Page 49 of The Headmaster’s Rule

But that doesn’t stop the ache in my chest.

I lock my jaw, turning away. “I have work to do, Margaret.”

She sighs. “I’ll get you more coffee,” she says, closing the door.

And I stare out to sea, feeling more adrift than I have in years.

I roll over in the dark and pick up my phone. It’s 2 a.m. and I haven’t slept a wink. My fingers open my texts, and I read the last messages Eleanor sent me, weeks ago:

Eleanor: Home safe.

She sent that one after we kissed, like I asked her to. I couldn’t bring myself to reply, because I knew if I did, I’d say something I shouldn’t. Something I couldn’t take back.

Then the last message, sent a day later:

Eleanor: I’m so sorry.

I’ve read that one a hundred times, trying to decipher her words, because they don’t make any sense. She has no reason to apologize.

The logical thing would be to text her back and ask why she’s sorry, but I can’t do that. I can’t initiate a conversation between us again, can’t risk going back down that road.

Can’t risk another scandal.

I’m lucky she hasn’t reported me to the board. I should never have been in that parking lot alone with her, should never have put her in that position.

Although there are plenty of positions I would like to put her in…

My cock stiffens defiantly at the thought, and I groan in frustration, rolling onto my back to stare at the ceiling.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. In all my years of marriage, I never once felt like this. Never felt as if I was burning up with need, as if it could consume me whole.

Even as I chastise myself, I can’t fight the onslaught of inappropriate images that fill my head. The way Eleanor kissed me so intensely, pulling me hard against her, opening her mouth without hesitation to let me in. What would she be like in bed? Quiet, hesitant, shy? Or passionate, hungry, eager? My balls ache as I imagine what faces she’d make, what sounds would leave her pretty mouth as she came.

Jesus.

I stroke myself absently, the image of her filling my mind. I’m embarrassed to admit I haven’t had sex in years. The last time was with a woman I met on a dating app in the next town, after Jules told me I needed to “get back out there.” It was an awkward, fumbling encounter that we both seemed to regret halfway through but were too polite to stop. I deleted the app the next day.

But as I recall Eleanor’s fervent kiss in the parking lot, I know for certain we’d be nothing like that. I imagine us working late in my office, the fire lit, the lighting low, maybe a little music playing on the turntable, and a scene unfolds in my head as I stroke my thickening length.

“We should get to work,” Eleanor says, rising to clear our dinner plates from the coffee table in front of the fireplace. I watch from the leather chair as she leans across the table, wearing today’s black and red polka-dot dress, that red bow in her hair. My gaze falls to her cleavage, lingers, then returns to her face. Her eyes lock with mine, a knowing smirk curving her lips.

“See something you like, Headmaster Wright?”

“All of it,” I say thickly.

A blush stains her cheeks as she settles on the edge of the low table in front of me, crossing her feet at the ankles.

But that’s no good.

I reach out, placing my hands firmly on her knees, spreading them wide. She emits a tiny gasp of surprise, but the excitement in her eyes tells me what she really wants, and I’m all too happy to give it to her. I nudge her dress up her thighs, savoring the feel of her soft, warm skin.

“What are you doing?” she asks, feigning shocked innocence.

I give a dark chuckle. “You know what I’m doing, sweetheart. I’m giving you what you want.”

“Yes.” She breathes out hard, spreading her legs wider. “Kiss me, Theo. Please.”

Just like in the parking lot.