Read Online The Housemistress by Keira Michelle Telford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Keira Michelle Telford
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arm, then drifts away, moving on to another desk, clasping both hands behind her back.
This small, sensual gesture makes Rylie gasp and shiver, and while it goes unnoticed by most of the class, there’s one particularly attentive girl who witnesses the entire demonstration: Adel Edwards.
Following a rather unimpressive dinner of vegetarian lasagna in the refectory, Rylie joins Gabby in the house study room for a mandatory hour of silent homework, then the pair retreats to the kitchen for a bowl of ice cream. Other sixth formers are milling about the house, watching television, some still doing their homework, listening to music in the dormitories, or reading.
Done marking Year Nine coursework, Miss Ansell swoops into the common room and takes charge of the television remote, thus preventing the outbreak of war for its possession, but causing an exodus of discontented Upper and Lower Sixth girls to flood the halls when she changes the channel to a marathon of Meerkat Manor.
In the wake of this disruption, Carriveau—now also done with her evening paperwork—has a hard time tracking down the newest addition to her house.
“Oh, there you are!” She pokes her head around the kitchen doorway, finding Rylie and Gabby slathering their ice cream in chocolate sauce. “I’ve been looking for you.”
The two teens start to rise from their chairs, but Carriveau gestures for them to remain seated.
“No, no,” she insists. “I don’t want to interrupt, but Harcourt, I’d like to see you in my study when you’re finished.” Her eyes flit to Gabby, then back to Rylie. “Take your time.”
She’s gone in a flash, and Rylie’s left wondering what more she could possibly have done wrong. Gobbling up her ice cream as fast as her body will allow, she cleans herself up and knocks on Carriveau’s study door less than ten minutes later.
“ Entrez !” is the welcoming response.
Somewhat shyly, Rylie opens the door and steps inside, finding Carriveau seated behind her desk. With her hair pinned back and her reading glasses on, she looks bookish and conservative, but that changes quite dramatically when she sets her glasses aside and stands up.
She’s shed her jacket, her blouse clinging to every curve. It’s tight around her bust, the lacy imprint of her bra showing through, hinting at the presence of two slightly erect nipples.
This woman is not bookish nor conservative.
She’s a vixen.
“I spoke to Missus Bursnell about changing your enrollments,” she says, leaning on the front of her desk, waiting for Rylie to close the door before she continues.
“It’s bad news?” Rylie assumes, sealing their privacy. “She said no?”
“Not quite.” Carriveau invites Rylie over to the leather sofa. “I’ve been instructed to test your proficiency before I’m allowed to accept you into my class.” She sits on the far end of the sofa, swiveled to face her pupil, leaving a cautious distance between them. “I thought the best way to do this might be”—she hesitates for emphasis—“orally.”
Taste the rainbow.
Rylie can’t help it. That slogan springs back into her head at full force, and to make matters worse, the bowl of Skittles has been placed prominently in the center of the coffee table.
This is tit for tat, she thinks, her cheeks on fire. She’d made Carriveau blush in class, and now this is some kind of private payback.
“Wh … I sh …” She tries to keep her mind away from oral sex. “I … this is … gah.” She blows air through her lips and rests her hands on her knees, determined not to fidget.
Seeing her discomfort, Carriveau laughs and eases up. “Tongue-tied?” She kicks off her shoes. “Not a good way to begin.”
“What do you, umm, want me to speak about?” Rylie recovers herself somewhat.
“Anything, as long as you say it en français .” Carriveau tucks her feet beneath herself, causing her skirt to ride up a few more inches. “Tell me about Rylie
This small, sensual gesture makes Rylie gasp and shiver, and while it goes unnoticed by most of the class, there’s one particularly attentive girl who witnesses the entire demonstration: Adel Edwards.
Following a rather unimpressive dinner of vegetarian lasagna in the refectory, Rylie joins Gabby in the house study room for a mandatory hour of silent homework, then the pair retreats to the kitchen for a bowl of ice cream. Other sixth formers are milling about the house, watching television, some still doing their homework, listening to music in the dormitories, or reading.
Done marking Year Nine coursework, Miss Ansell swoops into the common room and takes charge of the television remote, thus preventing the outbreak of war for its possession, but causing an exodus of discontented Upper and Lower Sixth girls to flood the halls when she changes the channel to a marathon of Meerkat Manor.
In the wake of this disruption, Carriveau—now also done with her evening paperwork—has a hard time tracking down the newest addition to her house.
“Oh, there you are!” She pokes her head around the kitchen doorway, finding Rylie and Gabby slathering their ice cream in chocolate sauce. “I’ve been looking for you.”
The two teens start to rise from their chairs, but Carriveau gestures for them to remain seated.
“No, no,” she insists. “I don’t want to interrupt, but Harcourt, I’d like to see you in my study when you’re finished.” Her eyes flit to Gabby, then back to Rylie. “Take your time.”
She’s gone in a flash, and Rylie’s left wondering what more she could possibly have done wrong. Gobbling up her ice cream as fast as her body will allow, she cleans herself up and knocks on Carriveau’s study door less than ten minutes later.
“ Entrez !” is the welcoming response.
Somewhat shyly, Rylie opens the door and steps inside, finding Carriveau seated behind her desk. With her hair pinned back and her reading glasses on, she looks bookish and conservative, but that changes quite dramatically when she sets her glasses aside and stands up.
She’s shed her jacket, her blouse clinging to every curve. It’s tight around her bust, the lacy imprint of her bra showing through, hinting at the presence of two slightly erect nipples.
This woman is not bookish nor conservative.
She’s a vixen.
“I spoke to Missus Bursnell about changing your enrollments,” she says, leaning on the front of her desk, waiting for Rylie to close the door before she continues.
“It’s bad news?” Rylie assumes, sealing their privacy. “She said no?”
“Not quite.” Carriveau invites Rylie over to the leather sofa. “I’ve been instructed to test your proficiency before I’m allowed to accept you into my class.” She sits on the far end of the sofa, swiveled to face her pupil, leaving a cautious distance between them. “I thought the best way to do this might be”—she hesitates for emphasis—“orally.”
Taste the rainbow.
Rylie can’t help it. That slogan springs back into her head at full force, and to make matters worse, the bowl of Skittles has been placed prominently in the center of the coffee table.
This is tit for tat, she thinks, her cheeks on fire. She’d made Carriveau blush in class, and now this is some kind of private payback.
“Wh … I sh …” She tries to keep her mind away from oral sex. “I … this is … gah.” She blows air through her lips and rests her hands on her knees, determined not to fidget.
Seeing her discomfort, Carriveau laughs and eases up. “Tongue-tied?” She kicks off her shoes. “Not a good way to begin.”
“What do you, umm, want me to speak about?” Rylie recovers herself somewhat.
“Anything, as long as you say it en français .” Carriveau tucks her feet beneath herself, causing her skirt to ride up a few more inches. “Tell me about Rylie
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