Chapter 1
========== 1 ========== Cameron Fighting against the system is my nature. Breaking the rules? Oh, it’s practically second nature at this point. Skips. Mischief. Minor theft. I suppress a growl as I skim through the student file sprawled in front of me. Suspended twice during senior year — first for ditching school and wrecking a professor’s precious ride, then again for getting caught downing drinks like water during fifth period. This student, for crying out loud. I didn’t think I’d be stepping up as Principal of Cindercrest Academy until the fall, but here I am, two months deep into the role — a summer full of unexpected chaos, if I do say so myself — and now I have to handle this mess. Fantastic. Teaching isn’t the usual gig for a guy fresh out of the US Armed Forces, but for me? It felt like destiny. Sure, my dad wore the uniform and that was the path I walked too, but it was my mom, with her love for books and teaching preschool, who really inspired me. Maybe it’s their blended influence that landed me here, transitioning from kicking down doors in Afghanistan to being the iron-fisted authority at one of the wealthiest, most academically-driven private schools on this side of the country. My mom’s scholarly ways, my dad’s strictness, and the courage I built from service all crashing together. But, like I mentioned, I wasn’t supposed to start until autumn. That was before ancient Dr. Lachlan Weaver, my predecessor, kicked the bucket two months before the school year wrapped up. Can’t deny he went out easy — peacefully in his sleep next to his wife — and God knows that’s better than some of the horror stories I’ve encountered in the Middle East. Still, it put a serious damper on my plans to ease into life at Havenfield, soaking up the sun with the elite crowd of this affluent coastal town. On top of that, Cindercrest Academy is an academic powerhouse, so its students are driven to the limit; they even throw in a post-senior, pre-college “summer semester.” At some places, summer school is just a chance for screw-ups to redeem themselves — a last-ditch lifeline for slackers who need to pull themselves together and snag their diploma. Not here at Cindercrest, not a chance. This place is all about padding resumes before students dive into Yale, Harvard Collegium, Cornell, or wherever else their privilege takes them. It’s a chance for ambitious kids to stack up college credits, flexing their intellect like it’s a trophy. Hell, I heard last year three kids used their summer session to whip up a stock trading algorithm, and they walked away with a cool billion before stepping foot in college. Can you believe it? Eighteen years old, rolling in money, and practically set for life. They should be out there chasing waves and indulging in beach shenanigans, not stuffing more high-level classes into their overstuffed heads. Not exactly the mindset I was hoping for as the new Principal, but hey, who cares what I think? I knock my knuckles against the desk, stretching my taut arms overhead, feeling the fabric of my dress shirt pull against me awkwardly. But it’s no matter what I think of this summer school gig; it’s my responsibility to manage it all, keeping tabs on the students while gearing up for a wild leap into the deep end come fall. Let’s just say Dr. Lachlan Weaver left some giant footprints to follow, and despite Havenfield’s so-called progressive reputation, I’ve noticed more than a few sidelong glances at my physique, my military record, and the tattoos that stubbornly peek out from beneath my suit. People are scratching their heads, wondering how someone like me snagged a Principal’s role. And you know what? It’s simple — because I’m damn smart. Not a boast, just fact. Top of my class at Stanford, then a hard-earned MBA from Wharton I chipped away at between deployments. Yeah, my dad raised me to be a good soldier, but my mom sure as hell didn’t raise an idiot. But this intelligent fool has one long summer brewing ahead. Because at the center of it all, there’s this — the file sitting ominously on my desk. This student. Most kids in the summer program are straight-laced nerds, eager go-getters. This one? They’re here because missing these two classes means no graduation. And trust me, this file is a nightmare. Smarting off. Cursing at teachers. Sloshing drinks down in an empty classroom at noon like it’s a party. As a “recently graduated” senior, this kid should’ve been long gone. But here we are. I flip through the reports and the cops’ notes on the damage to Professor Thaddeus Carter’s car last year. Seriously, breaking the windshield was one thing, but pissing on the steering wheel after? That’s a level of audacity I can’t even… I shake my head, slamming the thick file onto the desk. Yep, this needs addressing, and fast. A movement outside catches my eye, and I grimace as I peer out the expansive windows behind my desk. Three students are loitering — two guys and a girl, all summer semester participants. The bell has rung, but they’re sneaking away behind the Athletic Center, glancing around like they’re up to something. My jaw clenches. My blood surges. Right in that trio is my problem student. Waltzing around like they own the place, dragging the other two along for God knows what behind the gym. There’s a blatant disregard for the rules — and my authority. This kid thinks just because they’re eighteen and “technically” graduated, they can toss my rules aside like yesterday’s news. I rise, adrenaline surging, my muscles tightening as I feel a fire building in my veins. Yeah, there goes my problem student — boldly skipping past my office, aware I’m watching. Just flaunting it, smirking like they’ve got the whole world figured out.
Chapter 2
…And showing way too much damn thigh under that uniform skirt, I’ll tell you what. That. Little. Tease. Oh, sorry, you thought I was talking about one of the guys, didn’t you? Nope. Wrong. Neither of those two fools is my problem student. Nope, my dilemma has a different flavor; she’s a she. A petite five-foot-three, one-hundred-five-pound bundle of pure, tantalizing, teasing, inappropriate, irresistible trouble. Capital T. She strolled into my life on my very first day at Cindercrest Academy, two buttons undone on her blouse, three inches of that uniform skirt rolled up, sitting cross-legged in my office for telling Ms. Claire Madison, her French professor, to go screw herself. In French, naturally. There she was, perched in my damn office, exuding the kind of trouble that would make a literary classic bite its nails. Knee-high socks clinging to her smooth legs, blonde hair tied up in playful pigtails, and those soft, pink, pouty lips wrapped around a pen like it was the most delicious thing on the planet. I felt those big green eyes make a leisurely ascent from my shoes, climbing up my legs, my torso, and finally landing on my “tough” expression—the one I usually reserved for grunts in the desert who were hungry, tired, and way out of line. And then she grinned. Those lips, too perfect, too inviting, too tantalizing, curled into a sultry smirk that sent every rational thought flying out the window. …And I’ve been hooked ever since. Consumed. Obsessed. Addicted. One damn glance, and she effortlessly pulled every alpha caveman instinct to the surface. She unleashed that raw masculine need in me—to claim her, to corrupt her, to make her utterly mine. I felt the depraved pervert stir within, the part of me yearning to wrap those pigtails around my fists and pull those delicious little lips down over my throbbing cock. The part that craved to spread those long, elegant legs, grip that pert little ass, and plunge every inch of my cock into her tight, sweet pussy until I’m sure she’s ruined for anyone else. Forget about spending my summer vetting the single women around this town. Hell, toss aside any chance of getting work done or even managing to sleep through the night. My waking thoughts are filled with wild, dirty scenarios with her, and in my dreams, I’m giving her everything my mind can conjure. Her name? Storm Montgomery. Eighteen years old. My student. And all I can think about is the sounds she'll make when she climaxes. I’m desperate to know how tight she’d feel wrapped around me as I release every drop of my hot cum deep inside her fertile young womb. She’s headed off to Harvard Collegium this fall, but until then, this summer? She and her track record are my responsibility. My very big, very tempting, very off-limits responsibility. I don’t even notice I’m gripping my hand into a fist until I feel the pencil in my fingers snap like a twig. Blinking out of my filthy fantasies, I toss the broken pencil into the trash by my desk and turn to watch her walk off behind the Athletic Center with those two idiots. My blood begins to boil. I could be reading the situation wrong, but I really don’t care. And I’m probably not wrong. Teenage guys can be real pieces of work, and they instinctively smell trouble like Storm Montgomery from a mile away. A million scenarios unfold in my mind, all of them involving those jerks getting too close, too handsy for my liking—with what's mine. Because she is mine. She just hasn’t realized it yet. She will learn to bend to my authority. And damn it, I will taste that sweet fucking candy of hers. Barely legal. Entirely inappropriate. My temptation, my addiction, my raging desire. My imminent ruin, clad in a plaid skirt and knee-high socks. I whirl on my heel, slamming her file shut on my desk, urgency fueling my steps as I storm toward the door. Time to kick off this summer semester on the right note. I’m claiming what’s mine.
Chapter 3
========== 2 ========== Storm Seriously, these two are such nerds. I mean, summer school? Ugh. I could either roll my eyes or literally lose my lunch. Trust me when I say that dragging my butt back to Cindercrest—is this place not done with me yet?—after I should’ve graduated is the last way I want to spend my summer. But of course, this is all about Nash and Cammie dragging me into this fiasco. Plus, let’s not forget the fact that actually graduating from this snooty factory of a school and heading off to Harvard Collegium hinges on passing two ridiculously pointless classes this summer. I can already hear the whispers, and you’re totally wrong on several counts. No, I’m not headed to Harvard Collegium—cue the pompous accent—because my parents are loaded or whatever. They’re actually gone. Nash and Cammie were their best friends, and according to the will, they were set to take over as my guardians in the “unlikely event of a two-parent loss.” Well, turns out that “unlikely event” happened a lot sooner than we all expected—a car crash when I was just eleven, ironically while being babysat by Nash and Cammie that very night. Cammie and Nash never wanted kids. Not that they haven’t done a pretty admirable job with the whole parenting thing. They’ve been amazing, really. Just…you know, not “parents.” More like the awesome aunt and uncle nobody really asked for. Or maybe even better, they’re just cool friends of my parents, because that’s exactly what they are. But cool friends of your parents get you fun birthday presents and sneak you your first drink. They don’t exactly raise you. Until they have to, I guess. So, no, it’s not because of who my parents were, though they did leave me some cash. I’m heading to Harvard Collegium in the fall because I’m actually smart. Yeah, I’ve got a solid reputation here at dorky Cindercrest, and in this town too. And let me tell you, I love it. I’m the instigator—the outsider. I don’t fit in here, and this town has been thrilled to remind me of that for the last seven years. But whatever, I get it, they get it, so why pretend? Years back, I decided that instead of trying to fit in with these snobby wannabes, I’d just mess with them instead. Their sensibilities? Yeah, I love jacking with those. I take pride in standing out. I’m the “bad influence” they don’t want their precious little Stepford children hanging out with. And honestly, I’m okay with that. That’s why I’ve managed to bully, coax, and pretty much shame these two poor dorks into ditching first period to light up behind the Athletic Center with me. The way they look? Like they’re on the verge of committing some major crime. I watch as Jasper, and then Marcus—sorry, Jasper Price III, and Marcus Charles Sterling V—fumble with the pack of cigarettes like they’ve never even seen one before. Marcus finally awkwardly pulls one out, sticks the wrong end in his mouth, and I can’t help but roll my eyes, snatching it away before he gets the chance to embarrass himself any further. “No, like this.” I shake my head, demonstrating with exaggerated movements. God, are these two seriously the most popular guys in school? I know, right? It's unbelievable. In a regular high school, ambitious nerds like this would be…well, nerds. Not at Cindercrest—a “temple of academic excellence” or whatever they like to call it. And trust me, everyone here takes that motto to heart. Sure, there are sports teams, but the jock culture is pretty much nonexistent. The true rockstars of this school are the mathlete geniuses and the Model UN champs who are already prepping for their next Ivy League conquest before coming back to Havenfield to squabble over their dads’ mutual funds or whatever. “Here, like this,” I mutter, demonstrating how to light a cigarette, taking a small drag of mine for good measure. I don’t actually smoke. Honestly, I was just bored enough today to do something about “my problem,” which, as I gear up for yet another whole semester here, is only going to intensify. My problem—yeah, the one who watched me come back here with these two. My problem that’s causing all the dirty, excited, nervous tingles in me, insisting I do something about it. My problem wasn’t always my problem. That was until I sat waiting in his office one day and felt my entire body melt when he walked in. I had been expecting old Dr. Lachlan Weaver. But no, that was not his name. He was a total knockout who made me blush and tingle all over—who rendered me speechless, grinning like an absolute idiot while my cheeks flared up with heat in ways that made my heart skip a beat. Those piercing blue eyes. That dark, tousled hair. That body…oh, and those tattoos. Every single thing about him was what I’d always secretly yearned for, and all I’d been doing since that day was… Lusting. Badly. For two whole months, even just passing the new Principal's office door—hell, hearing that deep, commanding voice booming through the intercom was enough to leave me weak in the knees. Actually seeing him in the hallways tempted me to risk getting caught skipping class just so I could hurry home and unleash my wild fantasies on myself, fingers wandering where he ignited that insatiable need. And after two months of melting over the untouchable Mr. Stroud, I thought I was finally free. Until I learned about these ridiculous classes I had to take this summer. Until I realized that while Nash and Cammie gallivanted around Asia all summer long, I’d be stuck right back here—in Havenfield, at Cindercrest, turning into a hot mess every time my Principal looked my way. His name? Cameron Stroud. Age? Thirty-eight. His title? Principal of my school. And every single thought I’ve had since that day has revolved around wanting him to do the nastiest things to me—like tear my clothes off right in front of him, lean me over his desk, and lose control doing whatever filthy, depraved things he could dream up. My “bad” reputation here at school? It's built on nothing but lies and dramatic tales spun by yours truly. Sure, half the school might think I’m a total sleaze, but here’s the kicker: I’ve never touched a single thing. You know, “it.” Not a single one. I mean, even Jasper and Marcus here have had steady girlfriends all through school. But me? Nope. No boyfriends, no flings, no one-night stands. None of it. My act of pretending to be bad has always been just that—an act, a way to keep my distance from this lame, cookie-cutter nonsense of Havenfield and Cindercrest. But now? There’s one tiny problem: Cameron Stroud makes me want to actually dive headfirst into the bad. He makes me crave being very, very bad, and every fiber of my being aches to be that for him. And today? Today I’m going to do something about it.
Chapter 4
========== 3 ========== Storm The cigarette wobbles precariously between my lips as I take a slow drag. There's no doubt in my mind that he saw me sneak back here. I can sense when he's in his office, and trust me, slipping behind the Athletic Center with that wide open window glaring at him was about as subtle as a blaring horn. A man like Cameron Stroud—strong, commanding, and absolutely dominant—won’t just let something like skipping class slide. No way, he’ll come looking for me. A chill runs down my spine. I know I’m about to get caught for being bad, and I know exactly what that entails. ...Or at least I hope it does. I can feel the fabric of my skirt riding up too high, my uniform blouse with an extra button undone, and an extra slick layer of pink gloss on my lips. All of it screams mischief. Not to mention, the sexy black thong I picked up at the mall last weekend fits like a glove. When Cameron Stroud finds me back here, puffing on a cigarette and dodging class, I know he's going to be furious. I can already picture that gorgeous, chiseled jaw of his tightening, those thick, muscled shoulders of his clenching with restrained power. The tattoos snaking around his neck and wrists will ripple, sending me into a dizzying spiral of attraction. I know he’s going to punish me for this. …and then, just maybe, I’ll show him just how bad I can really be. Taking another hesitant drag, I wrinkle my nose at the taste, but I hope it’s worth it as I catch sight of Mike and Jasper freeze in front of me. Mike hastily disposes of his cigarette, while Jasper’s drops from his gaping mouth. I can feel Cameron’s presence before he even says a word. My body tingles, a rush of electricity igniting every nerve as that deep, powerful voice cuts through the tension. “What the hell is this,” he hisses, the sharp ‘s’ vibrating through the air, sending shivers straight down to my core, instantly soaking my panties. I pull the cigarette from my lips, biting down on my bottom lip as I squeeze my thighs together, feeling the teasing heat of desire cling to my thong, molding it against me. “Both of you,” Cameron growls, pointing an intimidating finger at Jasper and Mike. “You two will report to Deputy Headmaster Grayson Holt’s office immediately.” The two nerds stand there, eyes wide with horror, as if they can’t believe their ears. “Now, gentlemen!” With a start, Mike and Jasper practically leap into action, scrambling over one another as they sprint across the lawn towards Central Hall. And just like that, it’s just the two of us. “Turn around, Ms. Montgomery,” the imposing principal commands from behind me. Swallowing thickly, I fight against the urge to shiver. I let the cigarette fall to the ground, crushing it under the heel of my black wedge. “Storm.” Hearing my name slip from his lips sends an exhilarating tremor through me, and this time, I can’t help but shake. I turn slowly, my heart racing like I just took off on a speedway, feeling my body melting in front of the older, off-limits, unbelievably hot principal—he’s the one man I crave more than anything. For a moment, I hesitate to look him in the eye, but then his arm extends, fingers so large and strong they could have belonged to a god. He grips my chin, tilting my face up, forcing my gaze to travel every tantalizing inch of his chiseled body until I lock eyes with him. And suddenly, I’m lost. “Well,” he growls, that teasing hint of a smirk dancing on his perfectly sculpted jaw as his eyes burn right through me like molten fire. He doesn’t say anything more; the weight of those two syllables hangs in the air while he towers over me. His presence alone makes me quiver with need, the heat pooling between my legs so intense it threatens to spill over if I linger here any longer. He stares at me like I’m a delicacy he’s been starved of, and trust me, it only intensifies the throbbing hunger inside me. Finally, the oppressive silence becomes unbearable, mingling with the potent energy crackling between us, pushing me to my limit. “Whatever,” I retort, layering as much bratty attitude into that one word as I can muster. My intention is to poke the bear, wanting to see his reaction. I can see the raw power in his arms and shoulders, the way hints of ink peek from beneath his shirt, and I know flaunting my defiance will push him to the edge. And that’s exactly what I want. The thought both thrills and terrifies me; I’m dying to find out what happens when Cameron Stroud loses his cool and unleashes everything he’s been holding back. …And I’m eager to discover what he’ll do to me. “You can’t tell me what to—” “Watch me,” he rumbles, his voice low and dangerous. Just as I attempt to pull away from him, his strong hand darts out, locking around my wrist. Raw heat radiates from him, and the instant his grip makes contact with my bare skin, a jolt of electricity shoots through me, making my knees weak. I gasp, my breath catching as my gaze climbs from his powerful chest to that rugged jaw and finally into his fiery, smoldering eyes. “In my office, Ms. Montgomery,” he growls, his intense stare anchored to mine in a way that makes me clamp my thighs together, fighting to subdue a moan that threatens to escape. “It’s time you learn exactly what happens to bad girls in my school.”
Chapter 5
========== Cameron She strolls ahead of me, leading the way back to my office, and I can’t help but stare. My jaw tightens, my heart races, and every nerve in my body sings with intensity as I watch that tight, off-limits ass of hers sway beneath that pleated tartan skirt. God, it’s like I can smell her, too. Maybe it’s her shampoo, or the fabric softener she uses, or hell, maybe those pheromones are kicking in. But whatever it is drives me to the brink of insanity. Then it hits me like a freight train, and I almost lose my composure right there on the front steps of the school. It’s her warmth. I can practically inhale the scent of her sweet, tight body. It’s innocence wrapped in allure, and I can’t help but growl softly, loud enough that she practically jumps. My arousal intensifies, bulging against the front of my pants as I trail behind Storm through the empty main hallway, savoring her intoxicating scent and realizing there’s no escaping this. Damn the consequences, the morality of my obsession, whatever fallout this might bring. I’m rocking dangerously close to crossing a line I shouldn’t be. But I’ve spent two months torturing myself, all because of this little tease, and I won’t hold back any longer. I’m the Deputy Headmaster. I’m twenty years her senior. But to hell with the implications. She’s legally an adult, and that nagging little voice whispering in my ear since the moment she walked into my life insists: Storm Montgomery is a grade-A brat, and she’s about to receive a hefty dose of discipline. ...Over my knee, with her legs pinned above her head as I bury myself deep inside her. She knows where we’re headed, and I follow her, my head spinning and my cock straining for release as we step into the reception area of the Principal's office. Ms. Merrin Vance, my receptionist, greets me with a bright smile, but I wave her off, not in the mood to entertain distractions. “Hold my calls,” I mutter, my voice low and tense, eyes fixated on Storm as she steps into my office. “Actually, take a long lunch, Mira,” I add, trying to come off casual while positioning myself so she can’t see the massive bulge pressing against my suit pants. The truth is, I want privacy with Storm. I don’t need anyone listening in on what’s about to unfold, or worse—interrupting us. Mira shoots a knowing glance toward the office, then back at Storm standing just inside, her back turned to the door. “That one,” she clucks her tongue, shaking her head. “You know what they say, Mr. Stroud. Trouble like that? Better keep a tight leash.” “I have no intentions of letting her slip, Ms. Vance,” I reply gruffly, forcing a polite smile as she grabs her lunch and makes her exit. I’m planning on giving Storm a whole lot more than just a lecture. Once the door closes behind Mira, I whirl on my heels and storm into my office. Storm stands poised against the edge of my desk, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, a sight that leaves me feeling feral. I growl lowly, the sound rumbling from my chest as I shut the office door and cross my arms, locking my gaze onto her. “Am I in trouble, Mr. Stroud?” She purrs the question like a playful kitten, her fiery eyes blazing with a smoldering heat, her voice dripping with seduction. The blood thunders in my ears, and even as I fight the instinct to rip her clothes off and bend her over my desk, I know I’m losing that battle. She is a siren, and I’m drawn in by the way she looks at me, the way she plays with that luscious bottom lip, and the way she’s dressed like a forbidden fantasy. Every instinct screams that she wants to be here, right now. She seems nervous, yet defiant, a mix of emotions that lights a fire inside me. This isn’t just a rebellious student under duress; this is a teasing siren, reveling in her own power. “I caught you smoking. Really?” She shrugs, feigning innocence, but that defiant smirk only accentuates how utterly tempting she is. “I’m an adult. I’m allowed—” “Barely,” I growl, stepping closer, feeling the heat radiating from her small frame. It’s like a magnetic force pulling me toward the edge of temptation. “I can smoke if I want to,” she insists, her voice quieter now, a hint of uncertainty creeping in. “No, you can’t. Not on school grounds.” I pause, locking my eyes with hers, the weight of the moment heavy and electric. “Actually, from now on, you’re not allowed to smoke anywhere.” Her brows shoot up in disbelief. “Says who?” “Me,” I assert, my tone like steel as I close the distance between us. “You can’t control me!” She fires back, breath heavy, her chest rising and falling beneath her blouse, her enticing figure straining against the fabric. “Watch me.” I can feel her gasp as I invade her space, our bodies almost touching. My hands pin the desk on either side of her, trapping her in a way that ignites a thrill deep within me. Her breath catches, a sultry gasp that sends a direct jolt straight to my throbbing desire. ==========
There are limited chapters to put here, click the button below to continue reading "Forbidden Lessons"
(It will automatically jump to the book when you open the app).
❤️Click to read more exciting content❤️