Forbidden Lesson in Mother’s Bed - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
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The evening study session finally came. Earlier in math class, Mr. Roland had acted like nothing happened—like he didn't even remember me from last night. But I couldn't forget. The memory played on loop in my head, making it impossible to focus.
When the last study period rolled around, I dragged my books to his office. He'd already cleared a spot for me. I sat beside him, close enough to catch the faint scent of his laundry detergent, as he walked me through the functions I kept messing up.
"What's wrong?"
His voice was soft, almost tender, like a breeze brushing over my skin.
My face burned. The ghost of his touch still lingered, setting my nerves on fire. I twisted the hem of my shirt and shook my head.
"I didn't get it, sir. Can you go over it again?"
He did. I forced myself to listen, to focus—anything to keep my thoughts from spiraling.
When the session ended, I mumbled a goodbye and walked home, my backpack weighing me down more than usual.
My mind was chaos. Sitting that close to him, breathing in his scent, had sent my imagination into overdrive. My skin tingled, my pulse raced, and a restless heat coiled low in my stomach.
Mom was still up when I got back, laughing with someone in the living room.
Another guest.
I didn't care who it was. My head was too full of Mr. Roland.
"Vivian, you're home! Come say hi."
I dragged my feet forward—then froze.
There, sprawled on the couch with that same damn smirk, was Mr. Roland.
My stomach dropped.
"This is your Uncle Ethan. Aren't you going to greet him?"
Mom nudged me. I swallowed hard, forcing the words out.
"Hi, Uncle Ethan."
Then I bolted to my room.
The second the door clicked shut, tears spilled over.
I didn't understand why seeing him here made me sick—or why, beneath the disgust, there was a traitorous spark of anticipation.
His touch had left me aching and ashamed.
But I didn't want this perfect, untouchable teacher to be ruined. I didn't want him to step down from the pedestal I'd put him on.
At dinner, Mr. Roland—Uncle Ethan—flirted shamelessly with Mom, his eyes flicking to me every so often with a compliment.
I smiled through gritted teeth.
Afterward, Mom went to wash dishes. I tried to escape, but he stopped me.
"Vivian."
He patted the couch beside him. My body moved on autopilot as I sat down.
Then he yanked me into his lap.
His arms locked around me, crushing me against him. His cologne was different—stronger. Had he put it on just for her?
A bitter pang twisted in my chest. His hand slid up my thigh.
Summer clothes were too thin. Even through the fabric, his touch burned.
"Uncle Ethan—"
I wanted to shove him away. But part of me ached for it.
The shame was suffocating. He smirked, fingers slipping under my shirt.
Mom was still in the kitchen, clueless.
Even if she knew, she wouldn't care.
"We can't—"
I pushed him back. He licked his lips, finally letting go.
I fled to my room, face on fire, and collapsed onto the bed.
The two versions of Mr. Roland didn't make sense. The kind, patient teacher who helped me with math was nothing like the man who'd just tried to undress me.
But maybe this was the real him.
Around ten, Mom brought me a glass of milk. The second she left to take a towel to Mr. Roland—now in the shower—I dumped it into the potted plant.
She came back, pleased to see the empty glass, and reminded me to finish my homework and sleep early.
Tonight would be hell. Without the drugged milk, I had to fake sleep to survive whatever came next.
At eleven, I turned off the lights and shut my eyes.
My heart pounded. I gripped the sheets as the door creaked open.
His cologne filled the room.
The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed over me.
"Vivian?"
I stayed perfectly still, playing dead. Thank God for the dark—he couldn't see my eyelids trembling.
His warm breath brushed my neck. Goosebumps prickled my skin as my body betrayed me.
He pulled me against him. Then I felt it—the hard, scorching heat pressed between my thighs.
The bed groaned softly.
In the shadows, desire hung thick in the air.
When the last study period rolled around, I dragged my books to his office. He'd already cleared a spot for me. I sat beside him, close enough to catch the faint scent of his laundry detergent, as he walked me through the functions I kept messing up.
"What's wrong?"
His voice was soft, almost tender, like a breeze brushing over my skin.
My face burned. The ghost of his touch still lingered, setting my nerves on fire. I twisted the hem of my shirt and shook my head.
"I didn't get it, sir. Can you go over it again?"
He did. I forced myself to listen, to focus—anything to keep my thoughts from spiraling.
When the session ended, I mumbled a goodbye and walked home, my backpack weighing me down more than usual.
My mind was chaos. Sitting that close to him, breathing in his scent, had sent my imagination into overdrive. My skin tingled, my pulse raced, and a restless heat coiled low in my stomach.
Mom was still up when I got back, laughing with someone in the living room.
Another guest.
I didn't care who it was. My head was too full of Mr. Roland.
"Vivian, you're home! Come say hi."
I dragged my feet forward—then froze.
There, sprawled on the couch with that same damn smirk, was Mr. Roland.
My stomach dropped.
"This is your Uncle Ethan. Aren't you going to greet him?"
Mom nudged me. I swallowed hard, forcing the words out.
"Hi, Uncle Ethan."
Then I bolted to my room.
The second the door clicked shut, tears spilled over.
I didn't understand why seeing him here made me sick—or why, beneath the disgust, there was a traitorous spark of anticipation.
His touch had left me aching and ashamed.
But I didn't want this perfect, untouchable teacher to be ruined. I didn't want him to step down from the pedestal I'd put him on.
At dinner, Mr. Roland—Uncle Ethan—flirted shamelessly with Mom, his eyes flicking to me every so often with a compliment.
I smiled through gritted teeth.
Afterward, Mom went to wash dishes. I tried to escape, but he stopped me.
"Vivian."
He patted the couch beside him. My body moved on autopilot as I sat down.
Then he yanked me into his lap.
His arms locked around me, crushing me against him. His cologne was different—stronger. Had he put it on just for her?
A bitter pang twisted in my chest. His hand slid up my thigh.
Summer clothes were too thin. Even through the fabric, his touch burned.
"Uncle Ethan—"
I wanted to shove him away. But part of me ached for it.
The shame was suffocating. He smirked, fingers slipping under my shirt.
Mom was still in the kitchen, clueless.
Even if she knew, she wouldn't care.
"We can't—"
I pushed him back. He licked his lips, finally letting go.
I fled to my room, face on fire, and collapsed onto the bed.
The two versions of Mr. Roland didn't make sense. The kind, patient teacher who helped me with math was nothing like the man who'd just tried to undress me.
But maybe this was the real him.
Around ten, Mom brought me a glass of milk. The second she left to take a towel to Mr. Roland—now in the shower—I dumped it into the potted plant.
She came back, pleased to see the empty glass, and reminded me to finish my homework and sleep early.
Tonight would be hell. Without the drugged milk, I had to fake sleep to survive whatever came next.
At eleven, I turned off the lights and shut my eyes.
My heart pounded. I gripped the sheets as the door creaked open.
His cologne filled the room.
The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed over me.
"Vivian?"
I stayed perfectly still, playing dead. Thank God for the dark—he couldn't see my eyelids trembling.
His warm breath brushed my neck. Goosebumps prickled my skin as my body betrayed me.
He pulled me against him. Then I felt it—the hard, scorching heat pressed between my thighs.
The bed groaned softly.
In the shadows, desire hung thick in the air.
End of Forbidden Lesson in Mother’s Bed Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to Forbidden Lesson in Mother’s Bed book page.