The Naughty Virgin: A Teacher Student Romance Page 9

  “Oh really?” I asked nonchalantly, my heart thumping. Oh god, hopefully I hadn’t screamed anything like “Fuck me Stone!” or “Stroke me here!”

  But Cara shook her head, burying her nose in her book again.

  “Yeah, you said the ‘The elevator’s on fire’ or something like that,” she said again, avoiding my eyes. “It was weird.”

  I colored. It’d probably been something along the lines of “My body’s on fire,” or “My cunt’s on fire,” but good thing Cara had interpreted it as “elevator.” I prayed that I wouldn’t sleep talk again and give myself away.

  But that was the extent of my interaction with Stone these days – all in my dreams. I simply had no idea where he’d disappeared to, our Biology sub had become permanent and I never had a chance to spend another darkened afternoon in the locked classroom again.

  Instead, my life was totally mundane. I’d graduated from Spencer and matriculated at State, going through the motions, dutifully attending class, studying, even half-heartedly making friends. But I was so distracted that my new friendships were shallow in nature, the girls were more study buddies or casual acquaintances. My only real friend was still Mindy from back home.

  “Hey girl,” I dialed her up. Min had decided to live at home while attending cosmetology school because she wanted to be a make-up artist for celebrities, doing camera-ready contouring and even light Botox. I guess you don’t have to be a doctor to administer that stuff, you can be a licensed aesthetician and Mindy was totally into it.

  “Hey girl,” she managed before she was interrupted. “Boomer! Go away!” she screeched before the slam of the door rang out over the receiver.

  I sighed. Despite the fact that we’d graduated and I lived in the dorms now, there were some things about life that hadn’t changed at all.

  “Heya,” she breathed again, “Sorry about that. What’s new?”

  And I sighed.

  “School’s okay,” I said listlessly. “I wish I were at home with you.”

  “No you don’t,” she said encouragingly. “What, you’re dating Chip McCreighton now right? You should be having a great time at State.”

  And I nodded silently, miserable.

  “I know I should, but…” my voice trailed off.

  “But you’re still thinking about Stone Phillips right?” Mindy finished for me, her voice compassionate. We’d talked about this endless times and she knew the routine. “I know honey, that man took your virginity, so you’re still hung up on him. I know, I know, we all have a thing for our first, I mean I still think about Jimmy McPherson sometimes and that loser’s in jail now. That’s what our first does to us, we always have a soft spot for them. But Mr. Phillips is gone now, okay? You’ve gotta move on, you have your whole life in front of you.”

  And I nodded miserably again. I knew what Mindy was saying was true. I was attached to Stone because he’d taken my cherry, had introduced me to the wonders of sex, the amazing of the physical and my body was in thrall to him. But how to explain my unexpected hang-up, how I still dreamed of him, of our conversations together, the electric emotional charge?

  Mindy would never get it, so I changed the subject. She was tired of hearing it anyways and I didn’t want to wear her out.

  “I’m taking Biology again,” I said dully. “College level this time.”

  “Oh right, you never took the AP test,” said Mindy comfortingly. Without Mr. Phillips, I’d lost all my motivation and skipped the test, forgoing any opportunity at getting a jump on college credit. “No worries, you’ll be amazing in class, you were always so good at that kind of stuff. Me, on the other hand,” she joked, “I could barely read and write, I’m surprised Spencer graduated me.”

  And I laughed at that. The truth was Mindy’s family had more money than God and they could have bought a diploma from Spencer if it came to that. But no need to get into that. My friend was well on her way and I was grateful to chat with her, even if for only a minute about nonsensical stuff.

  “Okay thanks Min, gotta get to class now. Say hi to Boomer for me will you?” I asked. The little boy had always been so cute, it was hard to believe he was in eighth grade now.

  “Will do,” promised my friend. “Now go to class and kick some ass!”

  And with a smile, I hung up the phone and picked up my backpack. It was time I got over my ex-teacher, I had my life before me and I had to stop mooning over what shoulda, coulda, woulda been. It was time to pick myself up and start anew. So with a determined look, I straightened my shoulders and began walking to class. It was a new me. Evie Jones was here to take the world by storm, and Stone Phillips and high school were in the rearview mirror now. I would force myself to move on, no matter how much it hurt, how much it took out of me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Stone

  Evie was gorgeous when I caught a glimpse of her walking across campus. She’d put on weight which only made her more beautiful, that curvaceous figure even more exaggerated, her boobs and butt bouncing with each step. My mouth watered at the sight, my staff immediately punching out against my fly.

  Down boy, I scolded. What the fuck, you haven’t seen her in a year and you’re already ready to fuck through a metal sheet.

  But that was it exactly. I hadn’t seen Evie in a year and my body was dying for her, so hungry I was ready to tackle her on the campus green and ravage her right there in front of dozens of passerby. She was so juicy, so delectable that my cock started dripping, the front of my crotch growing wet, the fabric no match for the leaky faucet I’d become.

  But just when I was about to cross the green and assault the curvy girl, a hulk of a teenage boy came into the picture, swinging his arm around Evie’s shoulders familiarly, making her smile at something. And her smile … god it was so beautiful, lighting up her face, making me ache inside and shudder too because it was for him, and not me.

  I squinted again, trying to get a better look. That dumb fuckhead looked a little familiar. He was tall and really built-up, his sweater practically ripping apart like when Bruce Banner transforms into the Incredible Hulk. He had mud brown hair and … I squinted again, catching a glimpse of raging acne on his neck, the red skin painful and slightly moist and oozing.

  It sprung into my head then. It was Chip McCreighton, Mr. Hot Shot football player from Spencer. The dude had followed Evie to college? What the fuck? This was a good school, how the fuck had he been admitted? But as another lunkhead came up and punched Chip on the shoulder, the two guys like walking talking refrigerators, it occurred to me. Chip must have been a special athlete admit, they needed him for football and not because of his intellectual achievements.

  But all I cared about was my girl and my skin crawled at the way Chip’s arm was slung possessively around her waist, how he ushered her into the classroom, his hand sliding down slowly to almost, almost grab her ass. I practically blew my top off then. That ass was mine to grab, mine to touch and fondle and that fucker had just manhandled my property. Hands off, motherfucker! A group of coeds turned to look at me, eyes wide and shocked and I realized I’d literally been growling in my chest, my gaze murderous, my hands clenched in fists. Fuck, I needed to get a hold of myself before I was escorted off campus in cuffs.

  But fuck. I turned and slowly walked back to my car, my body trembling, shaking with rage and repressed need. Because I craved Evie, a year apart had been too much, it’d been too fucking much and I was ready to explode at the seams, specifically at the seam at my crotch. My dick was hard and aching, the mere sight of the voluptuous girl enough to drive me into a frenzy, transform me into an animal. I had to see the girl, had to talk to her, make her understand why I’d gone missing … and why we should be together again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Evie

  “Hey,” I said, coming back to my dorm room, the door shutting behind me.

  Cara grunted, barely looking up, her mousy brown head buried in another book of Harry Potter fan fiction. Now don’t get me
wrong, I love Harry Potter but I’m not so crazy as to be reading offshoots of the main story, made-up adventures about minor characters who attended Hogwarts with Harry and Hermione. It was too far-fetched and besides we were in college now. There were like eight books to be read for each class, loads of homework, and a shit ton of activities. I couldn’t be spending hours each day re-living my childhood.

  But Cara was different. She was barely verbal most days, so I just slung my backpack onto my desk and started riffling through my bureau, looking for my swimsuit. I’d taken up swimming since starting college, the pool was one of the only places where I could relax, the beautiful light blue water, the monotony of doing laps again and again, just me and the black line at the bottom. And the truth was it helped me get my mind off Stone. Or more accurately, it was a neutral place, a place where I was alone with my thoughts and could think about my ex-lover as much as I wanted without feeling guilty, where I let myself go and didn’t berate myself for dreaming about him.

  So I pulled my swimsuit on, struggling to get the tight nylon over my curves. Oh fuck, I’d gained weight again and the one-piece was super small, digging into my shoulders, the leg cut-outs so high as to almost hit my belly button, my boobs leaking out the sides. Well, a tight suit was supposed to be good for racing, I told myself, less drag in the water. Okay, I wasn’t exactly an Olympic swimmer but still, it made me feel better.

  I threw on a cover-up and some flip-flops and was just about to head out the door when Cara finally looked up.

  “You got a call,” she drawled.

  I turned.

  “Thanks,” I said tightly, trying to be patient. “From who? When?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “Can’t remember, sorry,” she said, turning back to her book, burying her nose in that massive tome.

  I put down my gym bag, hands on hips, suddenly pissed.

  “Cara,” I said, my voice tight. “I need you to take messages. I know landlines aren’t popular anymore, people generally use cells, but still when I get a call I expect more detail than ‘you got a call.’ I need to know who it was and when they called. It’s not too much to ask, you know,” I said huffily.

  Little impression that made on the girl. She just grunted in acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving the page.

  So I turned to go again. Hopefully it hadn’t been the registrar calling. I’d been negotiating with them about tuition payments since I was a little short this year. With my job at the on-campus coffee shop and a bunch of scholarships, I could almost cover the cost of school, but not quite. So hopefully the registrar had come around and would let me make my payments a bit late this year. Once I got a summer job, I’d have a lot more coming in and the financial strain would ease. Hopefully, fingers crossed.

  “I remember now,” Cara announced suddenly, her head jerking up. “It was the registrar.”

  I groaned internally.

  “Did they say anything specific?” I asked.

  “No,” my roomie said disinterestedly, “just said for you to call back.”

  Well, the issue was so important that I could do them one better. Looking at the clock, I saw it was three. I could run to the registrar, chat with them, and then hustle to the pool for a quick swim and still make it to class at four. It’d be a tight squeeze but I needed to get my tuition issue worked out as soon as possible.

  So I almost ran across campus to the administrative building, my hair flying, curves bouncing. Panting, I landed at the window, whipping out my student ID.

  “Hi, I got a call from you guys earlier, I’m Evie Jones, here about a payment plan?” I said breathlessly, my chest heaving. Damn it, this swimsuit as really tight and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  The woman behind the window took my ID, squinting as she punched my student ID into the computer.

  “Name?” she said laconically.

  “Evie, I mean Evelyn Jones,” I corrected. You never knew when the whole bureaucratic machine could come crashing down because of a nickname.

  “Date of birth?” she asked disinterestedly.

  “February 20, 1997,” I replied.

  And the woman just shook her head, bored.

  “I show you as all paid up,” she said, “No outstanding balance.”

  I stood stock still. This couldn’t be right.

  “No, just last week I came in because I needed to figure out a payment plan with the school,” I said slowly. “I owe State something like thirty thousand for this year.”

  But the woman was bored, barely even looking up from her screen.

  “Nope, shows here your balance is zero,” she said again, her voice flat. “Did you get some scholarship money? Or some financial aid come in? Or,” and here she cackled to herself, “you got a fairy godmother maybe?”

  I shook my head, puzzled. None of those things had happened. I knew there was no more financial aid coming down the pike and the scholarships I’d been awarded had already been applied. So I pressed forward.

  “Well, can you see when my tuition was paid and who paid it?” I asked. This had to be a mistake and I was sure it was going to all come unraveled at some point. “Surely, you can tell that from the system.”

  The woman stared at the computer again, flicking through a couple keys.

  “Says here it was paid in full today,” she remarked, her eyes flicking to me. “Like I said, you got a fairy godmother?”

  I flipped through my mental rolodex. Nope. There was no one who could have done this, certainly no one I knew had a spare thirty thousand and could write a check just like that. So I shook my head, mystified.

  “But does it say who paid it? Where it came from?” I asked futilely.

  The woman just shook her head.

  “Nope, computer doesn’t have that information. Just says thirty-one thousand five hundred and fifty-two cents was paid earlier today. The check already cleared,” she added helpfully.

  And shaking my head again, I picked up my gym bag, dazed, turning to go. Where had the money come from? It was like a jackpot had fallen from the sky and landed on my head, showering me with clinking golden coins, easing my life of financial strain. This was so weird, an enormous load off my back. Maybe now I could take an unpaid internship this summer to bolster my resume instead of double shifts at the coffee shop. So many opportunities had just opened and I was mystified and elated at once, dazzled by my good fortune.

  So with slow steps, I made my way to the pool. Honestly, my work-out was the last thing on my mind and I was wandering around a little lost, like someone who’d just found out they’d won the Megamillions Lotto when a big shadow descended over me.

  Slowly, I turned, still dazed, still on Cloud Nine, my eyes focusing slowly.

  “Stone?” I said, confused. “What are you doing here? WTF, where have you been?”

  And the big man chuckled.

  “Girlie,” he rumbled, his eyes ravenous, devouring me in my skimpy cover-up, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Stone

  Evie had been wandering like a lost little lamb, her eyes big, dazed, ever since she exited the Financial Aid Office. And I knew why. I’d gone in there and paid her tuition bill, making sure to bring the balance down to zero.

  The woman at the counter had resisted that morning.

  “And who are you?” she asked suspiciously, eyeing me up and down.

  Now I admit, it’s not every day you get an alpha male in the dinky offices of Financial Aid, a dude who literally took up all the space in those tiny confines.

  “Stone Phillips,” I said peremptorily. “Here to pay the bill of Evie Jones.”

  The woman wasn’t persuaded.

  “I can’t just hand out personal financial information,” she said tightly. “It’s confidential.”

  And I leaned forward, my manner slightly threatening.

  “Let me clarify,” I said, my voice low, rasping. “My name’s Hanson Stone Phillips, and I believe you’
re sitting in a building my grandfather built.”

  Because I’m a scion of the moneyed Phillips family who made their fortune in packaging. We started off making paper boxes and wrapping paper but soon branched into industrial packaging solutions, doing everything from the crates for Dole Pineapples in Hawaii to the shit that your laptop comes boxed in. So yeah, my family’s at the head of a massive empire, the money rolling in waves, and at this very moment we were sitting in a building which my grandfather had endowed way back in the day.

  The woman immediately perked up, sitting up straight.

  “Oh yes, of course Mr. Phillips,” she chattered nervously. “I’m sorry, Phillips is such a common name, I didn’t realize a member of the family was here.”

  And I sighed, leaning back. Her behavior was exactly why I didn’t use my first name. First, because Hanson is a lame name. Well, not lame but I just don’t want to be called “Han,” “Han Solo,” Hannie” or any number of juvenile nicknames. So I go by my middle name instead, Stone. It works and everyone’s called me Stone since I was a kid.

  Second, Hanson Phillips is way too recognizable. It’s the name of my father, my grandfather and countless male relatives. As soon as people hear the name “Hanson Phillips,” they bow and cower, making way for the alpha dogs. And I didn’t want that. Sure, I came from power and money but that didn’t mean that I wanted to lord it over people, make them feel like vassals in my kingdom.

  So I took a job as a high school Biology teacher and it suited me well. Of course, my family was devastated. They wanted me to join the Phillips packaging business but I was reluctant, I wanted to explore my own interests and make my own way in life without becoming a part of the hive collective immediately. So I got a teaching degree and started at Spencer Prep as a biology instructor.

  But my family never gave up, giving me time to grow and develop professionally on my own, before pressing their case.

  “It’s been five years,” my dad rumbled, his brows drawn. “Don’t you think that’s enough teaching? You’ve done a lot for the kids.”