Resisting Rosaleen (18+)

9

Morning consisted of me avoiding my mother. I ate breakfast quickly, the joy of eating replaced by the lone need to have food in my stomach. Jared drove me to school after that, still no sign of Wyatt at home. Jared said that he saw him leave for work early—stupidly early, around 4am.

At school, nothing else but Nikolas was in my mind. All other happenings in class hours before lunch were commercials before primetime.

"Ms. Martin," Nikolas's voice was music to my ears. I locked the door behind me.

"Ms. Martin?" he spoke as I walked to him in his office chair. Each step added a ton to my stomach. I was having a sugar rush without the sugar. When I rounded his large oak desk, ants were fucking envious.

"Ms—" I straddled the man, "Okay," he sighed defeatedly and put his hands on the armrests.

With my chirpiest, most adorable voice, I greeted, "Good morning, Mr. Principal, sir."

My hands played with the collar of his dress shirt. Bianca should do a better job at ironing. Not that I've ever ironed a shirt before either.

"Good morning, Rosaleen."

He sighed. Sunlight seeped through the brown blinds of his office. Outside, I could hear the faint sound of the world continuing to revolve the way it does. Cars were passing, birds were chirping, and people beyond the campus—since Nick's office was located near the edge—were chattering. The rest of the world was oblivious to what was happening in the principal's office and the thought made me giddy.

"Have you eaten?" I asked, starting to unbutton my uniform.

Ah, nothing like casually getting naked in front of the man who makes my lady parts feel tingly.

"Yes," he said reluctantly, "Have you?"

Nikolas asked nonchalantly as if I were not a student in his school trying to seduce him and get both his marriage and job revoked. Well, that'll only happen if we get caught, yes? We won't.

"No," I revealed the baby pink bra underneath, "But I am hungry for a certain something." I pressed against his crotch.

"Well, it's lunchtime, so you should be out there eating and socializing with people your age, miss." His hands were still on the armrests, but his thumbs grazed my thighs. I don't know if he was aware of it. The slightest contact with the man turns me into a sex-craving maniac. With other it's just sex-craving.

"No thank you." I grabbed his hands and put them on my breasts, suddenly reminded that I did the same thing before already. This time, however, only a single thin barrier prevented skin-to-skin contact.

"Is the material familiar, sir?" He was cupping my chest but was not really moving his hands, to my dismay.

The realization hit him. "Yes, it is. They match the bottoms you left at..." he trailed off, probably confused as to where things were going.

He sighed loudly and talked again, this time slightly pissed, "The ones you left when you visited my home."

"And where are those bottoms?" I put my hands on top of his and squeezed.

He did not sound entertained but his response was a tease—he was taking his turn in this sick game as his thumb circled my nipples through the fabric, "And why would I reveal my hiding place, Ms. Martin?"

"So they're with you, huh?" I kissed his jaw, stubble prickly to my soft lips, and brought my mouth to his ear. "Thing is, Mr. Camillo, I only wear matching underwear. The bottoms are with you. What do you think is underneath my skirt?"