Play Dirty (8 page)

“Lynn.”

She sat up slowly, head bowed. “I’m not a minor.”

“So, how old are you?” Fear nearly killed his erection. Prison was terrifying, but fucking someone so young was still so hot. As long as she was legal. Please, please be legal.

“Please don’t be mad,” she begged. “Please.”

Shit. Oh
shit
. Matthew rubbed his hands over his face, erection dead. His wrists were already carrying phantom pains from imaginary handcuffs. “How old are you?”

“Look, it’s really not important. I promise. I’m young, but I’m not too young to know what I’m doing or what I want. And what I want is you.”

“Unless you’re too goddamn young to know what you want.”

Matthew jumped off the bed and starting pacing. If he took her with him to the police station, could she explain the whole thing? Since he brought her in and confessed, would he avoid jail time? Shit, if he went to jail, surely finding another job would be impossible. They would run his record and find this goddamn
felony
and not let him be around any of the students or kids.

Could he ever work in the theater again?

“I swear! There’s nothing to worry about!”

“Then how old are you?” This is what happened because he ignored his gut. Why would he do that?

She sighed and rubbed her arms. “I’m eighteen. Matthew, please, come back to bed.”

“Prove it.” He pointed at her, and was more forceful than he planned to be, but she couldn’t blame him. Not when she was seconds away from fucking his life over forever. “Prove to me you’re legal.”

She slid off the bed, dug in her purse, and brought over an ID card. “I’m eighteen. See? Do the math. I turned eighteen at the beginning of the year.”

Eighteen. God, that was even younger than he expected. He was almost twelve years her senior and she was barely out of school. He knew, just
knew
he should have stopped this earlier.

He looked up at her. She was perched on the bed, arms covering herself, biting down on her lip. She looked so distraught, so … embarrassed? Nervous? Was it because she lied or because she got caught?

But, she wasn’t a minor, right? He studied her ID, which looked legit enough. Eighteen. Eighteen and beautiful. He was fucking a teenaged girl, with perfect teenaged tits and an untouched, teenaged pussy.

His cock jumped again. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t a huge turn on. Every guy he knew looked twice or three times at the young chicks crowding the bars, eager to use their fresh IDs. If an opportunity ever presented itself to them with an untouched virgin wrapped in bows, they’d be ecstatic.

Lynn had basically insinuated she was a virgin. And that was really disturbingly hot. She also knew exactly how to drive him wild and how to suck his cock like a porn star. He couldn’t forget that part, because
fuck
she was good at it.

“If you want me to leave …” She picked up her things. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“No!” Matthew crossed to her. “No. I’m sorry. You’re just so young and I really thought I might be looking at the end of everything.”

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face and cupped her chin between his hands. He kissed her gently, over and over, until she opened again and kissed him back. Matthew picked her up and laid her back down on the bed and climbed in next to her. He ran his fingers down her torso, but she stopped him and pushed him down.

“Let me make it up to you. I lied and scared you. The least I can do is suck you one more time.” She pulled her hair over her shoulder with a pout.

Matthew nodded and leaned back, letting her take all of him in her mouth. She really was his Juliet, his young bride waiting to be taught how to fuck and how to pleasure a man in bed. He gently thrust into her mouth and she pumped his shaft in time to the motion, another hand cupping his balls. She was such a naughty little girl.

This was better than he could have hoped for. God, he could train her and groom her in all the right ways. He could teach her how to please him, how to have all the best kinds of sex, and literally live out every guy’s fantasy.

Hell, she could be young enough to be a student if he fell back on his MFA. College girls were an amazing breed, willing to try anything new, eager to please.

Matthew felt like he lucked into the goddamn sex lottery. He no longer cared about never hearing back from his audition. That agonizing script had landed him the best sex opportunity of his life.

“When do you have to go back to work?” Lynn asked. She ran her tongue against his length one more time and then crawled back up him. “How many more nights can we spend doing this? How many more ferries can I miss?”

“Planning on coming back?” he asked, delighted. He tried to contain his excitement so it wouldn’t scare her off.

She bit down on his lip. “I don’t think I could sleep without an orgasm from you ever again.”

Matthew groaned softly. “I have until the end of the summer. If I can’t get a solid gig by then, I’ll have to go teach or something. The clock is running down.”

“So, I’m fucking a future teacher. That’s kind of hot.”

Lynn shoved her tits in his face and he obliged, pressing her nipples together so he could take them both in his mouth at the same time. She seemed to like that, because her back arched and she began to grind her pussy against his cock. He flicked his tongue over them and watched them pebble in arousal.

He sucked on one until she cried out, and then did the same to the other. She began to grind harder against him and whispered out all the very naughty things she wanted to do with his cock.

All the things she wanted him to do to her pussy.

He held her to him with an arm possessively around her shoulders. “Does this mean you’ll put on a tiny little skirt and a slutty shirt and bend over for me, so I can see the pink of your pussy staring at me? Will you let me lick you while you take a test?”

Her breathing quickened. “If I flunk my test, will you spank me?”

Matthew groaned louder. “Do you want me to spank you?”

Lynn started to fall victim to a building orgasm. Her breathing intensified and she could only nod her head. She pushed herself up and settled her pussy on his hardness to ride him. Matthew licked his thumb and rubbed her clit while she played with her breasts.

“You can do whatever you want to me, Matthew. Whatever you want.”

“That’s a dangerous request. You don’t know the things I’m capable of.”

“Anything. Everything.”

Her features, illuminated by the lamplight, made her look like a phantom or a dream, but the feel of her wetness was so real. There was no dreaming, this creature was really riding him, squeezing him with her tight walls and following the rhythm of his hips.

“Anything for my Juliet.”

He grabbed her hips and thrust upwards, fast and fierce, and watched her cry out in building ecstasy. Would she really stay with him every night? Could he really have his Juliet as often as he wanted, insatiably and greedily fucking from sun up to sun down? They could audition together and then fuck in closets while waiting for callbacks.

One night, he was going to take her back to that rooftop garden and gift her with so many orgasms, the building owners would have to call the police.

It stopped being sex. This wasn’t just body parts moving together. This was making love; this was creating something harmonious and beautiful, uniting two souls between the sheets. If their sex was music, it would be a symphony. If it was art, it would be a Monet. If it were theater, they would be Shakespeare.

To say it out loud would be impossible. To claim it would be insanity. But with the light surrounding her, the pure ecstasy on her face, and the heavenly noises coming from her lips as he buried himself in her, fusing them together, he finally understood. After years of study, he finally, absolutely got it.

For the first time, he understood how Romeo fell in love after just one night.

PART ONE

“Good luck! Remember, show no fear. They eat it for breakfast around here.”

“Thanks.” Matthew gave a two-fingered salute to his old professor. “I’ll be sure to emerge victorious.”

“You’ll do wonderfully, Matthew. You’ve always had the gumption and the talent. Teaching it to young, budding minds is almost as fun as having sex on stage. Almost.” Professor Heston wheezed out a laugh and ambled out of the door as the bell rang. “Let’s do lunch after this period, okay?”

“Your treat.” Matthew pointed to him.

“Young man, you’ll learn none of us have money. It’s the plight of growing young minds. Call it a business meeting and I’ll write it off to the department.” He waved again from the hall. “Can I get you anything before the firing squad arrives? Bourbon? A tourniquet?”

“Buzz off, old man. I’m going to wow the minds of tomorrow with my sage advice and mature wisdom.”

“I’ll tell Lottie to send in the body bags.” With a wink, the old man disappeared into the theater room next door.

Matthew took one final look at the emptied classroom and rubbed his neck. His first class went by okay, but it was a Theater I class and everyone treated it like the blow-off course it was. Then, he had two periods of in-service. Fourth period felt like his first
real
class period, where everyone was actually awake and would be listening to him speak. Probably.

Really, he should count himself incredibly fortunate. His summer tanked after a continued series of failed auditions and a lousy toothpaste commercial that only aired on public access television after midnight.

He chalked it up to auditioning for all the wrong roles, trying too hard to fit his square-pegged talent into round roles, but it would be a lie to say it wasn’t disheartening.

Truth be told, nothing seemed to fit after that one crazy, beautiful night with crazy beautiful Lynn. But just like Juliet, one night was all he’d gotten.

After another month of rejection and second-rate performances, he lucked into running into his old professor from community college, and thus lucked into a last minute theater teacher position. It could have been so much worse; they were also hiring a pre-algebra teacher and Matthew was dismally atrocious at math, but his combination of degrees gave him just enough edge to share a tiny classroom next to a moderately-sized theater space.

At least his final days were spent chasing down stage lights instead of suffering through day job interviews. This way didn’t feel as failure-riddled. He truly gave it his best shot until the very end … of his bank account. Maybe next summer, he’d have better luck. This teaching gig might set his portfolio above those around him.

He’d take anything to differentiate himself from the other fish in the sea.

Matthew snuck into his office and shut the door. He could pretend he was hunting down the roll call paper, but really, he just needed a moment. Over his last twenty-nine years, life spat a lot of mountains and hills at him. Some, he simply stepped over. Others required a full set of gear and hiking boots.

He still hadn’t settled on what this teaching job was. The summer definitely felt like a mountain, one he’d had to combat in the sweltering temperatures with a tiny air conditioning unit and a refrigerator full of condiments. There were high points—landing small roles in boutique theaters, the commercial was nice just to say he was on television, and a fair share of pretty girls in his bedroom. Some more memorable than others.

One, really, if he was being honest. Just that one. A brunette with amazing tits and a cell phone that was disconnected. Fucking heartache. She’d used him, and he’d die for the chance to let her do it again.

Eventually, he learned to stop letting his heart overtake his mind. When her number came back as disconnected, he had gone into an alcoholic tailspin, but it didn’t last more than a night or two. Nolan reminded him he was Matthew Fucking Flint. He had abs of steel, guns for arms, and a smile that made panties wet across the bar.

Nolan’s words, not his.

Only getting a good role could truly soothe his ego, though. Hell, he had even started growing his hair out for a man bun. Go fucking figure. By this time next year, he’d be able to dazzle all the ladies and directors alike with his luscious hair. Worst case, he’d chop it all off and donate it, but why not?

Besides, high school teachers with ponytails were the cool teachers. And if he had to be a teacher, he was going to be a cool one. Maybe he could even inspire some chubby kid reminiscent of his old self, and watch a new and budding career develop. Matthew could take him to auditions and give him plays to read, all the things his teachers did for him growing up.

If he couldn’t be on stage, he could at least impart his love for the craft into young minds. Or spend the whole period silently calling them assholes and drinking in the employee breakroom. He had already seen the flasks passed around in the breakroom after first period.

His first planned assignment was to get everyone to talk about their experiences with acting or the theater, and what drew them to it. No points awarded for “I had to take an art credit,” either.

Mr. Flint was going to be kickass and firm.

Although if it didn’t take up the entire class period, he had no fucking clue what to do. Lesson plans were sort of David-meets-Goliath at the moment, and he didn’t know where the hell to find a slingshot.

The next set bell rang, announcing the start of the period. Matthew took a deep breath and collected his papers. If he could audition in some of the biggest theaters in the City, he could take on a group of theater kids. The tardy bell sounded and he was out of time.

He stepped into the room, full of bodies, and went straight to the board. He wrote
Mr. Flint—Theater III
in neat letters and drew a line under them. It felt very official. Next stop was his podium, where he could grip the sides and pretend he was fearless against twenty-three vicious and soul-eating high school students.

“Welcome to Theater III. My name is Mr. Flint and I’ll be your teacher this year. I’m a professional actor on the Broadway circuit and very excited to teach you the depths of theater from someone who has truly been there. But first, roll call. When I call your name, please let me know if you have an alternative name you’d like to go by. Be forewarned, if you want to go by something inappropriate, that’s how your parents will read your names in all the school programs.”