The Housemistress Read Online Free PDF Page A

evaporating some of the moisture there.
    She’s aroused, and awkwardly so. Hoping that Carriveau can’t smell how uncontrollably horny she is, the throbbing between her legs making her increasingly anxious, she clutches two fistfuls of her skirt, wiping her clammy palms off on the soft cotton.
    Carriveau peers up at her over the rim of the reading glasses, aware of a shift in her disposition. “ Êtes-vous nerveuse, mon chou ?”
    Rylie’s distracted brain struggles with the simple language conversion: Are you nervous, my cabbage? Being called a cabbage is momentarily disturbing, until she recalls her parents’ French housekeeper calling her that when she was a child. Ergo, it’s an old-fashioned term of endearment.
    “ Non, Madame ,” she lies, finally responding.
    “ Madame ?” Carriveau briefly stops stitching. “ Mademoiselle, s’il vous plaît . Je suis célibataire .” She focuses back on the needle and thread.
    “ Célibataire ?” Rylie assumes there’s more to the translation than the seemingly obvious.
    “It means unmarried, not celibate,” Carriveau explains. “Although, it has to be said, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to tell the difference.”
    Whether she’s fishing for flattery or not, Rylie pounces on the opportunity to dish some out.
    “ C’est tragique ,” she offers condolences for her Housemistress’s marital state, then returns the compliment given to her earlier in the foyer. “Tu es belle, Mademoiselle Carriveau .”
    Carriveau arches an eyebrow, secretly pleased that Rylie finds her attractive. “ Je suis flattée, ma chère .” She looks up, gauging Rylie’s understanding of the French, offering an English translation just in case. “I’m flattered.”
    There’s a pair of scissors in the cupboard, but instead of fetching them when she gets to the end of the seam, Carriveau finishes off the stitching and bends forward to cut the thread with her teeth, sending Rylie’s hormones into overdrive.
    It’s all the teen can do to withhold a gasp, biting on her lower lip as Carriveau’s warm breath tickles her bare thigh, making her skin prick with goosebumps.
    “There.” Carriveau rocks back on her heels, admiring her handiwork, seemingly unaware of Rylie’s sexual excitement. “Good as new.”
    She lifts the reading glasses back onto the top of her head, but doesn’t yet retreat. Instead, she places a hand on Rylie’s hip and runs it down over her thigh and rump several times, smoothing out some slight, barely visible creases in the skirt, pressing firmly, molding her hand to fit the contours of Rylie’s body.
    “This could use an iron, non ?”
    Rylie feels a tiny shiver ripple through her core. Her beautiful French Housemistress just totally copped a feel! The astonishing moment of quasi-permissible intimacy doesn’t last, though. A stern female voice startles the eavesdroppers outside the door, causing the shadows to scatter. Shortly thereafter, there’s a knock.
    “ Entrez !” Carriveau calls out, still on her knees.
    The woman who enters is several years older than Carriveau. There are flecks of gray in her done-up auburn hair, her face bears some lines of age, and she’s started to widen around the mid-region. Her ankle-length, tie-die skirt belongs in a decade far removed from this one, and her bobbly sweater is at least one size too big.
    Caught off-guard by Carriveau’s position on the floor in front of Rylie, she hovers in the doorway, not knowing quite where to cast her eyes. “Pardon my intrusion.”
    Wholly unconcerned, Carriveau gets to her feet, accepting the hand Rylie offers to help her off the floor.
    “Miss Ansell, we have a new student.” She squeezes Rylie’s hand before letting go. “This is Rylie Harcourt.” She takes Rylie by the shoulder and pushes her forward, presenting her to the frumpy woman. “Harcourt, this is Miss Ansell, Deputy Housemistress and teacher of geography.”
    Miss Ansell smiles politely at Rylie, then