Not again

The spray bottle hissed again—closer this time—and John's fingers twitched over his keyboard as Alice's stocking-clad legs materialized beside his table. She leaned over to wipe the surface, her apron straps straining against her chest as she dragged the damp cloth in slow circles near his coffee cup.

"Excuse me, Principal Lee,” Alice murmured, pressing her thigh against the edge of his table as she reached across him for a stray sugar packet. The movement hiked her skirt up another inch—the lace tops of her stockings now visible where they met bare skin. John's breath hitched when her hip brushed his elbow, the contact sending a jolt through his forearm.

Alice's lips curved as she straightened—too slowly—her fingers lingering on the table as she swayed backward. The damp cloth slipped from her grip, landing squarely in John's lap with a wet splat.

"Oh no!" Her gasp was theatrically breathless as she dropped to her knees between his legs. "Let me—" Her palms landed on his thighs before he could react, fingers kneading the fabric of his slacks where the moisture seeped through. John's back hit the chair as Alice leaned closer, her breath warm through the damp spot now cooling against his erection.

"Alice—" His warning came out strangled as her thumbs brushed the inseam of his pants.

John's fingers dug into the armrests as Alice's breath ghosted over the damp fabric tenting his lap. His pulse roared in his ears—part fury, part disbelief—that this was happening *again*. The spray bottle's lemony scent couldn't mask the vanilla perfume wafting from Alice's hair as she leaned closer, her thumbs tracing the outline of his cock through soaked slacks.

"Alice," John gritted out, but her name dissolved into a groan as she pressed her lips against the wet spot—hot breath and impossible softness branding him through cotton. His hips jerked involuntarily, the movement grinding his trapped length against her smiling mouth. *Christ.* He was hard in a student-run café. With her twin watching.

Emma's loafers clicked across the tile floor, stopping just behind Alice's kneeling form. "Principal Lee," she murmured, her fingers trailing along the back of John's chair. "You're *so* tense." Her breath tickled his ear as she leaned down, the neckline of her tank top gaping to reveal lace-trimmed cleavage. "Maybe we should—"

John's fingers spasmed against the keyboard as Emma's chest pressed against his shoulder—her nipples stiff against the thin fabric, her breath humid against his neck. *Not again.* The thought roared through him even as his traitorous cock twitched beneath Alice's ministrations. Her lips pursed against the damp fabric, blowing a slow, deliberate stream of hot air that made his thighs tense.

Emma's fingers crept up his forearm, her nails skimming the rolled edge of his sleeve before dipping beneath to trace the tendons of his wrist. "You work too hard," she murmured—her voice syrup-thick with feigned concern—as her thumb circled his pulse point. The twin **** of their attentions—Alice's mouth hovering just above his lap, Emma's breasts pressing into his arm—left him paralyzed between outrage and arousal.

Alice's tongue darted out, tracing the wet outline of his erection through his slacks with torturous precision. John's breath hitched—half protest, half plea—as her fingers worked the button of his pants loose. *This can't be happening.* The rational part of his brain screamed warnings about student-teacher boundaries, about the fact that Alice Maddison was eighteen and currently nuzzling his zipper like a goddamn cat with cream.