Title : A Kilty Class
Pairing: Bella/Paul
Rating: M
Genre: Erotica with a sprinkle of humor.
Word Count: 450
A/N : A big thank you to jarms for sprinkling her magical, beta-fairy dust on this. Love ya, lady. 333
History class is finally here. It's my favorite; not because of the subject, but because of the teacher.
Mr. Paul Lahote.
He stands there, leaning against the desk, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and grey shirt. The man is mouthwatering in any attire, but I bet he looks best in his birthday suit.
He writes the topic on the board—even his handwriting is sexy, so precise and sure.
"Scotland."
And that reminds me of the historical romance novel I'm reading, dragging me to fantasy land, baiting me with alluring images of Mr. Lahote.
A warrior riding a black stallion sweeps me off my feet, intent on carrying me back to his land to claim me in all possible ways.
I'm sprawled on his bed; retrieving a knife, he rips my corset, the sharp blade slicing it in two.
Standing above me, his burning gaze roams my exposed flesh. The fire in those eyes burn me; consumes me whole.
I reach out to undo his kilt, but he grabs my wrists and pulls them above my head, chiding me with a click of his tongue.
Clearly, he's taking charge.
Large hands—so warm and calloused—map my body, caressing every curve, dipping every valley, turning me into a quivering mess.
On the verge of tears, I beg for relief when he answers my pleas with a luxurious kiss between my thighs, quelling my most sinful desires. With lavish licks, he guides me over the precipice—flying high until I drift gently into the arms of ecstasy.
Suddenly, he grabs my waist, pulling me upright, his fingers buried in my thick hair.
He's naked.
My gasp, as I look upon his chiseled perfection, elicits a deep chuckle from my captor.
Lips seizing mine, he prepares to invade me…
Two taps on my desk pull me back to present.
"Am I boring you, Miss Swan?"
Mr. Lahote stands in front of me and the whole class is staring. "Uh… Umm… N-no. I just…"
"Everything alright?" He cocks one brow, his eyes twinkling in amusement.
"Y-yes, Mr. Lahote." I try not to blush. "E-everything's fine."
"Good." Smirking, he walks back to his table. It's almost as if he peered into my fantasy.
Rosalie looks at me with a knowing smile and whispers, "What was it this time?"
"Hot Scottish Ass," I grumble, feeling my face burn. "Kilt!"
Grinning like a fat cat with a mouse, she winks. "Tell me more."
"Shut it, Rose." I push away the fingers poking at me. "Later."
Looking at us, Mr. Lahote clears his throat, and I try to compose myself. I must concentrate if I don't want him kicking me out.
And that's something I definitely do not want.