Teacher's Dirty Secret E-Book

Jeff Miller

• Herausgeber: Jeff Miller
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Some mistakes don’t stay buried… especially the kind you kiss.
Elena James is done with chaos. A new town. A fresh teaching job. No more complications.
But one intoxicating night with a mysterious stranger threatens everything.
She thought it was a one-night escape.
Until he walks into her senior class Monday morning.
Now, her forbidden secret stares back at her from the front row—smirking, remembering, and completely off-limits.
Rumors begin. Anonymous threats appear. And someone knows far more than they should.
As the pressure mounts and her past resurfaces in sinister ways, Elena is forced to face the truth:
She’s not just in danger of losing her career.
She might lose everything—including her heart.
A page-turning blend of forbidden desire, suspense, and jaw-dropping twists, Teacher’s Dirty Secret is for fans of dark academia, secret identities, and romance that breaks all the rules.
 

Leseprobe

Chapter 1: The Escape

The ice clinked in her glass, sharp and hollow like the echo of decisions she hadn't made yet. Elena Rivers swirled the cocktail in front of her, a lowball glass sweating onto a flimsy coaster that read "Velvet Room" in gold foil. The upscale lounge was dim, almost secretive, bathed in flickering amber light. Jazz hummed softly through hidden speakers, and every patron seemed wrapped in their own cocoon of shadows and whispered sins.

Elena didn’t belong here.

That was the point.

Her first week at St. Augustine Academy had been a polished nightmare. Tight smiles from suspicious coworkers. Obsessively well-dressed students who looked at her like prey sniffing out weakness. And worst of all, Principal Dr. Langston, whose deadpan stare seemed to strip her to the bone every time he passed her office. Elena had come here to disappear. But even in her new role, her past clung to her like a second skin.

So she drank.

"You look like you're trying to forget something," came a voice from beside her, smooth as aged bourbon.

Elena turned.

The man standing there didn’t look like he belonged either, but for very different reasons. He was tall, dressed in black jeans and a charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing toned muscle and veins like rivulets. His hair was dark, messy in that deliberate kind of way, and his eyes were a stormy gray that looked both young and ancient at once.

"Maybe I am," she replied, arching an eyebrow. "That your go-to pickup line?"

He chuckled, a low, gravelly sound. "Only when it works."

She should have told him to buzz off. She should have gone home and prepped next week’s lesson plans. But Elena was tired—of being careful, of being watched, of the weight of a reputation she hadn’t even built herself. And something in the man’s gaze was disarming, magnetic. Not predatory, but curious.

"You here alone?" he asked, nodding at her empty booth.

"Aren’t you?"

"Touché," he smiled. "Mind if I sit?"

She hesitated. Her rational mind warned her to say no. But her body, tired and charged with something she hadn’t felt in too long, was already leaning toward him.

"Sure," she said finally. "It’s not like I’m expecting anyone."

He slid into the seat across from her with the ease of someone used to being welcomed, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I’m Aiden," he said.

She paused. "Elena."

"No last names tonight?"

"No histories. No expectations," she replied, almost surprising herself.

He nodded as if that made perfect sense.

The next hour melted. They talked, teased, flirted. The drinks kept coming. Elena learned he was a traveler of sorts, an in-betweener. Aiden spoke like someone who had lived a thousand lives and never fully unpacked in any of them. He asked her about her favorite books, and when she said The Secret History, his eyes lit up.

"Ah, the dark academia kind. The ones where everyone’s intelligent and miserable and hiding something."

"Maybe I just like a story with secrets."

"Everyone does," he said, leaning in.

And then the air changed.

The moment stilled between them. The music blurred. His hand brushed hers on the table, deliberate, slow. She didn’t pull away.

"Come with me," he said.

Elena hesitated.

"I’m not that kind of woman," she said softly, but there wasn’t conviction behind it.

"You don’t look like you belong to anyone’s definition but your own."

It was that line that did it. Not rehearsed, not pushy. Just quiet confidence and an invitation to rewrite who she could be, just for one night.

So she followed him.

The hotel room was only two blocks away. He kissed her in the elevator, not urgently but reverently, like he wanted to learn every inch of her by heart. Elena responded with a hunger she hadn’t realized she still possessed. Clothes fell in a trail behind them. He laid her on the bed like she was art he didn’t dare deface.

And for hours, there was no school, no past, no expectations. Only heat and breath and the shattering relief of surrender.

She left before sunrise, slipping out while he slept, her clothes wrinkled and hair wild, but her mind blissfully blank. No number. No goodbye. Just escape.

Elena didn’t look back.

She didn’t want to know his last name.

She didn’t want to know his story.

Because she knew—this was a one-night mistake.

Or so she thought.

Until Monday morning.

When she walked into her classroom and saw him.

Sitting in the front row.

Smiling like the night had never ended.

Chapter 2: No Names, No Rules

The sheets still smelled like him.

Elena Rivers stood at the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the soft cotton fabric like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. The room was soaked in the aftermath of night—clothes scattered like fallen petals, pillows askew, curtains cracked open just enough to let in the dusky blue of early morning.

She could still feel his hands on her body, the whisper of his breath along her collarbone, the rough scrape of his stubble against her inner thigh. Her lips were still tender, swollen from kisses that had started slow and reverent, then turned hungry and wild. It had been years—actual years—since she’d felt that wanted. That free.

No names. No rules.

She’d meant it when she said it. She hadn’t needed the weight of introductions or polite conversation. What she needed was escape. And Aiden—if that was even his real name—had offered it to her, wrapped in smoldering eyes and a voice that had somehow made her forget the rest of the world existed.

He hadn’t asked about her job, her life, her past. He hadn’t pried or prodded. He had simply seen her—or maybe what she wanted to be for one night. And he had taken her there, over and over, until the lines between pleasure and absolution blurred.

She stared at him now, still sleeping, one arm slung across the pillow where she’d lain minutes earlier. His dark hair was a tousled mess, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of deep slumber. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he were dreaming of her.

She didn’t dare wake him.

If she stayed, this would become something else. Something complicated. Something real. Elena didn’t want real. Real was what had wrecked her life before. Real meant responsibility, expectations, pain. She hadn’t fought so hard to rebuild only to unravel over one night of intoxicating chemistry.

She moved carefully, gathering her clothes piece by piece. The heels she’d kicked off in a fevered hurry. Her bra, tangled in the blankets. Her blouse, inside out on the floor. Every item whispered memories as she touched them.

When she reached for her phone, she paused. Should she leave her number?

Her heart said yes.

Her mind said run.

She ran.

Elena slipped out the hotel door just as the sun began to rise, painting the sky in hues of lavender and gold. Her breath steamed in the morning chill, hair wild, makeup smudged. But beneath the physical disarray, she felt something close to peace.

The city was still asleep. Streetlights blinked drowsily. A jogger passed her, nodding once. She smiled, oddly euphoric.

No regrets. Just a perfect moment in time, preserved in secrecy.

As she walked back to her apartment, Elena let the night replay in her mind like a favorite song. The first kiss. The growl in his throat when he buried his face in her neck. The way he had murmured her name like it was a prayer, though she never gave it.

He didn’t ask. And she didn’t offer.

That was the agreement.

No names. No rules.

And no future.

She promised herself she wouldn’t look back.

But as she turned the key to her door and stepped inside, heart racing from the thrill of it all, a quiet voice inside her whispered a warning.

You’ll see him again.

And when you do, everything will change.

Chapter 3: Monday Morning Shock

Elena’s heels echoed down the high school hallway like a drumbeat of dread. Her breath came faster with every step, her nerves frayed by the sharp scent of fresh textbooks and floor polish. This was supposed to be a new chapter—her clean slate. A senior literature teacher position at prestigious Hollow Creek Academy, the kind of job that finally gave her control again.

But as she neared Room 214, her stomach knotted.

Maybe it was just the residual thrill of the weekend. The memory of tangled sheets and his hands mapping her skin. Or the chill of the early morning air still trapped beneath her blouse. Whatever it was, her heart pounded for all the wrong reasons.

She took a deep breath at the door, straightened her blazer, and pushed it open.

Twenty pairs of eyes turned toward her.

“Good morning,” she said with a confident smile that belied the tremor in her voice. “I’m Ms. Rivers, your senior lit instructor. Let’s dive in.”

She dropped her bag on the desk and turned to the whiteboard, pen uncapped and ready to write. The students were murmuring, rustling notebooks, scrolling through class schedules.

But one voice stood out from the crowd.

Deep. Smooth. Teasing.

“Well, this just got interesting.”

Her marker froze mid-word.

No. No, no, no.

She turned slowly, heart sinking to her knees.

There he was.

Front row.

Leaning back in his chair with the same lazy confidence she remembered from the hotel room. Those dark eyes—smoky and amused—locked on her like she was a private joke he was still savoring.

Aiden.

Only this time, he wasn’t some mysterious older-seeming stranger.

He was a student.

Her student.

“Mr. Wolfe,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice steady.

He smirked, stretching long legs out under the desk. “Good to see you again, Miss.”

Her knees nearly buckled.

He knew.

He remembered.