Teacher's Pets [Unlikely Bedfellows 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  Unlikely Bedfellows 3

  Teacher’s Pets

  In 1975, a professional woman was probably a feminist and often was an anti-war protester. Professor Leah Morris was both. Now, however, feminism is settling in comfortably and Vietnam is over.

  When Leah seeks early tenure, she fails on two fronts. She's desperate to prove to her family that she has the same talent for success that they do, and from desperation come sometimes-brilliant ideas. With the concept of a unique, new book, her dream of proving herself to her family may finally come true.

  Leah carefully selects Beau Johnson and Steve Hardin to help fulfill her plan, only discovering too late that she swore ten years earlier she'd never again speak to one of them, and that both are out of the war, but still in the Corps. Are the teacher's pets carrying too much baggage for Leah, or is that "baggage" really a comfy sleeping bag, large enough for three?

  Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 41,404 words

  TEACHER’S PETS

  Unlikely Bedfellows 3

  Jenna Stewart

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  TEACHER’S PETS

  Copyright © 2012 by Jenna Stewart

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-904-3

  First E-book Publication: November 2012

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Teacher’s Pets by Jenna Stewart from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Jenna Stewart’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Stewart’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

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  DEDICATION

  Having been a teacher, I can vouch for the fact that you can’t help having favorites—though I never had teacher’s pets like you’ll read about in this book! I hope you enjoy.

  Dedicated with love to my lifetime sweetie, Jack. He’s always been my favorite and my pet.

  TEACHER’S PETS

  Unlikely Bedfellows 3

  JENNA STEWART

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  Beau Johnson saw her crossing the quad and did a double take. Even after the sexy clothing she’d worn the last couple of days, this outfit was a stunner. Large white polka dots marked her orange, bright-enough-to-dim-the-sun cut-off top, and her slim hip-huggers fell to wide bell-bottoms. High fashion in 1975, her clothing seemed to expose more than it covered. Her navel peeked out from the waistband with each swing of her hips. She strolled along as though she wore a conservative business suit. Today she wore her blonde hair down, and he saw it was chin length. Her sandals had about a three-inch heel on them, and she used the height to emphasize that her legs went all the way up, clear to her ass.

  “Yes, they do,” he murmured.

  “Jesus H. Christ with a crutch.” His best friend Steve’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t know who the fuck that is, but I’m going to find out.”

  “Forget it. She’s faculty.”

  “So? It’s not like we’re kids. We’re old enough to be faculty.”

  “Your grandfather might be president of the college, but we’re still students and she’s still off limits.” Beau took another look, now at her back as she disappeared into Shirock Hall. His cock rose as he let his imagination run rampant. He had his hands on that ass, caressing it, spreading it, while he tasted her skin and nipped her bare shoulder. Her shoulder blade would sport a small butterfly that only those privileged enough to know her naked would see. And he would be one of those. One of the few, one of the proud, just as he’d been for the last nine years in the Corps. “And besides, she’s my faculty member.”

  “Your fac—” Steve turned to him. “She’s your teacher? You son of a bitch. You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “We’ve only been in class for a few days. There hasn’t been time to tell you everything.”

  Steve burst into laughter. “Bullshit. You wanted her all to yourself.”

  Beau smiled. “There is that.”

  “Asshole. I’m your best friend. If you can’t share a woman with me, who can you share with?”

  Sharing? Who the fuck said anything about sharing? “You should have seen her yesterday. Miniskirt so short she had to have a haircut and a see-through blouse.”

  “Not see-through!”

  “Might as well have been. I mean, her tits were technically covered, but there wasn’t much left to the imagination. Believe me, what you imagine under that cut-off top is there, and they’re real.”

  Steve groaned. “Stop! I can’t take any more. Why did I have to be a chem major instead of…what worthless liberal arts department are you in again?”

  Beau shook his head. They went through the comparison of liberal arts to science all the time. There was no convincing Steve that geography and history served a purpose in the military and the country, just like the sciences. “You know good and fucking well.”

  Steve grinned. “Yeah, I do. I better go. I have a lab. See you tonight.”

  “Later.” Beau checked his watch and turned toward Shirock Hall.

  “You know,” Steve said, making him stop, “your teacher l
ooks familiar.”

  “Yeah?”

  Steve stared toward Shirock Hall, his face screwed up in concentration. “I could swear I’ve seen her before.”

  “You have. She looks like every wet dream you’ve ever had.” He poked his friend’s arm. “Mine, too.”

  “Well, okay.” Steve shrugged his shoulders. “See ya later.” He went off with a confident stride so different from the casual lope he’d had before they joined the Corps. The military gave a man bearing that nothing else did, recognizable a mile away.

  Beau made his way into class just minutes before the bell. His seat was on the third row of the auditorium-style room that had been packed with a predominantly male crowd on his first day. He looked around. More than half the seats were empty, and now there was a fifty-fifty mix of men and women. Some of the extra guys might have come because the course was called Human Interaction. But if word had leaked out about how the prof would be dressed, he had no doubt the rest had come to see the show. Beau was in class simply to fill out a liberal arts requirement.

  The question in his mind was what Dr. Leah Morris was trying to do. Why the wild getups? No college teacher he’d ever known came dressed in leather minishorts, as Leah had two days ago. And then the miniskirt, and now the orange outfit. What was going on? She would parade around until the testosterone in the room couldn’t be cut with a knife, and then she’d hand out a test. So far he’d aced them, but it had taken all his will power to think about sociology instead of imagining fucking the lovely professor on her desk.

  The bell rang and the door to her prep area at the rear of her desk opened. When she emerged, Beau sensed tension in the air. He glanced around. The girls sat up straighter and the guys all leaned forward. She strolled into the room, hips swaying, steps measured.

  She started the lecture from chapter three of the text without preamble. While she talked, she walked back and forth in front of the desk. Her hips moved left, right, left, right, as though they had minds of their own. The bare skin between the cut-off top and hip-hugger bell-bottoms was smooth and tight, without an ounce of flab around her narrow waist.

  He turned his gaze—and his libido—from her gorgeous body to her face, which was fresh and clear. He guessed her age at somewhere around thirty. Above a full mouth, a pert nose, and a rose-colored complexion, bright blue eyes swept the room, demanding attention from every student—even the girls. When she met his gaze, he had to concentrate to prevent a woody.

  Pleased that she stared a moment longer at him than anyone else in the room and that she seemed to lose her train of thought, Beau let his own thoughts wander in the direction of kissing those luscious lips and pulling her top up over the breasts he’d seen encased in a pure white bra through her blouse the previous day. Then she blinked, took a breath, and picked up where she’d left off, spinning on her wedge shoes and making for the other side of the room.

  Good God! He’d been kicked in the gut with only a look by a woman dressed in the brightest orange getup he’d ever seen. How the fuck was he supposed to last a whole semester like this? He dragged his errant thoughts back to demographics in major urban areas.

  The guy next to him groaned, and the sound wasn’t one of lust.

  “So,” Dr. Morris purred, “take out paper and pen and answer the following questions.”

  “Another pop quiz?”

  The guy nodded. “Every fucking day,” he muttered. “I don’t need this shit. I’m going to the registrar’s office as soon as I get out of here and transferring.” With reluctance he took a pen from his shirt pocket. “Can I borrow some paper?”

  “Sure,” Beau answered. “One sheet or two?” He opened the college-ruled spiral notebook and waited.

  “One will be enough. I didn’t read the book. Who in hell gives a pop test on Friday?”

  Ms. Sexy Hip-huggers, evidently. Years of being out of school, years of serving in the Corps and thinking about what he would do if he had the chance to finish his degree, had given Beau focus, something most of the younger guys he met in class lacked. Beau knew what he didn’t want to do in life. For that reason, he prepared meticulously for every class. His maturity was a big advantage over his classmates. He didn’t feel too mature right now, though. Watching Dr. Morris made him feel like a high school kid, high on hormones.

  Her back to the room, her body lost none of its allure. As she wrote on the board, he thought about his hands on her hips, his cock brushing her round, smooth ass, and his lips nuzzling her neck. His cock ached, and he squirmed in his seat to find a comfortable position. He tried to concentrate on the questions she scrawled on the blackboard.

  How did the Westward Movement affect the demographics in the large cities of both the East and West?

  How did the demographics change between the North and South at the end of the War Between the States?

  How does this college affect the demographics of Herrisville?

  “I’m giving you an easy question in number three,” she said. Then she turned and smiled, and every man in the room sucked in his breath, or so Beau imagined. “Don’t get used to my being generous. You should know by now that I’m a hard-ass and serious about sociology. You’d better be, too, if you stay in this class and want to succeed.”

  Well, hell. Beau mentally tallied his credits and the electives he’d considered before choosing this class. He could switch easily to another course, but something about Dr. Morris intrigued him. Something besides her body. It might take more work than he had planned for a senior-year elective, but he’d stick it out. And even if it killed him to see her every week for the next two and a half months dressed in clothing Frederick’s of Hollywood would be proud to offer, he’d get an A.

  * * * *

  The radio switched from Simon and Garfunkel’s old hit, “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” to Glen Campbell’s, newest, “Rhinestone Cowboy,” but Dr. Leah Morris hardly noticed. Sitting back in her office chair, puzzled, she picked up the sheet of paper filled with even, legible script and examined it once more, just to confirm what she already knew. This man—she checked the name at the top—this Beau Johnson, had scored an A. And not just an A but a perfect one hundred percent. And this was the third time this week he’d done it.

  No need to consult the seating chart. She knew exactly who he was—the intriguing man whose gaze had held hers a split second too long earlier in the day. His gaze had heated her, and she’d had the satisfying impression that hers had done the same to him. She placed his paper on top of the others and tapped the edges on the table until the stack was aligned before tucking them inside her notebook. Picking up her wineglass, she drained it.

  She poured chardonnay from a local vineyard, filling the glass again before pulling from her briefcase the two letters that had her mind churning. Both had arrived the week before classes started. One was from the chancellor’s office. It stated that though she had taught at Herrisville College for three years, she had not distinguished herself enough to be considered for early tenure. She would be considered again in five years.

  Five years! She would show him how she could distinguish herself from every other female teacher in the school. Colleges all over were fast-tracking women to prove nondiscrimination in the face of women’s lib. Leah had chosen Herrisville College—a medium-sized school in the Virginia Blue Ridge—because she thought achieving tenure would be easier there than in a larger school. “So much for that idea,” she muttered.

  The second letter was from Whitestone Publishing Company telling her that her book proposal was not intriguing enough to pick up. Her proposal had been to document two college men in different frat houses to show how their behavior was different based on their living arrangements. The editor said her idea was “clichéd.” He explained that if she decided on something more provocative, they would entertain another proposal. In that one day she had been described as unaccomplished and boring. She took a healthy gulp of wine. Damn it! She had counted on that book to push her over the edge into
tenure if she needed it.

  More provocative is what they want? “Well, I have provocative down to a T.” She took another gulp of wine, letting the bite stimulate her senses before swallowing. She’d written articles for scholarly magazines but never a book. The time had come. Publish or perish might pertain to magazine articles, but books were the way to make a name outside the academic world as well as in, and she had the idea of the century. If this didn’t get her tenure, nothing would.

  First she wrote provocative. The word could mean interesting, but she wanted to take it a step further, to sensual or even sexy. She could handle either one.

  Next, she listed intriguing. If two frat boys didn’t interest the publisher, perhaps two rivals would. And nothing made rivals of men like a woman. A woman who brought out their primal instincts. She would be the woman. For men, she needed two who wouldn’t mind the idea of sharing—at first. She had faith that any two men, forced to face the fact that they both screwed the same woman, would eventually turn on each other. The territorial male would be her premise. “That should be intriguing enough for Whitestone-fucking-Publishers.”

  The trouble was finding two men who were emotionally disengaged enough to agree to participate. She wanted a “family unit” of sorts to study but not clinging males who insisted she continue the experiment long after the thrill was gone. Which, based on the attitudes of most men when faced with a strong, independent woman, wouldn’t take too long.