I know someone's tapping on my shoulder, but I can't fight the fatigue enough to actually move. The tapping switches to shaking, and it's enough for me to attempt opening my eyes. My head is resting on my forearms, and my forearms or are folded on the desk, but I can't mentally comprehend much else. A girl giggles and the shaking gets faster. Finally, I find the strength to look up, straightening when I come face to face with a strawberry-blonde. “Class was over five minutes ago,” she says, her perfect teeth showcased behind her pouty red lips.

I rub my eyes and look around the room. We're the only ones here. “You've been trying to wake me for five minutes?”

She nods, her smile getting wider. “You have a little drool on your um…” she points to my cheek.

“Fuck.” I scrub my face like I'm trying to rid herpes. Then I laugh and mumble, “Out of all the people to catch me in this state, it had to be you, Red.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Red?”

I stand up and pack my shit. She holds her books closer to her chest and takes a step back, giving me the space I need to get out from behind my desk. “Yeah,” I tell her, tugging on a strand of her hair. “Red.”

I turn to my side and wave a hand in front of me, letting her lead the way.

“You call me Red?” she asks over her shoulder.

“Well…I don't know your name.”

“You could've asked.”

Is she flirting? Do I want to flirt back? This could ruin all my fantasies...totally not worth the risk. “I think I'll stick to Red,” I tell her, slipping my backpack over my shoulder. “Thanks for the wake-up. See you next time.”

“Okay,” she says, but I'm already half way out the door.

***

Mrs. Fletcher opens her door—soccer mom outfit and messy hair as usual. Her eyes and cheeks are red like she's been crying for days. “What happened? You need me to dig another hole?”

She shakes her head and takes my hand, closing the door behind me. She leads me upstairs and to her bedroom, where she lies down on her side and pats the spot beside her. I slip off my shoes and get in next to her. The second I'm in, she's crying into my chest, holding me tight.

Normally, I'd be fine with this—easy money and all. But after last night's head-fucking courtesy of Allie, it's the last thing I want to deal with.

But…I have no choice but to act like I care. “What's wrong Mrs. Fletcher?”

She sobs harder.

I roll my eyes; glad she can't see it.

This goes on for forty-five minutes before I ask her again.

“It was wrong, Tyler—what we did in here. It was wrong, yet I can't stop thinking about it.”

“Do you regret it?”

She nods, still not looking at me. “I regret cheating on my husband.”

“Your husband’s dead,” I blurt.

She tenses in my arms.

“I’m sorry. That was rude. I just mean…think of it this way; he loved you, right? Do you really think he'd want you to be crying and feeling guilt over moving on? Or do you think he'd want you to be happy?”

She's silent a moment before answering, “He'd want me to be happy.”

“And I'm here to make you happy, right? Whatever you need…”

She sits up, a newfound determination set in her features. “I think I need cock,” she announces.

“I have one of those,” I say, pointing to it.

“You do,” she says through a smile. Her fingers roam down my chest to the button of my jeans. “I've been watching porn—for research—to see what young men like you enjoy.”

“But it's my job to take care of you, Babs.”

She unties her hair and shakes it out. “You did last time. Now it's my turn.”

Within seconds, I'm naked from the waist down and my cock is in her mouth. Her red hair splayed across my waist as she bobs up and down, working me until I'm fully hard. It doesn't take long, and when North-West reaches his highest peak—she glances up at me through her lashes; her ass in the air and the sleeves of her sweatshirt pushed up to her elbows. “Is this okay?” she asks, her eyebrows drawn in concern.

I reach down and comb my fingers through her hair. “It's perfect, baby. Just keep going. Please,” I say, knowing it's exactly what she needs to hear.

With a smile, she resumes her task.

She moves from between my legs to my side, her hands and her mouth working over time. She starts to giggle from her new position. “What's funny?” I ask.

She shakes her head, the tip of my cock hitting each of her cheeks one after the other.

Can she see my asshole from where she is?

Taking my shirt off, I relax and let her give me what she needs. She's good. Not the best I've had, but still good. It would be better if I could grab a fistful of her hair and just start fucking her face, but I know the ladies don't like that. I don't understand why. Maybe I can just guide her because she's not going fast enough. Yeah. I’ll guide her.

Softly, I place my hand on the back of her head, and suggest she picks up the pace.

Having to clock out mid blowjob is the worst possible outcome to any session. That and having a husband come home when you're balls deep in his wife.

Babsy gets the hint and starts to move faster, causing her hair to tickle my stomach—her naturally red hair. Red just like Red's. I moan when my tip hits the back of her throat and she opens up for me. “Fuck,” I grunt, a shiver running through me. I look down at her working away, and I close my eyes, imagining it's Red. My hips start moving on their own, pushing deeper and deeper in her throat. She doesn't pull back—she doesn't seem to mind at all. Then she grabs my ass with both her hands, pulling me deeper again. “Holy fuck!”