My Former English Teacher Was Waiting for Me in Edinburgh

The first sound was the rain striking the bookstore’s tall windows. Then came the murmur of pages and, finally, her name spoken with an intonation Tomás recognized before turning around.

—Are you… Tomás?

He turned slowly. Eight years had passed, but her voice was unchanged: warm, firm, with that faint British accent he had tried to imitate through half of his adolescence. And there she was. Helena. His former high-school English teacher. Her hair was shorter than it had been then, chestnut brown with lighter streaks, and she wore a dark coat that emphasized her shoulders and made the green of her eyes shine.

—Well —he replied, smiling despite himself—. I didn’t expect to find you here.

The place was small, one of those that smelled of old paper and burnt coffee. She set her handbag on a table beside the window and watched him with a half smile, the same one that in class had always seemed to conceal something she never said.

—Neither did I. Though I suppose Edinburgh has always been a refuge for restless people.

Tomás laughed, remembering how many lines like that she used to drop between irregular verb and irregular verb. They sat down. At first they talked about small things: travel, work, books. But something else hung in the air, a taut string stretched between two different points in time.

—I never told you this —he finally said, resting his elbows on the table—. You were the reason I wanted to come to this city. Your classes opened windows.

She lowered her gaze, as if the compliment weighed more than he had anticipated.

—I’m glad I was an inspiration —she murmured—. But, Tomás… you were a kid. I was only doing my job.

He leaned a little closer. His voice dropped.

—And I’m not anymore.

A silence said everything. The air seemed to grow denser, hotter. Their eyes met, and it was as if time were moving backward and forward at once.

—It’s curious —she said—. I always thought you’d be shyer.

—And I always thought you knew too much.

Then she smiled differently, like someone who had been waiting for precisely this moment.

—In fact —she continued—, I was expecting to find you today.

He blinked.

—What?

She opened her handbag and took out a thin folder.

—I’m part of the committee for the postgraduate program you applied to. I had your interview this afternoon. I didn’t know whether you’d show up, but I assumed you’d have enough character to do it.

Tomás was speechless. He had crossed half of Europe to apply for that program, and she was going to sit on the other side of the admissions panel.

—You’re… my evaluator.

—I am. And this —she said, gesturing gently toward the table, the coffee, the suspended tension— hasn’t happened, right?

He swallowed. He could feel the razor-perfect edge between desire and prudence, between what was permitted and what was about to spill over.

—No —he replied slowly—. Nothing has happened yet.

Her fingers brushed his as she lifted her cup. Barely a touch, but enough to send both their pulses racing.

—Then let’s see —she whispered— whether you’re still as good a student as I remember. But this time I want to see you prove it outside the classroom.

A rumble of thunder sounded outside. He breathed like a man about to leap into the most promising void of his life.

***

He stood first. She followed him with her eyes, that dangerous mixture of control and doubt. Helena had always been the one who dominated a room, but now something in her expression wavered, as if for the first time she were about to lose her balance.

—We shouldn’t —she murmured.

It was a whisper without conviction, much closer to desire than to reason. He moved closer until only a few inches separated them. He felt the warmth of her breath, the tension vibrating between them like a stripped wire.

—That’s what makes it fascinating —he replied very softly—. No one remembers what was supposed to happen. Only what shouldn’t have happened.

She raised a hand as if to touch him and stopped millimeters from his neck. There was no contact, but that interrupted caress burned hotter than any kiss.

—Tell me to stop —he murmured, a possessive edge in his voice— and I will.

—I don’t want you to stop —she replied, her breathing unsteady.

And then he lunged. It wasn’t a timid or sweet kiss: it was a claim. Their mouths met with silent violence, as if the world had held itself back for too long and burst in one slow, scorching, inevitable second. He brought a hand to her jaw, his fingers catching her face, neither pulling nor forcing, only guiding. And she didn’t resist.

At first Helena tried to keep control, to make the kiss follow her rules. But he knew the rhythm of her breathing, the way her lips trembled when she tried to take possession of something she had already lost. Her body yielded by a millimeter. Then another. Her hands rose to the back of his neck and drew him in, closing the remaining space as if she could breathe only pressed against his chest.

When he broke the kiss—for lack of air alone—their foreheads remained pressed together, breath against breath.

—If we go on —she said, her voice broken— there’ll be no going back.

He lifted her face with two fingers beneath her chin, slowly, almost reverently.

—I never wanted to go back.

***

The rain welcomed them into the street like an accomplice. They walked quickly, shoulder to shoulder, without touching again, because the contact that had just split them in two still throbbed beneath their skin. She chose the direction; he set the pace. A strange, electric balance: not who was in charge, but who would refuse to yield.

They reached a small hotel on the corner, one of those where luxury doesn’t show off; it simply observes. Helena asked for a room.

—One night —she murmured to the receptionist without looking at him.

Behind her, he smiled faintly. One night wasn’t a limit. It was an excuse.

The elevator rose far too slowly. He didn’t touch her, but pressed his open hand against the wall beside her head and spoke into her ear without lowering his voice.

—As soon as that door closes —he said— I’m going to rip your clothes off and eat your pussy until you beg me to stop. And you won’t ask me to.

She swallowed. Her thighs squeezed together on their own beneath her skirt. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

When the room door closed behind them, the silence exploded.

He turned on the low, golden light. She took off her coat, and he gathered it up without taking his eyes off her, watching her with complete, possessive attention, as if every gesture said I see you, I want you like this, defenseless. They met in the middle of the room, with no walls left to justify their closeness.

He brushed the back of his fingers along her jaw, patient, cruel in its gentleness.

—We can stop —he said—. Just say the word.

She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, there was fire, fear, and hunger, all mixed together.

—I don’t want to stop —she replied, and that was her most honest surrender—. Fuck me already.

He smiled with one side of his mouth. He undid the first button of her blouse unhurriedly, looking her in the eyes as he did it. Then the second. The fabric opened over the dark lace of her bra, and her breasts rose and fell at a rhythm she no longer controlled. He slid the blouse from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She didn’t cover herself. She held his gaze, defiant even half naked, and that was the image he had not dared fully imagine for eight years.

He kissed her neck just beneath her ear and felt her shudder. He moved down over her collarbone, over the upper curve of her breast, while his hands undid the clasp at her back. When the bra gave way, he pulled it aside and took her tits in both hands, weighing them, squeezing them until her nipples hardened against his palms. He took one into his mouth, sucked it hard, then bit it with his teeth just enough to make her release a hoarse cry.

—Fuck —Helena gasped, tangling her fingers in his hair to keep him from pulling away.

—Such language from a teacher —he murmured with his mouth still on her nipple—. I’m going to bring out worse things in you tonight.

—Shut up and keep going.

He moved to the other breast and did the same, sucking, biting, tugging with his lips until she writhed against him, seeking friction with her pelvis. He unfastened her skirt and let it fall over her stockings. Beneath it she wore lace panties, soaked through. He touched them with two fingers, squeezing, and felt the fabric give, wet against her pussy.

—You’re dripping —he told her, smiling against her mouth—. How long has it been since someone fucked you properly, Helena?

She didn’t answer. She bit his lower lip in reply, and he had to laugh softly, his eyes dark.

He gently pushed her toward the bed, and she fell backward, dragging him with her hands gripping his shirt. He got rid of it with one tug and took off his trousers. When his cock emerged, hard and heavy against his stomach, Helena licked her lips despite herself. He noticed.

—Everything in its time —he told her, kneeling between her legs—. First, what I promised you in the elevator.

He pulled her panties down over her hips slowly, memorizing every inch he uncovered, until she was wearing only her stockings. He removed them with his teeth, nipping at her thigh, and she arched her back and let out a sudden breath.

He opened her legs with his palms, pressing them back against the mattress and leaving her completely spread, then stared at her pussy for one long second, both of her mouths slightly open.

—Beautiful —he said—. All pink and shining for me.

—Don’t talk to me, do it —she panted.

He kissed the insides of her thighs slowly, moving upward while deliberately ignoring the place she wanted him most. When at last he ran his tongue over her from bottom to top, her whole body jerked and a long moan escaped her without restraint. He held her by the hips, buried his face between her legs, and worked her with his mouth mercilessly: his flat tongue traveling up her lips, the tip circling her clitoris, his lips sucking, two fingers thrusting in to the knuckles.

—Oh, fuck, fuck —Helena cried, driving her heels into his back.

He pumped his fingers, searching for that rough spot inside while continuing to suck her clitoris. When he felt her clench around his fingers, he withdrew. She let out a cry of pure frustration.

—Don’t you dare stop —she panted, issuing an order that was no longer anything like a teacher’s and entirely like a woman at the edge.

—You’ve gotten demanding —he murmured against her pussy. He blew warm air over her swollen clitoris, and she cursed under her breath—. Ask properly.

—Please —she spat—. Please, don’t stop, make me come, you bastard.

He smiled and went back to sucking her. He thrust both fingers inside her again, curling them, and pinched one of her nipples with his other hand. He brought her to the edge three more times before letting her go. When he finally did, Helena broke beneath his mouth: her hands clenched in the sheets, her body trembling in waves, her pussy squeezing his fingers in spasms that left her voiceless. He didn’t lift his tongue until she pushed his head away, overwhelmed.

He moved up her stomach, kissing her, his chin glistening, until he reached her lips again, and she tasted him in her own mouth without shame, sucking his tongue and savoring herself whole.

—My turn now —she murmured, pushing him down onto his back.

She settled between his legs and ran her tongue over his stomach, moving downward with the same calculated patience he had used on her. When she took his cock in her hand and wrapped her lips around it, he had to close his eyes and breathe deeply to keep from coming right there. She swallowed him slowly, inch by inch, until the tip touched her throat, and stayed there for a second before rising with her tongue tracing the vein underneath.

—Fucking hell, Helena —he gasped, looking at her.

She watched him as she did it, checking the effect of every movement, enjoying the power she had reclaimed. She pulled his cock from her mouth, spat on the tip, and worked him firmly with her hand while licking his balls. Then she took him back in all the way and began to suck him in earnest, her cheeks hollowed, her hand accompanying what she couldn’t fit, her eyes wet and fixed on him.

He grabbed her hair with one hand and guided her, setting the pace. She moaned with his cock inside her, and the vibration made him curse.

—Stop —he said hoarsely—. Stop or I’ll come in your mouth right now.

—I want that anyway —she murmured, her lips glistening.

—Another day. Today I’m filling your pussy.

He lifted her by the waist and placed her astride him. She gripped his cock with her hand, rubbed it against her clitoris a couple of times—with her eyes closed, biting her lip—then guided herself down. She sank slowly, inch by inch, until they both exhaled at once. She stayed still for a moment, her hands resting on his chest, her eyes closed, as though learning to breathe again. She felt his cock buried to the hilt, stretching her inside.

—Fuck, you’re huge —she whispered.

—Move —he urged, squeezing her hips.

She began to move. At first she set the pace, slow and deep, mistress of every rise and fall. She lifted herself until only the tip remained inside, then dropped back down hard, drawing moans from herself that she made no attempt to hide. He held her hips, letting her believe she was in charge, while watching her tits bounce with every downward thrust. He brought his thumbs to her nipples and squeezed them at the same time. She threw her head back.

—God, like that —she panted—. Like that, like that, like that.

—Ride me, Helena. Ride me the way you’ve wanted to for eight years.

She sped up, braced against his chest, fucking herself on his cock with a desperation that had been building for years. When he felt her speeding up, lost in her own pleasure, he turned her over without warning and came out on top. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he entered deeper, harder, drawing a cry from her that she muffled against his shoulder.

He pounded into her without pause, braced on his arms, watching her face as he fucked her. Every hard thrust pulled a gasp from her. The bed slammed against the wall.

—This —he gasped against her ear, punctuating every thrust— is what you avoided for eight years.

—Shut up —she moaned, digging her nails into his back— and don’t stop. Harder. Harder, fuck.

He grabbed the backs of her knees, pushed them toward her shoulders, and drove into her even deeper. Helena screamed, no longer caring about the noise. He could see his cock sliding in and out of her, soaked and shining with her juices, and the sight nearly made him come then and there.

—Get on your knees —he ordered, pulling out abruptly.

She obeyed without arguing. She turned, braced herself on her hands and knees, and arched her back, offering him everything. He placed one hand on the back of her neck and guided himself inside again with the other. The thrust drew a guttural moan from them both.

—Look at you —he said, delivering a sharp slap to her ass—. My English teacher on all fours so I can fuck her.

—Fuck me —she begged, pushing backward to take him deeper—. Fuck me, don’t let me think.

He seized her hair, wrapped it around his fist, and held her as he pounded her mercilessly. Each blow drew a short, high-pitched moan from her. Helena’s ass bounced against his hips. He slid his free hand beneath her, found her clitoris with his fingers, and began rubbing it in time with his thrusts.

—Oh no, no, I can’t take it, I can’t take it —she babbled.

—Come again. Come on my cock.

The storm continued battering the window, but the only one that mattered was inside that room. They moved in a broken, urgent synchrony, her body receiving his thrust after thrust. When he felt her tense again, clenching around him, her pussy squeezing his cock in spasms, he stopped holding back. She came screaming into the pillow, trembling all over, and he followed a few seconds later. He buried himself to the hilt and came inside her in long, hot waves, biting her shoulder to keep from shouting, emptying himself with a shudder that left him sprawled weakly across her back.

They collapsed together on their sides, still joined, their breathing gradually settling. He felt her squeeze him inside a couple more times in aftershocks, and noticed his own semen leaking out when he finally withdrew. He looked at her and ran his fingers between her thighs, playing with what he had left inside her. She released a trembling sigh and pressed herself against his hand.

The rain was losing intensity outside. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead, and she looked at him with a calm he hadn’t seen in her all day.

—Tomorrow —she said, still breathless— you’re going to sit in front of a panel, and I’m going to pretend I don’t know you.

—And you think you’ll be able to? —he asked, tracing the line of her hip with one finger—. With my come still inside you?

She smiled, that familiar half smile, the one that concealed a secret.

—I doubt it —she admitted—. But there are things a good teacher learns to conceal.

She rested her head on his shoulder and, for the first time in eight years, neither of them felt the need to look away.