You're Distracted, I Could Lose My Job!

Jill Taylor should be knee-deep in algebra right now, but instead she’s eyeballing Jack Vegas like he’s the last slice of pizza. Jack keeps his eyes on the textbook and pretends the kid isn’t sliding her chair closer every two minutes. She is though—tongue on her teeth, homework forgotten, looking like every dirty thought since she sat down is aimed square at him. Jack coughs, says the quadratic formula again, then barely moves when her bare foot slides up the leg of his jeans. Jill leans in, braces both hands on his thighs, and just… looks. The guy gives one last little nope of the head, but it’s nowhere near convincing. Jill has stopped smiling with her mouth; she’s smiling with her eyes and the tug of her short plaid skirt as she drags it higher on purpose. Her other hand undoes his belt like it’s nothing, gets his zipper halfway down, and she scoots forward so the front of her panties meets the warm skin above his waistband. Jack swallows, glances at the closed door, tries to sound reasonable one last time, but she wraps her fingers around him—already thick, already interested—and gives one slow pump, making the head of his cock pop out past his briefs. Jill ducks, kisses it once, wet and soft, then looks back up, sweet as sugar. Before he can form a single protest, her hot little mouth sinks down, taking half his length in one impatient gulp, tongue rolling underneath while her pussy presses against his shin, slick damp spot blooming through the cotton. The house is quiet, only the wet sounds of her sucking and the occasional stifled moan from the older man she’s decided is going to teach her a lot more than math tonight.