Page 2 of Schooling Lucy (Off Limits #1)

L UCY

Dark hair.

Eyes the color of amber.

Dimples.

Tall.

Tanned, toned arms.

Mr. Drake .

I rubbed my thighs together as I tested his name out in my head. If I were alone, I would have melted to the floor in a pile of girlish goo.

I almost did a comical double-take when I first walked into his class. I would have if I hadn't been so anxious and nervous about my first day in a new school.

When his beautiful tawny eyes met mine, I swore my panties soaked straight through. I thought I was in the wrong class. Or that the hot specimen of a teacher was a sub.

There was no way I could survive his class - no way I could concentrate - with him standing before me.

Day in. Day out. Watching his thick, long fingers write on the board.

His broad shoulders shifting beneath his shirt as he moved his arm to make a point.

Listening to his deep, hypnotizing voice discuss chemical compounds and electron configurations.

Luckily, chemistry was a subject I thrived in, so I could easily balance absorbing information alongside fantasizing about licking the strong column of his throat.

Maybe it was because I hadn't had any hot teachers before. Teacher fantasies were a common occurrence. Students got crushes on their teachers all the time.

Except this didn't feel like a crush. Every time I looked at Mr. Drake, it felt like a thousand lifetimes flashing through my eyes. And in every one of them, he was there - loving me .

It didn't help that I met his equally soul-searching stare every time I glanced at him. Surely it wasn't my imagination that he was seeking me out?

Was he annoyed that he had an extra, new student to teach? Did he see me as one of the many faceless students roaming the halls? Or did he see me as I saw him? Desirable? Sexy?

I shook my head in exasperation. I was being silly. I was imagining something that wasn't there. It was a pipe dream that someone as hot and intelligent as Mr. Drake could be into an eighteen-year-old student.

God, I'm so stupid.

"Lucy."

My Dad's voice interrupted my musings. We were eating dinner at our dining room table among the piles of boxes gathered around. We moved in two days ago and only managed to unpack a fraction of what we brought. The dining table and kitchenware were one of the only items we had unpacked so far.

"Sorry, Dad. What did you say?"

My Dad smiled at me as he cut into his steak. "I asked how your day was. You were awfully quiet on the ride home."

Because I was fantasizing about getting railed by one of your colleagues.

"Hmm," I picked at my salad and searched for an answer. The whole day went by in a blur after Mr. Drake's class.

"I'm sorry we had to move, honey." My Dad observed me sadly, figuring that my non-answer meant that I was brooding.

I quickly reached out to touch his arm. "No, Dad, it's not your fault," I assured him. "I understand why we had to leave; it's okay."

We'd moved here from a tiny town called Koby Plains, a few hours away.

We had one school that serviced all grades since only a good few kids lived there.

Unfortunately, funding had dried up, and they decided to close the school.

It was a manageable inconvenience since our neighboring towns had schools with plenty of room.

Unfortunately for my Dad, an English teacher, none of the surrounding schools had positions open.

We had no choice but to move where jobs were available. That meant the Big Smoke.

My Dad gave me a relieved smile. "Thanks for being so good about this, Sweetheart."

I waved him off before taking a big gulp of my water. Trying to sound as casual as possible, I asked, "So what about you? Made friends with any of the teachers?" I busied myself by shoving a big forkful of greens into my mouth.

I tried to appear disinterested when my heart was beating erratically as I waited for my Dad's response.

He moved his head back and forth in contemplation. "They're all very friendly. There's a lot of them, so I haven't met them all."

"What are their names?"

My Dad frowned at me.

"Just checking to see if any of them are my teachers. Give you the lowdown on whether they're nice to me."

It was a lie because I didn't give two shits about any of the other teachers. Only one.

But as my Dad rattled off the list of teachers he could remember, I was disappointed when none of them were him .

Later that night, in my room, I attempted to go over the notes I'd taken in my classes. But my gaze and hands kept going to my chemistry book. I threw the textbook aside as my hand crept up my stomach, shifting aside my camisole.

I was all hot and bothered. Achy .

I shoved my shirt up, baring my naked breasts to the cool air.

My hand caressed the flesh under the curve of my breast. I bit back a moan as my legs shifted in arousal against my cool sheets.

My nipples pebbled, but not from the temperature change.

They'd been hard all day. From the moment I walked into Mr. Drake's classroom.

My mind conjured up a picture of his tall, solid frame. His piercing brown eyes and his firm, full mouth.

I shoved my sleep shorts down along with my panties, kicking them carelessly aside. I could see the dampness on my pink underwear, and it caused my pussy to clench.

I rubbed my titties, pinching their peaks until a shiver of lust shot down my spine. I licked my lips and arched my back, bringing my knees up as I continued the assault on my breasts. They weren't too big, but they weren't small, either—the perfect size for Mr. Drake's big hands.

I imagined his rough fingers sliding down my stomach, cupping my warm cunt. Just like I was doing now.

My middle finger dipped between my pussy lips, and I gave a small moan as I felt more wetness leak out. I was thankful that my Dad was downstairs watching TV. There was no way I could keep quiet while thinking about my teacher.

I rubbed at my cunt with my fingers, my legs obscenely spread. I bit my lips hard as my breaths came out in small, short puffs.

It was too much but not enough at the same time.

I rolled onto my stomach and stuck my naked ass in the air. I reached under me and sunk my fingers into my cunt. My other hand had my pillow gathered in my clenching fingers; my mouth opened against the material in a silent moan.

I moved my fingers up to rub against the entrance to my asshole; the liquid gathered on my fingers acted as a lubricant, allowing me to sink my middle finger in.

I've touched myself there before but never entered my ass.

It was an act I had never considered, but, god, I would let Mr. Drake touch my back hole. I'd let him do more than touch it, too.

Needing release, I returned to my pussy and rubbed at my open cunt. My clit moved roughly against my slippery fingers as I strived for that sweet release.

I imagined Mr. Drake's cock rubbing against my wet gash, teasing me as I begged him to fuck me.

"Mr. Drake," I quietly moaned. "Fuck me, Mr. Drake. Pound my virgin cunt until I come."

"Is this what you want, Little Girl?" I imagined him growling at me as he sunk his dick into me.

I rubbed frantically at my weeping pussy; my hips moved faster on the bed as I drooled into my comforter.

"Yes, yes!" I whimpered. "Fuck me hard. My cunt is yours!"

I choked against my bed sheets as my orgasm rocketed through me. My body spasmed while I continued to pet my pussy as it squirted out my come. I buried my face into my pillow to stifle my low moans.

I slowly lowered my body to my bed as the last blissful haze left my quivering frame.

I turned onto my back as my breathing slowed back down. Even though I came harder than ever in the short time I've learned how to masturbate, it was still not enough.

It'll never be enough unless it was Mr. Drake.