Free The Housemistress by Keira Michelle Telford Page B

changes into her pajamas.
    When Richardson finally slips back into her own cubicle, Carriveau whips her bum with a discarded towel she picks off the floor.
    Richardson squeals. “Would you like one of my goodnight kisses, too, Miss?”
    For one shocking second, Rylie thinks she just might. Carriveau slings the towel over the cubicle wall, grabs Richardson’s chin, and tilts her head up.
    “Watch your mouth, you cheeky girl.” A smile twitches at the corners of her lips and she releases the sassy teen, resuming her nightly arc of the dorm.
    At Rylie’s cubicle, she slips a hand inside one of her jacket pockets and fishes out something small, concealing it in her palm.
    “So how was your first day?” she asks, stepping as close to the thin yellow line as she dares. “It’s a lot to adapt to, I’m sure.” She takes Rylie’s hand in hers, mimicking a reassuring touch. “It’ll take some time to get used to the boundaries we all must stick to.”
    Rylie feels a slip of paper press into her palm, and she holds it there with her thumb as Carriveau withdraws, giving nothing away.
    Her heart pounding impatiently, she waits for Carriveau to complete the bed checks and turn out the lights before she dives for her bed. Even then, she waits until the room falls silent—the echo of Carriveau’s stiletto heels departing—before she slides her cell phone out from underneath her pillow and uses its glow to read the secret bedtime note.
     

     
    My darling, you’re a tease, and you make me weak.
    Lying there, holding the note to her chest, Rylie stares up at the ceiling, aware of a distinct heat between her thighs. It’s been days since she’s had the opportunity to tend to certain physical needs, and until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to her how having to share a dorm with eleven other people might negatively impact her ability to sate her passions.
    She considers sneaking into the bathroom for a quick rub, but she can’t be bothered to get up. She also considers setting her alarm twenty minutes earlier than usual, and slipping into the bathroom before anyone else is awake, but she knows she’ll hate that idea when morning comes. Instead, she decides to do as Adel had done last night: wait until everyone else is likely to be asleep, then get down to business.
    Playing solitaire on her phone—even though the use of electronics is forbidden after lights out—she lets twenty minutes tick by.
    Twenty-one.
    Twenty-two.
    As she hits the half an hour mark, the anticipation of an orgasm has her absolutely gushing and she can’t hold off any longer. Setting her phone down, she drives her hand under the covers, inside her pajama bottoms, and between her legs. Unfortunately, as she smothers a deep gasp of need, someone else in the room lets one out.
    Rylie freezes. Could it be? Again? Adel?
    “Oh, Vivienne, fuck me …”
    Yup.
    Scowling, Rylie pulls her hand out of her pajamas, gets up on her knees, and prepares to chuck a stuffed animal at Adel’s head, but once she’s high enough to look over the cubicle wall, her eyes are drawn immediately to the door.
    The shadows are there, just like last night. Carriveau! Did she return out of curiosity? Hope for a repeat performance? Sheer coincidence? Whatever the reason for her reappearance, tonight, she leaves before Adel reaches her peak.
     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN

     
    Two weeks pass. Every evening, flirtatious glances are exchanged across the refectory. Carriveau always seems to pick a seat with a direct eyeline across the room, and Rylie chooses to believe that she’s doing so on purpose. Back at the house, Carriveau continues to invite Rylie into her study for private tutoring, which begins as something mildly unnecessary and becomes gradually more pointless as time goes on.
    They converse in French, for the most part, but Carriveau’s syllabus notes go from her lap to the coffee table, and then never leave her desk. The ratio of English to French starts to increase, and