The Housemistress by Keira Michelle Telford Read Free Book Online Page A

up against the dormitory door.
    Without saying a word, Carriveau places her steady hands back on either side of the dumbstruck teen’s head and brings her forward, pressing a chaste kiss on her forehead.
    “ Bonne nuit, mon ange ,” she whispers, her eyes roving over Rylie’s features somewhat reverently. “ Fais de beaux rêves .”
    Rylie shivers as Carriveau calls her an angel and wishes her sweet dreams. All too soon, though, she feels the warmth of Carriveau’s touch dissipate, leaving her with nothing but the lingering sensation of those deep red, lipstick-coated lips.
    “Don’t forget to look at your books,” Carriveau says in parting. “Make sure I didn’t forget anything.”
    Rylie nods, watching Carriveau walk away, her skirt clinging to her delightfully spankable derrière , then she slips back inside the dorm, tiptoeing quietly to her bed, trying to draw as little attention as possible.
    Once in her cubicle, she retrieves her stack of library books off the floor and—using her cell phone as a light source—sorts through them, setting aside those she knows she’ll need for tomorrow’s lessons.
    At the bottom of the pile, she finds a paperback that lacks a Larkhill Boarding School library sticker on the spine. Curious, she flips it over.
    Her heart drums inside her chest. It’s the Occitan book from Carriveau’s study, and the first page has a freshly-inked inscription:
     

     

     
    Sleep doesn’t come easy. Rylie lies awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the building, the woodwork expanding and contracting in response to heat or cold, the pipes complaining as somewhere, someone in the building makes a demand for water.
    Soon enough, there’s another noise keeping her awake.
    “Oh, Mademoiselle …” a soft, girlish voice mewls in the darkness.
    Rylie holds her breath, listening for more. A dream, perhaps?
    “Oh, Vivienne …” the voice whispers frantically. “Yes! More!”
    Nope, definitely not a dream.
    The voice is quiet, but distinct: it’s Adel Edwards.
    Bed sheets ruffle and hit the floor, kicked off the bed no doubt.
    “Oh, I’m going to come …”
    No fucking way! Rylie peels back the covers on her own bed and rises slowly to her knees, peering into the shadowy room beyond her rectangle of private space. To her right, there’s a giggle: two of the other Lower Sixth girls are making out beneath the covers. To her left, there’s Adel Edwards … completely alone.
    Rylie stifles a chuckle. Adel is lying on her back, her nightdress bunched up, legs spread, both hands vigorously working between her legs.
    “Oh, fuck me!” she begs huskily, her eyes closed, her breathing labored. “I’m gonna come so hard for you …”
    And she does.
    As her climax hits, Rylie turns away, afraid of letting out a guffaw. She’s about to flop back down in her bed when a flicker of light catches her attention. Left on for safety’s sake, in case anyone needs to venture out to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, dim yellow hallway lights illuminate a two-inch crack beneath the dormitory door, and at this moment, the warm glow seeping through is broken by the movement of a shadowy figure on the other side.
    Feet.
    Ankles.
    There’s someone standing near the door, leaning against the doorjamb.
    Rylie squints at the shifting shapes, making out the thin bar of a stiletto heel. It couldn’t be, could it? Miss Carriveau? Listening to Adel Edwards masturbate? Holy shit!
    Rylie strains to hear anything beyond Adel’s orgasm. Is Carriveau touching herself out there? Is she horny? What is she doing?! Was she just walking by and happened to overhear her name uttered in the heat of sexual fervor? Did curiosity compel her to stay?
    Whatever the case, in the wake of Adel’s climax, Carriveau slinks away, the shadows receding as the house quiets back down to its usual nocturnal rhythm of distant clangs and clatterings, a squirrel scratching away in the attic.
    Bonne nuit, en effet !
    Good