blood and the heat of his virility. I was instantly captivated by what my hand had found, and I felt as though I were a woman starved who had finally found a delicious source of sustenance. I wanted it. With every fiber of my being I craved it, and my mouth salivated in response.
A muscle in his cheek twitched as my index finger traced the crown of his penis through his pants, and he took a sharp breath. He was very, very hard.
His right hand found my breast and he lifted it in his hand. My skin screamed for more of his touch as my already hard nipples stretched toward his caress, and I silently cursed my sweater for deadening the sensation of his touch. As if hearing the thoughts my brain was screaming, he ran his fingers up to my neckline and plunged his hand inside my shirt, finding my breast again and rubbing my erect nipple with his thumb, then teasing it with his fingertips before massaging the whole breast again.
If I were a cat, I would have purred. The hairs on my neck stood up as chills raced up and down my spine, but I continued rubbing and squeezing the hard shaft in his pants. The thin jacquard fabric of his slacks impeded my access to him, and I found his zipper with my thumb, but greed or fear bid me to leave it in place for a moment longer. My instincts begged me to ease my hand into his pants to touch that delicious flesh, but I postponed that pleasure for another minute, not wanting to lose this delicious place where we were, but there was also the risk of being caught in a compromising position.
That risk I ignored.
I lifted the hem of his coat to reveal the bulge my right hand was so busily caressing, feeling the ridge along the underside, and I leaned forward, resting my mouth softly on that spot and exhaled slowly, breathing my heat onto his raging member.
A gasp -- a groan -- it was some primal sound of desire that escaped his mouth, and he closed his eyes and squeezed my breast in response. Dimly aware that we could be interrupted at any time, I pulled back and my thumb found his zipper again. I stood and whispered in his ear, "Come with me."
I gave his dick one more gentle squeeze as I brushed past him, but after a few steps, not sensing his movement, I turned to see a strange, stricken expression on his face.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I saw Frank," he whispered.
"What?" I asked, confused. "The principal? Where?"
"Through the window," he murmured, now striding across the room to peer through the tiny window to the hallway. "He was right there, at the window."
"He was looking through the window?" I deadpanned, disbelieving. The principal had probably only been in my hallway twice that year, so it was extremely unlikely that he'd be wandering around after hours looking in windows, but if he had... Let's just say that the ultra-conservative, morally perfect administrator wouldn't just let it go if he caught two married people fooling around on his watch.
"He..." Raul stopped, "He was looking up. Maybe he was looking at something above the door."
"Shit," I said, slumping back into my chair. "Do you think he saw us?"
"I hope not," he said. Then his countenance changed, "I don't think he could have. From that angle he would have only seen my back; he wouldn't have seen anything. Besides, if he had, he would have interrupted, wouldn't he?"
"I think so," I whispered.
I was still undeterred. It should have been a mood killer for me, nearly getting caught, but it wasn't. It wasn't that Raul brought out the exhibitionist in me, it was more that he brought out the careless. I wanted him and didn't care who saw. I still would have taken him by the hand and pulled him to the storeroom to finish what we had started if I weren't certain that the mood HAD been killed for him.
Resigned and disappointed, I shut down my computer and shoved the stack of grading into my bag. "Let's go then," I sighed, glancing his way. He had already moved to the door and was as far from me as the walls of the room would allow, and I assumed he was afraid of what Frank might think if he saw us looking too friendly, but he was acting like he was afraid of me.
The halls were empty as we exited, and Raul walked a safely platonic distance from me all the way out of the building. He held the door for me, but then peeled off in a separate direction as soon as we hit the sunlight.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, looking me in the eye as he backed away. "I'll talk to you later," and he was gone.
Dumbfounded, I shook my head and turned toward my car, hoping the hurt wasn't written too plainly on my face.
---
I drove around for a while, too frustrated to go home, and found my way to a winding mountain road just west of town and accelerated into the curves while I tried to get my head on straight. Cresting a bluff, I took a pullout that overlooked the valley I'd just escaped and cut the engine, leaning forward to rest my chin on the steering wheel. I was immediately surprised by the chirping of my phone: Caller Unknown.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Hola," came the reply. "Where did you go? I've been trying to reach you," came that delicious Spanish accent across the line. "I wanted to tell you I'm really sorry about what happened."
My heart sank again. Sorry. I wasn't sorry, except sorry that we were interrupted. "I was out of cell range," I explained.
"I want to apologize," he said again. "I freaked out back there, and I bolted. I didn't know what to do."
Oh, I thought. He's sorry because he bolted. That's different, then. "Don't worry about it," I said.
The line was awkwardly silent for a moment before I heard his voice again, lower this time. "I can't stop thinking about it - about you," he purred. "I keep thinking about how good it felt to have you touch me, and I want to see that look on your face again." He paused, "I want you."
