Chapter 5: The Family Dinner
The taste of him lingered, a salty, bitter film on her tongue that three cups of mint tea couldn’t erase. Her panties, shoved into the bottom of her purse, were a damp, crumpled secret. The drive home was a blur of stoplights and trembling hands.
Will was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a salad. “Hey, you,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.
She turned her head, letting his lips graze her cheek. “Hi.”
“Long day? How was the student conference?” he asked, his back to her as he resumed chopping.
Her throat tightened. The phantom sensation of Tyler’s fingers digging into her hips, the cold porcelain of the sink against her stomach, the animalistic grunts in her ear. “It was… fine. Productive.” The lie was ash in her mouth. She could feel a slow, treacherous leak between her thighs, his residue warming against her skin. “I’m just… I need a shower.”
“Dinner’s in twenty,” he called after her, but she was already fleeing up the stairs.
Under the scalding spray, she scrubbed her skin raw with a loofah until it flushed pink. She shampooed her hair twice, viciously scraping her scalp. But the water couldn’t reach inside. Her own touch, meant to cleanse, betrayed her. As her fingers slid over her rinsed flesh, they drifted, of their own volition, to the swollen, sensitive flesh between her legs. A few frantic, circling touches against her clit and her knees buckled. A sharp, silent cry hitched in her chest as a pitiful orgasm ripped through her, leaving her more empty than before. She slid down the shower wall, water pounding on her back, and cried.
The next day, the clock in her office ticked with agonizing slowness. Every shuffle in the hallway made her jump. She organized pens by color, wiped down the already-clean surface of her desk with a disinfectant wipe, straightening the framed photo of her and Will again and again.
Finally, 4 PM. She snatched her bag and stood, eager for the sanctum of her car.
The door clicked open.
Tyler stood there, smiling, silently pushing it shut behind him. The lock engaged with a soft, definitive thunk.
“What are you doing here?” The anger in her voice was thin, papery. “You need to leave. Right now. What happened… what I did… it was a mistake. It ends now.”
He didn’t move. His polite, student demeanor dissolved, leaving something colder, more assured. “See, Mrs. Schuester, that’s where you’re wrong. I can’t leave you like this. All frustrated.”
“Frustrated? I’m not—“
“You are.” He took a step forward. She retreated, the backs of her knees hitting her desk. “I get it. Yesterday, on your knees in that bathroom… you were dripping for me the whole time, weren’t you? Sucking my dick while your married little pussy got all wet and jealous.”
“Don’t you dare—“
He was on her in a stride. His hand, quick and invasive, slipped under her tight tweed skirt. His fingers met the soaked cotton of her panties. A low laugh escaped him. “Fuck. You’re soaked. Already.”
Before she could protest, his fingers hooked into the fabric, yanking it aside. Two fingers plunged into her without preamble, a deep, shocking invasion. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath that morphed into a broken moan.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his mouth near her ear. His fingers curled, pumping slowly, scissoring inside her. The slick, filthy sound filled the quiet office. His thumb found her clit, rubbing rough, tight circles. “Bet you didn’t even touch yourself right after. Came too fast in the shower, didn’t you? Like a little girl. Needs a man to do it properly.”
Her protests died in her throat, replaced by pathetic, little cries. Her hands flew to his wrist, not to push him away, but to clutch it, her nails biting into his skin. The orgasm built swiftly, a tidal wave of shame and raw need. It crested and broke over her, wracking her body with silent tremors. She slumped against the desk, panting.
“Not yet,” Tyler said, his voice a dark promise.
He spun her around, bending her over the polished wood. Her student files scattered. He gripped the waistband of her panties and tore them down with a single, brutal rip. The cold air hit her exposed skin.
Then his mouth was on her.
His tongue was not gentle. It was a demanding, probing thing, lapping at her folds, delving deep inside her, then focusing on her clit with ruthless precision. Emma’s head dropped forward. A strangled wail tore from her lips, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound. Her other hand white-knuckled the desk edge. The second orgasm was different, deeper, a slow-uncoiling fuse that exploded into a blinding, mind-shattering release. She saw stars behind her eyelids, her body convulsing under his relentless mouth.
Just as the waves began to subside, as she thought she might simply dissolve, he did something with his tongue—a rapid, fluttering vibration—and yanked her back into the fire. The third climax was a sob, a surrender. Her legs gave way entirely, and only his strong hands on her hips kept her upright.
He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She heard him zip his jeans. She couldn’t move, her cheek pressed against a student’s essay, her body humming and utterly spent.
He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “Next time, Mrs. Schuester,” he whispered, the title a vile endearment, “it won’t be my tongue making you scream into your hand. It’ll be my cock. This big, hard cock you swallowed yesterday. I’m gonna fuck this married pussy raw until you forget your own name.”
He straightened, unlocked the door, and was gone.
Emma lay there for a long time, the only sound her ragged breathing and the distant slam of a locker. The taste of him was gone, replaced by the coppery tang of blood where she’d bitten her lip. But a deeper, wetter ache had taken root inside her, throbbing in time with her frantic heart.