Love Won (Winning at Love book 1) Page 19

  “What do you mean?” Kami asks, unsure. “They are perfect. I got mine back this morning. McCoy told me they were one of the best sets of reports he’d read in a long time,” she adds, pulling a folder Eastlyn had tossed on the table toward her and opening it up. Kami’s right, they are. I could tell they both know their kids well, and have set realistic goals for each student. Inching my way past the door, I quietly grab the two packs of sugar I came for from the coffee station. I see Kami’s blue eyes go wide as she sits, baffled, taking in the array of Post-its covered with my messy scrawls tacked onto multiple pages.

  “Mine didn’t have one single Post-it,” Kami says, looking perplexed. “And they’re basically the same reports…” Then Kam breaks out in a wide smile, and I think maybe the girl has clued in. “East. Could he be fucking with you?”

  “I’m going to fucking kill him,” Eastlyn whispers, then stands abruptly. I take this as my cue to get the hell out of Dodge before she sees me and rips my nuts off with her bare hands for messing with her again. I’d gotten off lucky with a simple “You’re a sweet kind of asshole” email after the gift basket I’d left her on the first day of school, but I know I won’t get off unscathed this time around.

  With that, I head back to my office, and eagerly wait for my Sprinkles to attack.

  7

  Enter the Dragon

  “What’s the big idea?” Eastlyn says, storming into my office. “See? This is exactly the kind of shit I knew you’d pull. I knew things were too good to be true between us,” she mutters, slamming my office door. Apparently, with Bev not being at her desk at this precise moment, Eastlyn figures she has carte blanche to let herself in.

  “Hello to you, too, Miss Hatfield,” I say, dropping the letter I’d been reading while standing in front of my conference table.

  “Don’t you ‘Miss Hatfield’ me. Explain these to me,” she demands, standing next to me. Her sweet scent tickles my senses, drifting its way straight down to my cock and gaining its attention. She plops the all-too-familiar manila folder on top of the document I’d been reading. Now, all I can focus on is the pretty scowl marring her face.

  Fuck me dead, she’s pretty.

  “Coy.” She snaps her fingers, drawing my gaze away from where my eyes have come to rest on her plump lips, watching them move, but not hearing a word.

  “Look at these report cards,” she says, pointing down to the open folder. I recognize the many blue Post-it notes peeking out from the pages. “Tell me these notes are just bullshit. Tell me you’re not really expecting me to make any of these changes. Tell me this is another one of your stupid jokes.” She waves her hands around, exasperated, and I try really damn hard not to laugh. “What is it you want from me, Coy? I feel like a swinging pendulum. I’m getting mixed signals. I told you we couldn’t work together.”

  “Sprinkles, relax,” I barely get out, before she goes ballistic.

  “You, McCoy Graves, are a jerk. Obviously you haven’t changed like I thought maybe you had. I mean, I thought you…I thought we…I thought final—no. You know what? Forget it. The point is, I was right. This isn’t going to work. You can’t treat me differently than the other teachers, and these report notes prove either you’re a complete asshole or you cannot handle us working at the same school. Not like there’s much we can do about it now, but still…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “The report card comments I submitted are almost the same as Kam’s, and you know they were perfect. You told her yourself how good they were. You know you’re just being a dickhead.” She exhales, placing her hand on her hip.

  And all I do is stand here with my fists clenched, listening as she continues to tear strips off of me. I fight the overwhelming instinct I have to reach for her, to shut her up with my mouth. To tell her everything I’ve ever felt about her, and to admit that, yes, I am treating her differently, and that I just can’t help it. To share how I have this insatiable need to push and pull her, a desire to get so far under her skin that she’ll suffer like I’m suffering. I want to be all she thinks about. I want to be the continuous itch she can’t ever scratch. I want her to want me as badly as I want her. Yet I just stand here, making it worse, and I have no idea why. I’m obviously a sadist or a masochist; whichever one makes me more of an idiot, that’s the one I am.

  “Say something,” Eastlyn huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and standing her ground like the fire-breathing dragon she is. I know this is going to go one of two ways—she’s going to leave, or she’s going to get fucked against my office wall. And, trust me, I want it to be the latter because I am as hard as a steel rod for this woman. Pissed off and fiery has never looked so hot. “Fuck this. Boss or not, you’re a jerk, and I’m over this,” she gestures between us. “Have a great weekend, Mr. Graves,” she spits, before turning towards the door.

  Taking a silent step forward, I immediately close the distance between us, my front meeting her back as her hand lands on the handle. My heart is thumping in my chest. The sound thuds in my ears, my words lost in translation. My brain warns me to back the hell up, but I can’t.

  “Eastlyn, wait,” I say, getting myself under control, finding my bearings. The edge in my voice halts her in her tracks. And, regardless of her words, and I can tell by her body’s reaction that she’s attuned and affected and absolutely not as done as she says she is. She stands motionless, her hand resting on the brass door handle.

  Waiting.

  “Coy,” she breathes out, tilting her head up and back, looking as though she’s seeking some kind of divine guidance, or maybe simply looking for strength to deal with the battle she knows I’m about to bring.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. She turns around, prepared to give me some sort of scathing reply, and meets my hard chest with her small frame.

  Raising her head, her eyes meeting mine, she asks softly, “Why are you doing this? Why are you being so hard on me? I—I thought we were friends…” she pauses, her eyes shining with emotion, “…at least.”

  Lifting my hand, I place it along the side of her face. I take a deep breath and move forward slightly, forcing her to step backwards, her back now against my office door.

  “We most certainly are friends,” I reply, framing her face with my palms. “Actually, that’s the thing,” I finally admit, smoothing my thumb over her cheek, “I want to be closer friends.” My heart goes haywire seeing the rise and fall of her chest with the impact of my words.

  “You do?” A shy smile starts to lift one side of her beautiful mouth.

  Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “I want to be the very, very closest of friends with only you,” and she whimpers. I kiss her cheek softly and she moans, her head lolling to the side.

  “Hmm…” she murmurs.

  I move my hands from her face, running them slowly down the contours of her body. Taking her hands in mine, I raise them above her head, pinning them against the door. I step in closer. I run my mouth down to the crook of her neck, immediately wanting to retrace the same path with my tongue. To feel her warmth, relish in her softness, and inhale the sweetest-smelling skin I have ever touched.

  “‘Hmm’?” I repeat, smiling into her neck. “What does that mean, Sprinkles?” I inhale her scent, memorizing it, and feel the effect of how fucking potent she is everywhere in my body.

  “It means ye—” she starts.

  “I’m back, Coy,” Bev calls from the other side of the door, stopping whatever was about to happen between us.

  “Shit.” I drop East’s hands and hang my head, annoyed.

  “I’d better go,” Eastlyn sighs, turning faster than a tornado and opening the door.

  “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Graves,” she says a little too loudly, obviously for Bev’s benefit, not meeting my eyes. “I’ll see you later. I’ll fix that right away and get it back to you,” she adds, playing it up even more.

  As she takes a step forward, I follow close behind. Grabbing her gently by the elbow, I pull her back towards me an
d whisper, “This isn’t over.”

  “I hope not,” she hisses back, then beams and walks away.

  8

  Midnight Confessions

  “What do you want from me, Coy? I feel like a swinging pendulum. I’m getting mixed signals. I told you we couldn’t work together.”

  Her words in her small voice repeat over and over in my mind.

  Fuck, I wanted her this afternoon. Bloody Bev interrupting us, like I need to know when she’s back or not. Well, okay, maybe I do, but I couldn’t have given a shit today. Hell, she could have taken the entire afternoon off for all I cared. I should have just kept Eastlyn in my office until we hashed out what we needed to. Picking up my tumbler, I take a long, cold sip, letting the smooth taste of the whiskey linger on my taste buds before I swallow, trying to mellow myself out a bit.

  But before I can think better of it, I grab for my phone. I open my Messenger app, find the chat Eastlyn and I started weeks ago, and begin to type.

  McCoy: I moustache you a question.

  I type the stupid line we used all the time when we were kids. Back when I didn’t want to admit that I liked her more than I should.

  Eastlyn: I’m about to go wash my hair. Can you shave it for later?

  She responded faster than I expected, making me laugh that she’s playing along. She can’t be as pissed off as I thought. Being after midnight, I figured she’d most likely be out, or asleep, since it’s Friday night.

  McCoy: It’s an important one.

  I push, hoping she’ll take the bait.

  Eastlyn: Fine.

  McCoy: Are you busy?

  Eastlyn: Is that your question?

  “No, smartass,” I laugh.

  McCoy: Are you too busy for this right now?

  I want to make sure she’s not out and I’m not distracting her. I want her full attention.

  Eastlyn: No. You actually woke me up. I must have fallen asleep watching Goonies.

  I smile at her movie choice.

  McCoy: Good choice.

  Eastlyn: I know. What do you want, McCoy?

  As she texts, I can start to tell that, okay, maybe she’s still a little pissed at me. I can’t say I blame her, though. I have been swinging her back and forth like a pendulum.

  McCoy: Don’t be mad at me. It was a joke.

  Eastlyn: What part?

  I smile at her testing the waters.

  McCoy: The report card notes. You were right, they were very well done.

  I cringe, waiting for the middle finger emoji to appear.

  Eastlyn: Jokes are funny. What you did was mean.

  McCoy: You’re right, it was.

  Suddenly, I’m feeling all brave, like I want to push her some.

  McCoy: Would you let me make it up to you?

  Eastlyn: What do you want, Coy? I’m tired.

  I immediately picture her sprawled on her bed in a tiny nightie, exposing the perfect amount of soft skin, enough to entice and seduce. Even though it’s cold tonight and chances are she’s wearing pyjama bottoms and a big-ass sweater like she did when we were kids, my cock still stirs at my vision. After all, the weather doesn’t apply in fantasyland. Right?

  Eastlyn: You still there?

  McCoy: Yeah, sorry. I was picturing what you might be wearing.

  Eastlyn: Oh, brother.

  McCoy: No. And thank fuck. There isn’t a single thing brotherly about what I just pictured.

  Eastlyn: Jesus.

  McCoy: I think you’ll be calling me God when I’m done with you.

  Eastlyn: I’m serious! What is it you want, Coy?

  I’ve had enough. Picking up my phone, I find her contact info and hit call.

  “Hello?” She picks it up on the first ring, and I swear I can hear her smile.

  “You honestly want me to tell you what I want?” I ask, my voice huskier than intended, but, hell, I’m hard as a rock after the visual I’ve given myself.

  “Yeah, I do. And, truthfully, you’ve got me confused and I hate feeling like this—” she stalls before adding, “—again.” I file away that comment for later.

  “Think you could handle knowing exactly what I want?”

  “I can handle it. Unless it involves clowns or baiting worms,” she jokes, and it’s followed by a sexy giggle.

  “Okay, well, I suggest you get ready, baby. Maybe slip off your nightie and move up against your headboard. Grab your vibrator and enjoy,” I tell her cockily, and she full-on laughs.

  “For starters, I’m wearing flannel bottoms. It’s cold out. And second, who’s to say your answer will warrant my getting off for your listening pleasure?” she challenges, and it’s game-the-hell-on.

  “Fine. A wager. I get you so hot you come, you be my date for Rory’s wedding,” I say.

  “And if I don’t?” she asks, and I smile at the victory of her not shooting down the idea of being my date.

  “You will, so I’m not worried.”

  “See? You’re such a jerk,” she laughs, and I join in.

  “Are you trying to give me a complex when all I’m trying to do is answer the question you asked?” I say.

  “Whatever, get on with it then. I’m all ears. We’ll determine my prize later.”

  “I want one full day, just you and me. Alone,” I start, and stretch out on my couch, squeezing my dick as it starts to remember how close we were to her today, how much she wanted me, too, how responsive she was. Fuck, I could almost taste her need from the scent of her excitement in the air alone and I’d barely laid a finger on her.

  “I could do a day with you,” she says.

  “And I want to film it. You’ll start with a slow strip tease for me, revealing what I’ve imagined over the years as being the perfect set of tits and hottest pussy I’ll ever taste. Then I want you to crawl up to me where I’m lying on the bed. You’ll unzip my pants, seeing how painfully hard watching you strip has made me. You’ll take mercy on me and help me out of my pants.”

  “Hmm. What then?” East asks, her voice low and seductive, making me grin, knowing I’ve got her already.

  “You slide my boxers off next, then you rub those sweet tits of yours up and along my body from my chest down over my cock, letting those hard nipples slide against my skin, the friction making us both moan. Then you move back down and situate yourself between my legs, ready to slip my hard cock into that sexy-as-fuck mouth of yours.”

  “Fuck,” she moans, and I hear what sounds like a drawer opening.

  “You with me, Sprinkles?” I ask, smiling into the line.

  “God, yes.”

  “That’s real good, baby.”

  “Keep going, Coy. What else?”

  “I want you to blow me until I come down your throat while you look me in the eyes, letting me know how horny you are. After we catch our breath for a few seconds, I’ll flip you over and it will be my turn to go down on you. I’ll start by slowly running my tongue up and down your lips. I’ll find your sensitive clit and suck on it until you just can’t take it anymore, and you’re so soaking wet, it’s dripping down your thighs.”

  “Oh God, I want that. I do. Fuck.”

  “Are you touching yourself, Eastlyn?” I ask, pumping my hand up and down my cock now, my body overloaded with images of Eastlyn and me doing everything like I’m describing.

  “Yes, I’m so wet. So, so wet,” she tells me and I hear a low buzz in the background.

  Fuck, yes.

  “You going to pretend that’s me rubbing your pussy and making you feel good, East? You going to come for me, baby?”

  “Yes, hell, yes. Keep talking, please,” she begs and I try not to laugh, but she’s so fucking cute when she’s hot and bothered, just like I remember from all those years ago in her parents’ basement. Goddamn, this woman is everything.

  “Coy. More, please, tell me more…” she whimpers, and I hear the buzzing sound getting louder.

  “Once I’ve lapped up every single drop of your orgasm, I’m going to move my cock u
p to tease your pussy with my tip until you’re begging me to fuck you. When you start saying you’re going to come, I’ll start gently rubbing your clit until you’re screaming and quivering and then I’ll enter you, inch by inch, until you take all of me. Fuck, East, I imagine how snug and perfect you’ll feel wrapped around my cock when I thrust in and out, slow then fast, in and out, over and over again until you—

  “I’m coming, I’m coming, oh God,” she screams through the phone, and I blow my load all over my stomach, knowing that I just made Eastlyn Hatfield come. Hard.

  “I think I just won,” I chuckle, a moment later.

  “Just shut up. Send me the wedding details,” she sighs, and the line goes dead.

  I reach for some Kleenex to clean myself up, and smile.

  I think Sprinkles and I just became best friends.

  9

  Sorry Sack of Shit

  Eastlyn Hatfield is avoiding me, and it’s pissing me off.

  There’s been almost a week of this crap, and I’m over it. Ever since our night on the phone, I expected a turning point, a mutual step forward. Instead, what I’m being given is the cold shoulder. Sure, she smiles and says hello, not completely shutting me out, but it’s not how I saw things going after making her come last Friday with just the sound of my voice.

  Eastlyn’s certainly making me work for it. Leaving the staff room suddenly whenever I enter, dodging me by not coming into the main office when she knows I’ll be there, and—worst of all—ignoring all of my calls and Facebook messages. Luckily, we’re having parent-teacher interviews tonight and my escape artist won’t be able to sneak out from under me like she has every day this week.

  Walking into the hallway, I offer a goodnight to the few lingering parents I pass by as parent-teacher night dwindles to a close. Knowing Eastlyn’s the last teacher holding an interview, I take the opportunity to head upstairs, hoping I’ll get there just as she wraps up, and that she’ll agree to grab a late dinner and have a talk about things. Mainly, about how badly I want her under me, repeatedly.