Miss Amy's Private Lesson

Sarah’s pulse throbs at her throat every time Mrs. Amy starts a lecture, close enough that perfume drifts across the desk. Lately she scribbles fantasies instead of notes. Tonight the empty classroom holds its breath when the door clicks shut. Amy turns, eyes molten. She pulls the girl close, slips a hand beneath her blazer, and cups the small, firm breast hiding there, thumb grazing the taut nipple until Sarah’s breath cracks. They trade open-mouthed kisses that taste like daring. Amy unbuttons the cotton blouse inch by inch, warm fingers mapping skin, discovering every quiver. Sarah leans back against the desk, knees parting, letting herself be tasted and touched until every late-night wish melts into the older woman’s practiced grip.