Free The Housemistress by Keira Michelle Telford Page A

shouldn’t have said it. To do so was terribly unprofessional. Please forgive me.”
    Forgiveness comes in a second.
    An embrace follows.
    Rylie slides her arms around Carriveau’s neck—as she’d tried to do that very morning—and sinks into the French woman’s warm breast with a desperate sigh of longing.
    Too shocked to respond appropriately, Carriveau stands rigid, a sharp intake of breath trapped in her lungs. She hasn’t the nerve to reciprocate, nor the desire to push the child away.
    “ Qu’est-ce que tu fais ?” she whispers, reaching tentatively for Rylie’s waist. “What are you doing?” She translates herself needlessly, knowing that Rylie understands perfectly well. “This isn’t allowed.” Her hands traverse the contours of the young girl’s body, sweeping around her back, one hand remaining there while the other glides upward to caress her shoulders.
    More telling than her words, Carriveau doesn’t force the embrace to end.
    “This isn’t allowed,” she whispers again, her cheek pressed to Rylie’s hair.
    Emboldened by the lack of a rebuke, Rylie nuzzles her face into the hollow of Carriveau’s neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume.
    “You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs, her lips brushing Carriveau’s collar bone before closing over it, laying a single velvet kiss there.
    As perhaps was the intention, the flustered Housemistress is so focused on the actions of Rylie’s mouth, the teen’s breath hot against her skin, she doesn’t at first realize that one of Rylie’s arms is slipping slowly from her shoulder, a daring hand sliding brazenly toward her breast. But when she does …
    “ Ça suffit ! That’s enough!” She captures the wandering hand, swiftly separating herself from her venturesome new pupil. “You ought to get ready for bed now. We’ve been far too long in each other’s company.” She marches Rylie to the door. “Bed check in five minutes.”
    Rylie stands alone in the hallway for a few moments before ascending the stairs. Not sure whether to conclude that her private time with Carriveau ended on a positive note or a negative one, she simply brushes her teeth and goes straight to bed.
    From her cubicle, she can see two girls—the same pair as the night before—fooling around, squished into one tiny bed. They’re kissing, giggling, and whimpering, one girl’s hand up the other’s nightdress.
    “Boo!” Gabby thrusts her head over the dividing wall to Rylie’s immediate left, flashing a toothy grin. “What did our old mum want with ya? You was in there for ages!”
    Rylie shrugs. “Just some stuff about my class enrollments.” She tips her head to the canoodling pair. “Aren’t they worried Miss Carriveau will catch them doing that?”
    “Pfft!” Gabby blows a raspberry. “They like to tease her. But if you ask me, I think it’s cruel.”
    “Cruel?” Rylie lays her pajamas out on her bed. “Why?”
    “After what happened with Kaitlyn? Shit, I’m surprised Miss Carriveau can still bear to look at us, never mind be as kind as she is. I reckon I’d wanna run a hundred miles if I was her.”
    Before Rylie can press her to expound on that, the dormitory door opens and Carriveau—her jacket back on and buttoned up—announces her arrival for bed checks.
    Seemingly in a rush to get this chore over and done with, she walks briskly down the aisle, hurrying through her goodnights with the odd “Pick that up,” or “You’ll need to clean that in the morning” thrown in for good measure.
    When she gets to one conspicuously empty cubicle, she plants her hands on her hips and calls out the girl’s name, drawing the horny teen away from her would-be bedmate.
    “Say goodnight and get back to your own cubicle, Richardson.”
    The girl does as instructed, giving her lover a long parting kiss, tongues and all, and Carriveau keeps her eyes on them from beginning to end, exploiting her peripheral vision to steal a perfect view of Rylie, topless as she