See Me After Class (Steamy Teacher Romances #1)

by Meghan Quinn

Keiko “Keeks” Seymour—resident AP chemistry teacher at Forest Heights High School. Her social etiquette is lacking, her intelligence is off the charts, and she’d rather play with beakers than penises.

Stella Garcia—Spanish teacher at Forest Heights and my co-coach. Currently single, makes the best tamales I’ve ever had, and is one stamp away from getting a free donut at Frankie Donuts.

Coraline “Cora” Turner—recent divorcée and living with her brother, Arlo. Jobless at the moment and couldn’t care less about it since both she and Arlo have enough inheritance to last them a lifetime.

Greer Gibson—twenty-four-year-old fresh to the teaching scene as Forest Heights’s new English teacher and women’s volleyball coach. I love running, have a penchant for a man in a cardigan, and can get a little noisy in the classroom while teaching. I currently share a classroom wall with Arlo Turner, Forest Heights’s most prestigious English teacher, and might have lost my underwear—

“Although I do love Mr. Darcy and it’s my favorite book to teach, I’m going to be honest, I’m not a huge fan of the classics.” Nyema’s eyes widen, and I know it’s a risky thing to say, but I feel the need to say it. “I understand the importance of teaching them, but I also understand the importance of instilling interested reading habits into students. Some of those books come off as . . . stodgy, holier-than-thou, and frankly—boring.”

“What books would you say keep your interest?” “Honestly?” She nods. “I love romance. I grew up reading it and it’s one of the reasons I love teaching Pride and Prejudice so much. With romance, I get lost in the story and tend to forget everything around me. Now, I’m not saying romance has the educational substance you’re looking for when it comes to teaching deep-rooted metaphors and symbolism, but it has offered me the chance to fall in love with reading. For someone else, it could be mystery, suspense, maybe a thriller, or even a fictional story loosely based on something true that happened in history. It doesn’t matter the genre, what matters is the escape. The appreciation for getting lost in words.”

“Exclusive companionship where we delight in each other’s minds.” “Not his penis?” Stella asks, causing Keeks to frown. “Dare I say that’s extremely forward of you, Stella. Why on earth would I handle his phallus at the inauguration of a courtship?” Stella shrugs. “Because they’re fun to jiggle.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to poke the bear, Greer?” “I mean, if this has to do with my teaching techniques—” “You know damn well this has nothing to do with your teaching,” he says, pushing forward so his hands land on either side of the desk and I have to lean back so our faces don’t touch.

He’s insufferable. He’s rude. He’s brash and holier than thou. But God, is he handsome.

“Are you planning retaliation?” I ask. His eyes drop to my lips before focusing back on my eyes. “Retaliation? No.” He licks his lips. “Punishment . . . always.”

“You’re going to go out there like that? Flushed? Turned on?” Her eyes widen. “I’m not turned on.” “You’re not?” I ask, brow raised, moving closer again. “So if I feel your pulse, it wouldn’t be pounding just as hard as mine?” She shakes her head, backing up until she reaches the wall. “And if I moved in closer, you wouldn’t feel the need to reach out and touch me?” I leave nothing but a few inches between us. “No,” she answers, keeping her hands at her sides as her body remains rigid, but her eyes give her away.

Swallowing hard, I catch my breath as I say, “And if I were to drag my hand between your spread legs . . . would you be wet?” Her eyes flash to mine with lust in them. Hunger. Need. Whatever answer she gives me, I know, right here and now . . . she wants me, just as badly as I want her.

“Let’s go.” “Uh, go where?” “Your apartment. We have things to discuss and I’m hungry.” “But . . . I didn’t invite you over.” “Yes, and I didn’t invite you to run my faculty meeting either, but I guess that didn’t stop you.” He reaches the doorway and nods at me. “Move it, Gibson. I’ve been known to get hangry.” Well, at least he’s honest.

“Why couldn’t we have just had dinner at a restaurant?” Because I want nothing more than to spank you after that meeting. Because I feel like yelling and screaming my frustration. Because I’m desperate to have you alone. “You really want to fight in public?” I ask. She pauses, halfway up the stairs to her apartment complex. “We’re going to fight?” “What do you think?” “That we could have a civil conversation.” “When has that ever happened?” I counter. “There’s no time like the present to change.” She gives me a giant smile, and fuck, I want to kiss it right off her face.

“Remember, currently in a relationship, which means I want everyone in a relationship.” “He’s been on my case, too. You’re not the only one,”

“I’d like something intimate. A relationship where I not only feel special, but where I make someone feel wanted, needed, cared for. I want to be able to go on dates, hold hands, take long walks at night under the stars. I want passion and spontaneity, but I also want reassurance that there will always be comfort and routine within a relationship. I want something sweet. Something naughty. Something that rocks my world and changes the colors around me. I want . . . love.”

“Kelvin and I participated in a sexual rendezvous last night, masqueraded as dining in his motor vehicle for an experiment. Given that we both lacked sexual partners in our teenage years, we were never granted the chance to act with promiscuity in Lovers Lane. Feasting on burgers from the burger king himself, Kelvin asked point-blank if he could hold my breast. Given the variables of the night, I conjectured there was no night like tonight for Kelvin Thimble to, in street terms, cop a feel. With ketchup-coated hands, he reached out and pressed his palm to my breast.”

“How was it?” Stella asks. Keeks adjusts her glasses again, clears her throat, and says, “An inner carnal beast erupted from the bowels of my soul, and before I could figure out where it originated from, my tongue was haphazardly licking Kelvin’s mouth while his ketchup-covered hand clutched at my hair.” Too much detail . . . way too much detail. “I tapped into my reptile brain. Arousal spiked, milkshake was scattered over Kelvin’s lap, and I used it as lubricant for—” “I think I’m good with the rest,” I say, cutting her off. “Really, I can imagine where this went.” “I can’t,”

“What did the milkshake lubricate?” If she says vagina, I’m going to die. “The coarse wool of my skirt over the corduroy of his dress slacks.” My nostrils flare, and I beg the high heavens to please help me not make a grossed-out face. “Well, that’s . . . an interesting mesh of fab...

“Do you miss my face between your legs?” She doesn’t flinch, but stands tall. “I miss the feel of a man’s hand holding mine.” She steps in closer. “I miss the feel of someone calling me just to hear my voice.” One more step. “I miss the feel of a man holding me while I drift off to sleep. Anyone can make me come, Arlo, but it’s the one who makes me feel special that I miss.”

“I need to kiss you, Greer.” “I need you to kiss me too,” I whisper. He steps in closer and tilts my jaw up with his thumb, keeping his eyes trained on mine. “I’ve wanted these lips for a long fucking time.” “Then take them.”

And when I think he won’t close the distance, his soft lips press against mine. The lightest of presses, right before he brings me closer, power propelling me against him as his mouth takes charge. It isn’t sloppy. It isn’t awkward. It’s . . . perfect.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pulling away for a second. “You taste so good.” And then his mouth is back on mine. Dancing. Tangling. Fusing.

“Okay . . . I need to go.” “Are you sure?” I ask, squeezing him. “Yes,” he says, his voice growing stern. He tilts my head up so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. “You know I want you. I know you want me. But I want more between us. I want to try . . . hell”—he takes a deep breath—“I want to be intimate with you.” Understanding what he’s trying to say, I nod and remove my hand. “Sorry, I—” “Don’t apologize.” He sears me with his gaze. “Do you understand? Don’t ever apologize for how much you want me. But let’s try to take this slow, to give it a chance.”

“And I might need help, because I’m not good at this shit. But I want to try. Shit, I’m desperate to try, because I can’t stop thinking about you, Greer. And I want to get to know more of you.” He smooths his thumb over my temple. “I want to know more about what’s up here.” “I’d like that.”

Dear Miss Gibson, I thought about you all weekend. I thought about the dress you wore at homecoming. I thought about the way your hair swept across your shoulders in a ponytail and how I desperately wanted to push it away. I thought about how your legs looked in those heels, even more gorgeous than normal. I thought about how I wished I could have taken your hand and shared a dance with you on the dance floor. And then . . . I thought about our kiss. And now, I’m thinking about how I can spoil you on our date, so that maybe . . . I can feel your lips against mine again. Have a great day. Arlo – Grandpa.

Dear Miss Gibson, Tapping into my inner intimate self has been difficult. I decided to go to a marriage counselor session with Coraline—I can tell you more about that later. It’s not what you’re probably thinking. But I learned something yesterday at my session—not sure if I’ll go back, we’ll see—but what I did learn, I took it to heart. There are people on this earth who don’t need the touch of another human to be happy. They’re pleased with minimal contact and living their own life. And then there are people who need that extra touch. Who crave it. Who—as the therapist says—love love. And if we find ourselves matching up with that person, we need to put in a valiant effort to meet their needs. I’m not saying you need human touch to survive, but I do believe you’re someone who needs altruistic attention. Because you’re considerate and compassionate. And I’m prepared to give it. But it might take me some time to get used to giving that to you. Why am I telling you this? Because our date is tomorrow, and if I forget to touch you from across the table, or you don’t feel like I’m giving you enough attention, please know, I’m trying. Arlo

I unfold the note and read the simple sentence scrolled across the stark white paper. I can’t wait to take you out tonight. I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.

The man is making more effort for me than anyone else I’ve known. He’s trying to learn how to drive his emotions differently. I do believe you’re someone who needs altruistic attention. Because you’re considerate and compassionate. And he’s using his love of words, of expression within text, to help me see that. So, perhaps the correct word I should be using is “swoon.” I’m not hooked . . . I’m swooning.

“Greer, you look fucking delectable.” She smiles, the gloss on her lips making her mouth that much more enticing. “You look really delectable yourself. You have that whole ‘Justin Timberlake Suit and Tie’ era going for you.” “I guess that works. At least it’s not ‘Justin Timberlake Denim Suit’ era.”

You’ve been a fantasy for a while, even when I wanted to stick a ruler up your ass due to your arrogance. I wanted you. I still want you. I want more than just your body, though. I want to date you. Hold your hand. Cuddle with you. Spoon you. Wake up in the morning and see your handsome face on the pillow next to me. You have me, Arlo. So come and get me. Greer

“Hand. Me. Your. Wallet.” Rolling my eyes, I give it to her, only for her to open it up and pull out an accordion of condoms. “Just as I suspected. You’re going to go have sex.” I snatch the wallet and condoms away, stuffing them back inside. “You need to start looking for your own place to live.”

“I love that you love to pleasure me. But it’s my turn. Take your pants off, Arlo.” “You don’t call the shots here,” I say. “Fine, then will you please allow me to pleasure you . . . Mr. Turner?” Fuck . . . When she looks at me like that, says my name in a sultry, throaty voice, I can’t deny her anything.

when she slowly lowers my briefs to the floor. My erection springs forward, large and yearning for her. When she lifts up to look at me, the most satisfying expression falls over her face. Lust. Joy. “You’re so big,” she whispers, taking me in her hand. “Arlo, I needed this so bad. I needed you.”

I lift her chin with my index finger and say, “I’m not coming in your mouth. Do you understand? You can play with my dick for as long as you want, but when I say I’m going to come, I better come inside you.” “I can handle that.” “Good.”

Greer taps my cheek, and I turn and nip at her hand. She giggles against me and wraps her arms around my waist. “Gah, I love you.” I go still. She goes still. Gunner’s head whips around. “I mean . . .” she stammers. “I love . . . uh . . . you-o-da. I love Yoda.”

I just swallowed my own heartbeat, my throat thick, my emotions bubbling up inside me. She loves me? That’s . . . hell, that’s terrifying but also exhilarating. “I, uh—” “Oh, this is uncomfortable,” Gunner says, and I box him out with my body, forcing Greer to look at me. “Hey.” I cup her cheek and smooth my thumb over her soft skin. “I love you too.” Her eyes widen, and Gunner claps behind me. “Dude, that’s—” “Shut the fuck up, man.” “Yup, gotcha.” “You do?” Greer asks, shocked, elated. I nod. “I really fucking do.” A gorgeous smile spreads across her face. “I love you, Arlo. I really fucking do.” “And this isn’t the alcohol talking?” She shakes her head. “No, it’s not.” “Me neither.” We stare at each other, both smiling, both realizing this is monumental.

“You see, I’ve fallen in love.” A few girls make those annoying girl shrieks. “And like every other red-blooded male, I’ve blown it.” “We can’t all be perfect,” Chuckie says from the back. “That’s your warning,” I point at him. “Just trying to be supportive.” He holds his hands up. “I’m here for you, Mr. Turner.”

“The object of my affection . . . Miss Gibson.” I wait as the entire class explodes with shrieks and clapping. When they’re settled, I continue, “And like I said, I blew it. Now, I’ve tried a simple method to communicate with her. But you see, when you mess up the way I did—something I won’t divulge to you, so don’t ask—a conversation isn’t going to do the trick.” I lift off my desk and go to the whiteboard, where I snap up the map that’s covering it and reveal two words. Mr. Darcy. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go Mr. Darcy on her . . . and I need your help.”

“For I’m in your debt,” I say. “For what you’ve done for . . . Chuckie, and my family . . . for my career. I must be the one who makes amends.” Chin held high, his voice cracks when he says, “You must know. It was all for you.” He takes a pause and then says, “If your feelings are still what they were two weeks ago, tell me now. My affection for you has not changed.” There’s a slight gasp in the air. “But if they have changed, I must know, because I need to tell you this.” He pauses again, his words almost drowned out by the rapid beat of my heart. “You have bewitched me, body and soul,” he says, just like Mr. Darcy. “And I . . . I love you. I never wish to be apart from you . . . from this day on.”

I stare him in the eyes, the moment heavy, intense, so palpable that I can feel the truth in his words, the meaning behind them. “Well then, shall we never be apart again.” I say, lifting his hand to my mouth, where I place a kiss on his knuckles. I look up at him, and our foreheads move in, touching, our noses move closer, and then . . . The bell sounds off, signaling the end of class. Collectively, everyone shouts, “Nooooooo.” Chuckie, in the nightgown still, for God knows what reason, says, “Kiss, kiss, kiss.” Laughing, I glance up at Arlo, and he cups my chin. Everyone joins in the chant and before I can decide what to do, Arlo presses his mouth against mine.

I get lost in his touch, in the feel of his mouth, in the capturing of his love. Body and soul. Jane Austen could not have said it more perfectly. Pulling his mouth away, he brings his lips to my ear and says, “You make me incandescently happy.” Tears fall down m...