Rewriting History

Prologue

She hasn’t been to school in days, which means it’s been just as long since I’ve seen her face. We might not be speaking, but at least having her there, I know she’s okay. I don’t need to worry about her, or wonder what she’s thinking. She makes that perfectly clear with every hate-filled look she throws my way.

I pick up my phone and find her in my contacts. A message is pointless; she’ll just ignore it like the other dozen I’ve sent. I press call, not expecting her to actually answer. When she does, I’m shocked.

“What do you want, Eli? It’s a bit inappropriate for my teacher to be calling me on my cell phone, don’t you think?” Her voice is cold.

“You haven’t turned up to class for the last two days and I was worried about you,” I reply, rubbing my forehead. I close my eyes and picture her; that flowing silky, dark hair; those bright, emerald green eyes.

Why am I calling her? To torture her a little bit more? She knows she fucked up, just like I know I’ve let her down. How am I possibly helping anyone by calling her?

“Worried about your career is more like it,” she mumbles.

“Jill,” I sigh.

“Eli,” she deadpans.

“Listen, can I come over? We need to talk.”

“I thought you did enough talking yesterday,” she mumbles. She’s not making this easy for me—not that I blame her.

“I’m coming over,” I say. “I know your mom is at work because I called her first.” I cringe, because I hate admitting to her that I actually did that.

“You called my mother?” she yells. “And she’s not at work. It’s her day off.”

“I told you, I was worried. I’m your teacher. She isn’t suspicious,” I argue. “And she is at work. Why would she lie about that to me?”

“Fine,” she says, gritting her teeth. “Come over. Don’t come over. I really don’t care anymore.” Silence greets me.

She hung up on me.

I put the phone on my bed and rub my eyes. What am I doing, going over there to see her? I can’t handle being in the same fucking classroom as her, and suddenly I’m going to her house?

I want to call her back up and cancel, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I need to see her. I need to explain to her that I’m angry at myself, not her. That this whole fucking mess is my fault, not hers.

I’ll go over there, say what I need to say, and then that will be it.

Because one thing is for sure: we can’t keep on going like this.

I knock on her door, my hands deep in the confines of my pockets as I try and ignore the pounding of my heart. I glance down the street for the fiftieth time, to make sure nobody can see me. I stand a little closer to the door so the porch roof shields me from view.

She opens the door and even offers me a smile. I take it.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I mumble back. I flush when I realize I’m staring at her chest. This is me trying to play it cool? What a joke. She smirks, obviously enjoying my embarrassment.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

She nods but doesn’t move, forcing my body dangerously close to hers as I move inside. God, I’m dying here. My cock twitches, reminding me how fucking amazing it felt to be buried between her legs.

“Through there. Drink?”

I come crashing back down to reality by the sound of her voice. I shake my head. I just need to get this over with. I watch her shrug and sit down, the short black skirt of her dress catching on the cushion of the sofa. My heart flutters at the sight of her milky white thigh and I swallow hard. Maybe coming inside was a bad idea…

I glance around, trying to contain my thoughts before I face her again. She’s staring at me intently, just waiting for me to speak. I clear my throat and swallow again.

“Jill,” I mumble.

That’s all I have. Nothing I say right now is going to project how I feel. I sense her before it registers what she’s doing. Jill rises, swings her leg over and plants herself on top of me. I groan but don’t resist, my hands riding her shirt up over her breasts. Our heads collide and my mouth ravishes hers as my hands fumble to remove her dress.

“God, Jill. You’re naked under this,” I growl, my cock growing harder by the second. I massage her breasts, trailing kisses down over the warm, soft skin of her stomach as she cries out, pressing herself against my hardness.

There’s nothing I want more than to fuck her senseless. I want to plunge my cock so deep inside her that she screams my name, over and over again.

But I can’t fucking do it.

I can’t risk hurting her like that. She might think she’s ready for this, but the reality is she’s eight years younger than I am, and my student. No matter how much you dress it up and try to call it something it’s not, I’m taking advantage of her.

I respect her too much to do that.

I push her away, attempting to cover her up with her dress. Her eyes widen as she stares at me, and I can just imagine what she’s thinking. All I know is I have to get out of here before I do something really stupid.

“Jill, we can’t do this.” I laugh suddenly, raking my hand through my hair. This is ridiculous. “My God, why is this so fucking hard? You make me so crazy. I want you and I can’t stay away, but I have to. I fucking have to,” I growl, turning away.

I hear her behind me. I feel her arms snake around my shoulders as she rests herself against me. I feel everything, and I’m trying, but God she is hard to resist. Her hands wrap around my cock and I gasp, but I don’t push her away. I want to, I should, but I can’t fucking do it. I groan, hardening in her hand. The need to be with her is overwhelming me.

I spin around and pick her up, carrying her over to the sofa and laying her on her back. I lift her dress so it sits around her waist, her naked clit on display, begging for my tongue. I long to spend time making her come over and over again. My lips press against hers. She whimpers, her arms circling my neck as she pulls me deeper into the kiss.

Rifling in my pocket for a condom, I roll it on, my mouth not straying from hers. I brush my finger over her and she flinches at my touch. So wet…

“Argh,” she gasps as I thrust my length inside her.

My tongue finds her neck as she arches her back, pushing her body against mine. I hesitate, mindful of how tight she is and how much of me she can handle.

“Please, harder,” she gasps as I kiss her neck. “I need to feel every last inch of you.”

Her encouragement is all I need. I speed up, driving myself deeper inside of her. She feels so fucking good; her pussy grips my cock, milking me. She whimpers, her arms curving around my neck as she comes. She’s so fucking beautiful. I shouldn’t have come here, but staying away seems like an impossible feat.

I can’t do this to her. She deserves more.

“Fuck. Fuck, Jill, we shouldn’t have done that,” I s

wear, leaping off the sofa and running a hand through my hair. Fuck. I’m such an idiot.

“Why did you come here?” she responds angrily.