Mia
I sit across from the school board with my hands folded in my lap to hide their trembling.
The conference room feels smaller than it did during my suspension hearing, the walls pressing in as Kyle's parents settle into chairs beside their son.
Mrs. Jorgenson's designer suit probably costs more than my monthly rent, and Mr. Jorgenson's Rolex catches the fluorescent light as he adjusts his cuffs.
Kyle slouches between them with that same satisfied smirk I've come to dread. His gray eyes track my movements like he's cataloging every micro-expression for future use.
Margaret, the board president, clears her throat. "Thank you all for coming. We're here to address the allegations against Kyle Jorgenson regarding the vandalism of Miss Wilson's classroom and his pattern of inappropriate behavior toward her."
"This is ridiculous," Mr. Jorgenson says immediately. "Our son has been the victim of systematic harassment by Miss Wilson and her colleagues. We have documentation proving it."
I force myself to breathe steadily. Jack, Blake, and Noah aren't here because their presence would complicate things, but I feel their support like a physical presence. We prepared for this. I'm ready.
"Actually," I say, my voice stronger than I feel, "I have evidence of Kyle's obsessive behavior that predates any interaction with my colleagues."
I pull out the leather-bound journal Kyle gave me, setting it on the table with deliberate care. "This was a gift from Kyle. Expensive, personalized with my initials. When I tried to return it, he refused to take it back."
Mrs. Jorgenson's perfectly made-up face tightens slightly.
I continue, pulling out printed screenshots. "These are excerpts from creative writing assignments Kyle submitted in my class. They're clearly fantasies about me, becoming progressively more detailed and possessive over time."
The board members lean forward, reading the pages I've laid out. I watch their expressions shift from professional neutrality to concern.
"This one," I point to a particularly disturbing piece, "describes a scenario where a teacher realizes she belongs to her student and leaves her family to be with him. Kyle used my physical description, my car, even details about my apartment that he shouldn't have known."
Kyle's smirk falters slightly. His mother's hand finds his arm, gripping tight.
"Miss Wilson," Margaret says carefully, "these are concerning, but they could be interpreted as creative fiction."
"They could be," I agree. "Except Kyle has a history of this behavior at previous schools."
I pull out the letter from Jennifer Matthews, his former teacher at Westbrook Preparatory. "This is from a teacher who filed a restraining order against Kyle two years ago. She's documented his pattern of fixation, escalation, and eventual vandalism when his advances were rejected."
The room goes silent. Mr. Jorgenson's face drains of color.
"We were assured those records were sealed," Mrs. Jorgenson says, her voice tight.
"They were," I confirm. "But Ms. Matthews was willing to provide a statement when I explained my situation.
She's not the only one. Kyle attended three schools before Riverside Academy.
At each one, he fixated on a female teacher, and one with a senior female student.
At each one, his behavior escalated until either he was expelled or his target transferred away. "
I meet Kyle's eyes directly for the first time. The cold calculation I see there makes my skin crawl, but I don't look away.
"Why didn't you disclose this history when you enrolled Kyle here?" Margaret asks the Jorgensons.
Mrs. Jorgenson's composure cracks. "We thought a fresh start would help. Kyle has been seeing a therapist. We believed he'd learned to manage his impulses."
"Clearly he hasn't," another board member says dryly.
Margaret pulls out a tablet. "We've also reviewed security footage from the night Miss Wilson's classroom was vandalized. Kyle, can you explain why you're seen entering the building at 11:47 p.m.?"
The smirk disappears completely. Kyle sits up straighter, his eyes darting to his parents.
"I forgot something in my locker," he says quickly.
"Your locker is in the west wing. Miss Wilson's classroom is in the east wing. The footage shows you going directly there." Margaret turns the tablet so everyone can see. "You're carrying a backpack that appears full when you enter and empty when you leave forty minutes later."
Mr. Jorgenson's hands clench on the armrests. "This is circumstantial."
"Perhaps," Margaret agrees. "But combined with the pattern Miss Wilson has documented, it's enough for us to take action."
The board members confer quietly among themselves. I watch Kyle's parents realize their money and influence won't save him this time. Mrs. Jorgenson's perfectly manicured nails tap against the table in a nervous rhythm.
After what feels like an eternity, Margaret speaks. "The board votes unanimously to expel Kyle Jorgenson from Riverside Academy, effective immediately. We're also recommending his parents seek professional psychiatric evaluation and treatment."
"You can't do this," Mr. Jorgenson stands, his voice rising. "We'll sue. We'll take this to every news outlet in the state."
"That's your prerogative," Margaret says calmly. "But the evidence is clear. Your son has engaged in stalking behavior, vandalism, and created a hostile environment for a staff member. We have a duty to protect our teachers and students."
Kyle finally speaks, his voice cold and flat. "This isn't over, Miss Wilson. You think you've won, but you haven't."
The threat hangs in the air like smoke. Security appears at the door, and the Jorgensons are escorted out. Kyle's gray eyes bore into mine until the door closes behind them.
I sit in the empty conference room for a long moment, letting the reality sink in. It's over. Kyle is gone. The first breath of relief I've felt in weeks fills my lungs.
Margaret touches my shoulder gently. "You did the right thing, Miss Wilson. And for what it's worth, the board is reviewing your suspension. Given the circumstances, we believe you were unfairly targeted."
The words should bring more relief, but I'm too exhausted to feel much of anything except a bone-deep weariness.
That evening, I drive to Jack's house with the windows down, letting the cool air clear my head. Blake's truck is already in the driveway, and Noah's sedan pulls in right behind me.
Jack opens the door before I can knock, his hazel eyes searching my face. "How did it go?"
"He's expelled." The words come out on a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical. "Kyle is gone. They believed me."
Blake appears behind Jack, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. "That's my girl." His brown eyes are warm with pride and something hotter that makes my core clench.
Noah moves past both of them and pulls me into his arms. "You were brilliant. I knew you would be."
Inside, Jack pours wine while Blake orders pizza. We settle in the living room, and for the first time in weeks, the conversation flows easily. We laugh about Kyle's parents' faces when the security footage was shown. We toast to small victories and the possibility of more to come.
"The board is reviewing my suspension," I say, accepting a second glass of wine. "Margaret thinks they'll reinstate me."
"Of course they will," Jack says, his voice carrying that authoritative principal tone. "You did nothing wrong."
Blake moves closer on the couch, his muscular thigh pressing against mine. "This calls for a real celebration."
The heat in his voice makes my breath catch. Noah's hand finds the back of my neck, his fingers tracing patterns that send shivers down my spine. Jack's hazel eyes darken as he watches us, and I see the desire there mixed with something deeper.
Jack pulls me to my feet while Blake and Noah follow close behind, their presence surrounding me like a protective shield as we head to the bedroom.
"Shower first," Blake announces, already tugging his shirt over his head. "We've all been stressed as hell."
"Good idea," Noah agrees, kicking off his shoes.
Jack's already halfway to the bathroom when I hear the water turn on. We pile in after him, and that's when reality hits.
"Okay, this is not going to work," I laugh as Blake tries to squeeze past Noah, who's attempting to step under the spray while Jack's already there.
"Move your elbow," Noah grunts.
"That's not my elbow," Blake says with a grin.
I'm pressed against the tile, giggling as three grown men try to navigate the space like it's a clown car. "This was a terrible idea."
"Speak for yourself," Jack says, managing to get shampoo in his hair despite being wedged between Blake and the shower wall. "I'm very comfortable."
"Liar," Blake snorts. "Your ass is literally against the cold tile."
"Someone's ass needs to be somewhere," Jack retorts, then yelps when Noah accidentally elbows him in the ribs.
"Sorry," Noah says, not sounding sorry at all as his hands find my waist. The water's hitting him directly in the face now, and he's sputtering. "Who's hogging all the water?"
"That would be me," Jack says cheerfully, tilting his head back to rinse.
Blake manages to wedge himself behind me, his cock hard against my ass. "Well, since we're all here ..."
His hand slides down my stomach, and I gasp as his fingers find my clit. Noah's mouth captures mine while Jack turns his attention to my breasts.
"This is ridiculous," I laugh as someone's knee bumps into my thigh.
"Okay, new position." Blake turns me around to face him, lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he presses me against the tile wall. The cold makes me gasp, but then he's pushing inside me and I forget all about it.
"Oh God, yes," I breathe.
Except Noah tries to move closer and slips, grabbing onto Jack for balance. They both nearly go down, and Blake has to stop moving to brace us against the wall.
"Jesus Christ," Jack laughs, steadying Noah. "This is like some kind of comedy sketch."
"A really sexy comedy sketch," Noah argues. He moves behind Blake, his hand reaching around to touch me where Blake and I are joined.
The added stimulation makes me moan. Blake resumes his rhythm, harder now, and the sound of skin slapping against wet skin echoes in the small space.
"Water's getting cold," Jack announces.
"Don't care," I gasp as Blake hits that perfect spot inside me.
Noah's fingers work my clit while Blake pounds inside me, and I'm so close...
Then the water pressure suddenly drops to almost nothing.
"Are you kidding me?" Blake groans, not stopping his movements.
"Someone must have flushed a toilet," Noah says.
"Not helping," Blake grunts, his hips snapping faster.
The water's barely a trickle now, and it's definitely cold, but I don't care because I'm right on the edge. Noah pinches my clit gently and I come with a cry, clenching around Blake. He follows seconds later, groaning my name into my neck.
He sets me down carefully, and my legs are shaky. The water's still pathetic and cold.
"Okay, shower sex is overrated," I announce.
"Agreed," all three of them say in unison.
We tumble out of the shower, grabbing towels and laughing. Noah turns off the sad trickle of water, and we're all dripping on the bathroom floor.
"Bed," Jack says firmly. "Where there's actual space and no plumbing issues."
"Best idea you've had all day," I agree.
We make it to the bedroom, barely dry, and fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. The mood shifts from comedic to hungry as hands start exploring again.
Noah pulls me on top of him, and I sink down onto his cock with a satisfied sigh. This is so much better. I can actually move without worrying about slipping or getting elbowed.
Jack kneels beside us, and I take him in my mouth while I ride Noah. Blake's hands roam over my back, my ass, squeezing and caressing.
"Damn, Mia," Noah groans, his hands gripping my hips.
I hum around Jack's cock, and he threads his fingers through my damp hair. When Noah comes, I'm right there with him, and Jack follows soon after. We collapse in a heap, all breathing hard.
Blake's is hard again, and I grin at him. There's something to be said about a sportsman's stamina."Your turn."
"Damn right," he says, pulling me toward him.
I end up on my hands and knees, Blake behind me, while Noah and Jack recover on either side. Blake enters me slowly, his pace steady and deep.
Noah kisses me while Jack's hand finds my breast, and the combination pushes me toward another orgasm. When it hits, it's softer than the others but no less satisfying. Blake comes with a low groan, then carefully pulls out and flops down beside me.
We're all tangled together, sweaty and satisfied and grinning like idiots.
"Best celebration ever," I mumble into someone's shoulder.
"Even with the shower disaster?" Jack teases.
"Especially with the shower disaster," I laugh. "That was ridiculous."
"We're definitely getting a bigger place," Noah says. "With a bigger shower."
The relief and joy of the day's victory mingle with the physical satisfaction, and I've never felt more content. No more fear, no more hiding. Just us and this perfect, imperfect moment.
And then Jack ruins the moment. "I've decided to publicly claim the twins."