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I stewed for hours. This was going to be a disaster.

She didn’t get home until nearly two a.m.

And it was a school night.

I was unaccountably furious.

I was waiting when she walked in the door, still in her work uniform/porn fuel of a dress. She looked tired and dejected but still extremely fuckable. I had a vivid flash of what it would be like to fuck her when she was too tired to move, when she had no strength left, how soft and pliant she’d be, so malleable under my hands and around my cock. I’d work her tender flesh until she was a satiated puddle under me.

My own messed up thoughts made me even more furious.

“What are you even thinking working this late on a school night?” I wasn’t shouting but my voice was low, stern, and mean enough that she stood up straight, looking like I’d slapped her.

“I need the hours. You think I was out having fun?”

I pulled out my wallet. “How much did you make? I’ll pay you that much to stay home and do your homework. I’ve noticed you’ve been falling farther and farther behind on your assignments and English used to be your best subject. I hate to see what your other grades look like.”

She waved me off, moving past me. “You’ve already done too much, Mr. North. I can’t take any more help from you.”

Without any agreement from my brain, my hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her progress. “You need to stop talking back to me. Now that I know you need help, I’m going to have to insist on helping you. I simply insist. I’m all you’ve got. Just think of me as a kind of . . . foster parent . . . that’s helping you get on your feet for the future.”

She was suddenly in my personal space, looking up at me.

I’d always dated tall women because of my own towering height, but I suddenly found that I loved how petite she was, how she fit against me, how she had to look up, up, up to meet my eyes. “Foster father?” she asked softly, tracing her free hand up my chest. “So kinky, Mr. North. Should I call you Daddy?”

I pushed her away. “Go to bed,” I ordered harshly.

Luckily, she obeyed.

CHAPTER FOUR

NOVA

I parked Mr. North’s 911 Porsche as far away as I could and walked the rest of the way to school. I didn’t have an answer if anyone asked why dirt-poor me was suddenly driving around in a car like that. I’d have to think of one if this whole dreamlike experience continued.

I still couldn’t believe he kept a car like that in his garage everyday while he took a baseline model 3 Tesla to school. Still a very nice car, but no Porsche 911. I’d looked it up.

I nodded and smiled at a few friendly faces in the hallways on the way to my first period. I sat in the back, dodging the eyes of a football player I’d dated for a minute and promptly avoided once he started pressuring me too much for sex. Even then I’d known I was saving it for Mr. North. And certainly no one else had any chance after yesterday when he’d morphed even more into my stern, caring, dream man. Imagine a guy like that, offering to solve all my problems. He was too perfect. Even more than I’d fantasized about.

Now I just needed to make him see me as more than a problem to solve. To see me as a woman.

Of course there was his errant, huge erection. He’d been sporting it from the second he’d picked me up. I was absolutely hung up on it. Obsessed. He didn’t want to want me, but that didn’t seem to matter.

I’d suspected I’d made him hard before, hell that was always my goal, but up until now he’d managed to hide it under his desk if that was the case. Yesterday he’d had nowhere to hide. From the drive to his house and even when he’d chewed me out for coming home too late, he’d been unmistakably and prominently hard as a rock and ready to go.

I wondered how it would work my first time, with him being so big. My friend Maddie had told me her boyfriend broke her hymen with his fingers, and I wondered if I should try to do that to make the first time easier. I looked at my small hands. My fingers weren’t that big.

Mr. North had big hands. Thick, long fingers. Maybe he’d do it for me.

I sighed. Fat chance. He’d rejected me, and every inch of his body meant it except for one notable part.

I comforted myself with the knowledge that eventually that part might win over his common sense. It certainly looked formidable enough to make a difference.

English was my last period, and it was torture waiting for it. I was already way behind in all my classes, and I learned nothing that day, daydreaming instead about my favorite teacher.

When I’d found him in his home office before my shift yesterday, he’d been wearing reading glasses. I loved when he wore his reading glasses. I shuddered just thinking about it. He looked even more like a stern teacher in them. I wanted to eat him up with a spoon like that.

Mr. North studiously ignored me when I walked in and for the first half of class. He stayed behind his desk again, and I squirmed in my seat thinking about what that meant.