The Housemistress (20 page)

Rylie does the sums: Carriveau’s been working at Larkhill far longer than she’s been a Housemistress.

“How long have you been stuck in this god awful place?”

“Since I was sixteen.” Carriveau backhands the tear away, laughing sardonically at her own misfortune. “My parents sent me here to attend sixth form.”

“And you never escaped?”

“I did, briefly. I graduated, went to university, got my master’s degree, then came back.” Carriveau sighs. “Though God only knows why.” She stares up at the ceiling, as if the answer might be written up there in the cracked paintwork. “I taught all the way through my doctorate. Missus Bursnell made me the Head of Modern Languages, then gave me a Housemistress position. The more I thought about leaving, the more she anchored me here.”

“That’s flattering, isn’t it?”

“It’s my family’s money she likes, not me. My parents have been benefactors of this school since I was first enrolled here.” Carriveau focuses back on Rylie. “
Mais je m’éloigne
; I digress.” She tucks the teen’s hair behind her ears. “I want you to know that I don’t look at
any
of my other students the way I look at you … or the way I looked at Kaitlyn.”

“What about Adel?”

“That isn’t what you think it to be.” Another tear escapes from Carriveau’s shimmering emerald eyes. “After Kaitlyn died, she gave me an outlet for my grief.”

“She took advantage of you?” Rylie catches the tear with her thumb.

Carriveau smiles appreciatively, reveling in Rylie’s attentiveness. “She caught me in Kaitlyn’s cubicle when I was packing up her things to send home to her parents. I thought I was alone in the house, so I was taking my time. She came into the dormitory and …
comment dit-on
?” Carriveau endeavors to think of a delicate way to phrase it. “She touched herself in front of me.” The saddened Housemistress covers her face, ashamed. “She must’ve overheard me and Kaitlyn having sex. She knew exactly how to mimic Kait’s …”

“It turned you on,” Rylie concludes, sparing Carriveau from having to say it.

“If I closed my eyes, I could almost swear she was …” Carriveau lets that sentence trail off. “Anyway, now there’s you,
mon amour
, and Adel feels displaced. She’ll be turning eighteen soon, and I think she’s expecting … well, you know.”

Rylie strokes a hand up Carriveau’s thigh, wriggling closer. “I know very well, and I can’t blame her for wanting you.” The hand moves higher up. “You’re exquisite.”

“I need to handle things with her.” Carriveau tries to ignore the furtive hand. “I can’t have her threatening you and hurting you.”

The hand works its way up to her breast as Rylie starts nuzzling her neck, kissing and biting her, delving inside her blouse.

“Oh, Rylie.
Qu’est-ce que tu fais
? What’re you doing?” Carriveau giggles. “Did that vodka go to your head?”

“I want you,” Rylie whispers, dipping her hand inside Carriveau’s bra, seeking out her nipple and pinching it, teasing it, making it hard. “All of you.”

“I know you do.” Carriveau whines, exercising all of her will power to pull Rylie’s hand away. “But did anyone see you leave the dormitory?”

Rylie shakes her head, making a bid for re-entry into Carriveau’s blouse.

“Are you sure?” Carriveau holds her at bay.

Rylie nods, drawing her into a kiss, knowing precisely what she’s asking. “Adel’s asleep.”

In the midst of the kiss, Carriveau’s grip on Rylie’s hand relaxes, allowing the teen to dip back inside her bra, grabbing a handful of bare breast.

Her breathing quickens as Rylie’s kisses drop lower, heading for her cleavage.

“Wait, Rylie.” She hooks the teen’s chin and tilts her head up. “I want to tell you something.”

“What?” Rylie rubs noses with her.

Carriveau removes Rylie’s hand from her bra for the second time. “
Je suis toute mouillée
.” She uncrosses her legs, kissing Rylie’s fingers. “Do you know what that means?” She parts her legs and guides Rylie’s hand up her skirt. “I’m so wet for you.”

She’s not exaggerating.

Rylie repositions for better leverage and dives inside her damp knickers, pushing two fingers inside her with one sure thrust, making her moan. The walls of her sex are swollen, her clit engorged with blood: she needs to come.

Rylie fingers her steadily, palming her clit, tapping and probing the most sensitive place within her, bringing her to the very edge of a powerful climax, then … she withdraws.

Carriveau whimpers discontentedly, bucking her hips up toward the retreating fingers, trying to capture them and pull them back in, but Rylie resists.

“I want to taste you,” she exclaims, sliding off the sofa.

Kneeling between Carriveau’s legs, she grabs the hem of the lacy, sodden knickers and tugs them down, casting them off onto the sofa cushions. In full surrender, Carriveau wriggles her hips forward, spreading her legs wider and pulling up her skirt.

“You’re the first since …” She trembles slightly, baring the tops of her stockings and her milky thighs beyond. “There’s been no-one else.”

Understanding the enormity of that, Rylie slows her approach, taking her time to fully appreciate what’s being offered to her. At the apex of Carriveau’s thighs, the luscious folds of her sex are glistening with arousal, ready to be claimed, and Rylie brings both hands up, using her thumbs to tease those folds apart, baring the pink slit at the center.

“I love you,” she whispers, trailing kisses up Carriveau’s inner thighs, working her way toward the source of the intoxicating womanly scent filling her nostrils.

When she reaches her goal, she drops kisses on the small patch of wiry dark hair on Carriveau’s mound, then slips lower, flicking her tongue below and around the swollen nub of her clit before moving lower still, probing her opening.

Carriveau fists Rylie’s hair, pulling it back and out of her face, giving her an unrestricted view of the teen’s bobbing head. She bites her lip, trying to be quiet, the only sound her labored, erratic breathing, but as she gets close to convulsing in her lover’s mouth, she begins lose control, whimpering and mewling, her legs shaking.

She clutches the back of Rylie’s head, hooking one leg over her shoulder, babbling some muttered French that Rylie has no need to translate, the meaning apparent when Carriveau suddenly yowls and comes.

Rylie doesn’t resurface until Carriveau’s orgasm has completely passed, her arms and legs relaxing their hold, her body going limp on the sofa. Even then, she stays where she is, resting her cheek on Carriveau’s thigh, stroking her soft skin.

When Carriveau finally opens her eyes, she finds Rylie smiling up at her.

“I didn’t hold back,” she pants breathlessly. “I don’t want to.” She runs her thumb over Rylie’s moist lips. “Not anymore.”

“Please don’t be afraid to love me.” Rylie kisses her palm.

Leaning forward, Carriveau pulls Rylie up into a sex-flavored lip-lock. “Give me some time.” Another kiss. “Be patient
, s’il te plaît
.”

She’s exhausted, barely able to keep her eyes open, and Rylie’s not faring much better.

“I should get back to the dorm.” The teen scrambles up off her knees. “I’ll be able to sleep now that I know you’re okay.”

Carriveau lets her slip away. “
Bonne nuit, mon amour
.” She tosses a small ball of fabric at her departing lover.

Rylie catches the offering before it hits her in face: the drenched knickers.

“
Bonne nuit, Vivienne
.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The following morning, order is restored. Carriveau strides into the Lower Sixth dormitory right on time, waking the girls with a cheerful smile and a burst of energy. By the time she gets to Rylie’s cubicle, Rylie is kneeling on her bed, wide awake.

Feigning a yawn, Rylie stretches, lifting her arms high over her head, causing the hem of her short nightdress to rise above her crotch, revealing her lacy knickers. Or rather, Carriveau’s lacy knickers.

“
Bonjour
.” Carriveau feasts on the sight. “Sleep well?”

“
Oui
.” Rylie beams. “
Et toi
?”

“Exceedingly.” Carriveau scarcely pauses on her arc, continuing her circuit of the room. “Today, we start afresh.” Her eyes fall briefly upon Adel.

Before her mood has a chance to sour, she glances back at Rylie, witnessing a thunk and a flail of arms and legs as the overly eager teen leaps out of bed too fast, catches her foot in the duvet, and face-plants on the floor.

“I see I’m not the only one who’s hungry to get this brand new day underway.” Carriveau chuckles, retracing her steps, peering down on Rylie, lying half in and half out of her cubicle. “Are you hurt?” She offers her hand.

“P’raps she needs the kiss of life, Miss!” Gabby heckles her from the neighboring cubicle, leaning over the dividing wall with a goofy grin.

Ignoring the taunt, Rylie accepts Carriveau’s help with one hand, the other pressed to her ribs. “I’m fine,” she croaks. “Never better.”

“Nothing a good breakfast won’t fix.” Carriveau harnesses her green eyes to Rylie’s blues. “When you’re ready.”

Rylie receives the message loud and clear: If you hurry, we might be able to steal a few minutes alone.

To that end, she gets a wriggle on and makes it down to the kitchen in seven and a half minutes flat, arriving to find Carriveau standing at the counter, licking jam off her fingers.

“
Pour toi, ma chérie
.” Carriveau pushes a plate of toast toward her, the slices already laden with jam, and puts a finger to her lips, indicating secrecy.

“
Merci, Vivienne
.” Rylie greets her
en français
, kissing one cheek then the other, both hands on her waist.

“I can’t stay.” Carriveau pinches Rylie’s lips between her own, murmuring softly as she feels Rylie’s hands slip down to caress her bum. “I have to leave early for a senior staff meeting.”

“Can I have you for a few minutes in your study?” Rylie coaxes her into another smooch.

“Mmm, if only.” Carriveau breaks the kiss and checks her watch. “But I must go. That means Miss Ansell will be doing the uniform inspections this morning.” She slithers free. “Try not to get as carried away with her as you do with me.” She winks.

As other Upper and Lower Sixth girls start to spill into the kitchen, Carriveau makes her way out, heading for the main school building. Much to her displeasure, she’s about to spend the next forty minutes stuck in a stuffy boardroom, the carpet covered with coffee stains, the walls decorated with portraits of Headmistresses past, the antique mahogany table riddled with chewing gum on its underside.

Five minutes in, she’s bored. After thirty more minutes, she’s positively sick to death of listening to Missus Bursnell prattle on about matters of little importance: arranging for someone to come and polish the weather vane; repainting the lines on the hockey field; replacing the chocolate in the vending machine with granola bars and rice crackers; and decreasing kitchen costs by cutting back on “Frivolous cake-making.”

At that, Carriveau struggles to stifle a laugh.

“Yes, Vivienne?” Missus Bursnell gripes at her. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

Carriveau holds up her hand, signaling no, and shares a smile with another younger Housemistress on the other side of the table. They’re the only two Housemistresses under the age of forty, and often find themselves close allies in matters of school policy.

“Very well.” Missus Bursnell shuffles papers. “Then if there’s no further business—”

Around the table, Housemistresses and heads of department begin to rise.

“
En fait
”—Carriveau speaks up then, raising her hand—“
une chose de plus
.”

Missus Bursnell sighs. “Is it too much to ask that you speak English when you’re convened with us, Vivienne? This isn’t the modern languages department.”

As Miss Ansell has a tendency to do, Missus Bursnell treats Carriveau’s name with added harshness when she’s irritated, making the docile French woman instantly testy.