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olderwomenenthusiast · 2 months ago

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the games we play (melissa schemmenti)

PAIRING: melissa schemmenti & fem reader DESCRIPTION: you and melissa play this game where you constantly mess with each until one day you take it too far CAUTION: flirting, lingering touches, thigh riding, oral, teasing, sex in the classroom, swearing WORD COUNT: 4.2k AUTHOR'S NOTE: SHE'S SO DAMN FINE MASTERLIST

The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, the air thick with the familiar scent of burnt coffee and old textbooks. From the hallway, the distant chatter of students leaks through the walls, mingling with the occasional squeak of sneakers against linoleum. But none of that really matters.

Because she’s here.

Melissa Schemmenti.

Leaning against the counter, one hip cocked, stirring sugar into her coffee like she’s got all the time in the world. The steam curls lazily from her cup, and for a second, you just watch her - how the sleeves of her blouse are pushed up to her elbows, how her hair catches the light in deep, warm waves. You should say something. Tease her, like always. But for once, you’re caught up in looking.

Then, like she can feel your gaze, she glances up. A smirk already tugs at her lips.

“Morning,” she says, her voice rough in that way that makes your stomach tighten. Like she’s been laughing, yelling, like she’s alive.

You step into the room, closing the distance with easy confidence. Closer than usual. She notices. You can tell by the slight raise of her brow, the way she doesn’t move away.

“Morning, gorgeous,” you reply, voice smooth as honey.

She snorts, shaking her head, but you don’t miss the way her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. You reach for the coffee pot, making sure your fingers brush against hers, slow and deliberate. The touch lingers, warm and fleeting all at once.

She gives you a look over the rim of her cup. “You’re real handsy today.”

You grin, leaning against the counter beside her. “What, am I usually not?”

Melissa tilts her head, considering. “Oh, you are. But today? You’re layin’ it on thick.”

Good. That’s exactly what you wanted.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, watching her over the rim of your cup. “Maybe I’m just feeling extra affectionate.” Your voice dips lower, lazy, teasing. “Maybe I just can’t help myself around you.”

Her fingers tighten slightly around her cup, but her expression doesn’t waver. Still, you catch it, that flicker of something in her eyes.

She hums, taking another sip of coffee. “That so?”

You set your cup down, reaching out like it’s second nature. Your fingers graze the fabric of her sleeve, slow and deliberate. “You got somethin’ on your shirt,” you murmur, dragging your fingers along her arm under the excuse of brushing it off.

Melissa exhales sharply through her nose, setting her coffee down with a soft thunk. “Uh-huh,” she mutters, giving you an unimpressed look. “That even real, or you just lookin’ for excuses to touch me?”

“Can’t it be both?” you ask, tilting your head.

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You clutch your chest in mock offense. “Lucky? Melissa, sweetheart, I’m devastated. I thought you liked the attention.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real exasperation there - just something warm, something familiar. And maybe, just maybe, something else, too.

You decide to push just a little further. You shift, stepping into her space, close enough that the scent of her perfume, something warm and subtly spiced, mixes with the coffee in the air.

“If I’m layin’ it on too thick, tell me to stop.” Your voice is softer now, the teasing still there, but edged with something real.

Her eyes flick to yours. She doesn’t step back.

She doesn’t tell you to stop.

And damn if that doesn’t make you want to push even more.

The late afternoon sun slants through the half-closed blinds in Melissa’s classroom, painting long golden streaks across the desks. The air is thick with that familiar end-of-the-day warmth. The scent of dry-erase markers, old textbooks, and the lingering traces of coffee. Outside, the distant sounds of students laughing and teachers chatting in the hallway weave through the quiet hum of the school winding down.

But in here? It’s just you and her.

Melissa sits at her desk, red pen in hand, flipping through a stack of papers with a look of mild disapproval, almost like the answers offend her personally. She doesn’t acknowledge you right away, though you know she clocked you the second you walked in.

You lean against the edge of her desk, deliberately encroaching on her space. Close enough to see the crease in her brow, the way her fingers tap idly against the paper.

“Don’t you got your own classroom to loiter in?” she mutters, eyes still on the page.

You smirk. “I could say the same about you in the lounge this morning.”

That gets her attention. She glances up, one brow arching. “Yeah? And what exactly was I doin’?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You stretch, letting the silence stretch with it, like you’re savoring this. “Looking at me like you were real interested in something.”

Melissa snorts, shaking her head. “You’re full of it.”

You lean in just slightly, lowering your voice. “C’mon, just admit it. You like when I flirt with you.”

That makes her pause. Not long - just a second, just enough to tell you that you’ve hit the mark. But then she exhales, shaking her head as she flips to the next page in her stack.

“I tolerate it,” she corrects. But her voice is a little too even, too practiced.

You tap a finger against your chin, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Tolerate is a step up from ‘quit it’ and ‘go be annoying somewhere else,’ so I’ll take it.”

Melissa huffs, setting her pen down. Her gaze flicks to you, sharp and assessing, like she’s trying to figure out your angle. But you don’t give her the chance.

You reach out, slow and deliberate, and flick a stray piece of lint from her sleeve. Your fingers linger just a little longer than necessary, your thumb grazing the fabric.

Her eyes flicker down to where you touched her.

And then, in a move so casual it almost feels calculated, she reaches out and flicks the collar of your shirt.

You blink, caught just slightly off guard. “Did you just --”

“You had somethin’ on it.” She shrugs, looking back down at her work, like she didn’t just turn the tables on you.

Oh. Oh, she’s playing now.

A slow grin spreads across your lips. “You know,” you murmur, shifting just a little closer, just enough that your thigh brushes against hers under the desk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re the one getting a little handsy now.”

Her fingers tighten slightly around her pen, but she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t shove you off. Instead, she lets the silence stretch between you, heavy with something neither of you are quite naming yet.

Finally, she exhales, shaking her head like she’s washing the moment away. “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

You smirk, drumming your fingers against her desk. “Yeah, but you’d miss me if I stopped.”

You push off the desk, turning toward the door, feeling her gaze still on you. You should leave it at that. Let her sit with whatever that was, let the moment hang between you like a loose thread just waiting to be pulled.

But just as you reach the doorway, she speaks.

“You shouldn’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

You pause.

Slowly, you turn your head, catching the way she’s watching you—like she’s daring you to push further. Like she wants you to.

Your smirk deepens.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you murmur, voice dripping with promise. “You have no idea what I’m ready for.”

And with that, you walk out, already planning how you’re going to push her even further tomorrow.

You don’t know what kind of game you’re playing anymore.

Maybe you started this just to get under Melissa’s skin, to push her buttons and watch that sharp, knowing smirk tug at her lips. But this morning? This morning, as you stand in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your dress - your choice very, very deliberate - you realize something.

This isn’t just about teasing anymore.

It’s about seeing how far you can go before she cracks.

So, you leave your panties in your dresser drawer. Just to see if she’ll notice. And God, you hope she does.

The school day drags, but your nerves stay electric, humming under your skin. You go about your lessons, smiling at students, making small talk in the halls, but there’s a constant awareness beneath it all. A slow, simmering heat between your legs and not just because of what you’ve done, but because of the possibility of Melissa finding out.

When the lunch bell rings, you don’t go straight to the lounge. No - she’s expecting that. You make her wait. Let her find you.

And sure enough, not ten minutes later, she does.

You’re in your classroom, leaning against your desk, flipping through a stack of papers you don’t care about. The second she steps in, you feel her before you even see her, before her voice, thick with amusement, rolls over you.

“You avoidin’ me?”

You glance up, and there she is, hip cocked, arms crossed, watching you like she’s already figured out that you’re up to something.

You smile, slow and lazy. “Now, why would I do that?”

Melissa takes a few steps closer, eyes scanning you, assessing. She doesn’t answer right away, and the tension tightens just slightly, like a rope being pulled taut.

You lean back on your hands, letting your dress ride up just a little. Not obvious - just enough that if she were looking (and she always is), she’d see the way your thighs press together.

She tilts her head. “You’re actin’ different.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Melissa scoffs, stepping into your space... close. Closer than she normally does. She plants a hand on the desk beside you, gaze dropping for just a fraction of a second.

You hold your breath.

She looks back up, and her smirk is dangerous.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice just low enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You think I don’t know when you’re playin’ a game with me?”

Your pulse kicks up. Does she know?

She watches you, waiting—like she’s daring you to admit it.

You swallow. Try to keep your voice steady. “And if I am?”

Her smirk deepens. And then, before you can process what’s happening, her hand brushes just against the hem of your dress - barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Enough to tell you that she knows.

Melissa hums, like she’s enjoying your reaction. “Careful, sweetheart,” she murmurs, fingers ghosting over your knee, the barest tease of touch. “You keep this up, and you’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

Your breath comes a little quicker now, anticipation thrumming through you. Maybe I want to.

You open your mouth - maybe to challenge her, maybe to see just how much further she’ll take this but then she pulls back.

Just like that.

She steps away, leaving you breathless, aching, and wanting.

“Lunch is almost over,” she says casually, like she didn’t just unravel you in the span of thirty seconds. “Better get back to work.”

And then she walks out.

Leaving you sitting there, heart racing, thighs pressed together, knowing damn well this game is nowhere near over.

The school day crawls by, every second stretching unbearably long. Your body is still humming from lunch, from the way Melissa had looked at you - like she knew exactly what you’d done, like she was daring you to see how far you’d take it.

And you? You’re desperate now.

The anticipation has simmered all day, winding tighter and tighter in your belly. Every time you caught her looking at you from across the teachers’ lounge, in the hallway, or - even during a staff meeting where she sat across from you, all calm and unaffected - you felt the heat lick higher, pooling low between your legs.

By the time the final bell rings and the last of the students trickle out, you’re aching.

You’re packing up, trying so hard to focus on something—anything—when you hear it.

“Let’s go.”

Melissa’s voice. Low, firm.

You turn, and there she is, standing in your doorway, looking dangerous. Arms crossed, smirk playing at her lips.

Your stomach flips.

You should ask where? You should play dumb, tease her, keep up this little game. But instead, you just swallow and follow.

Because you know where this is going.

And God, you want it to.

Her classroom is empty. The lights are dim, the last golden streaks of sunlight slipping through the blinds. The second the door clicks shut behind you, she moves.

You barely have time to react before she presses you back against the desk, her hands firm on your waist. You gasp, heart hammering, heat flooding you instantly at the closeness, at the sudden shift in her.

She’s not teasing anymore.

Melissa leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Tell me somethin’,” she murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

“I—”

Her hands tighten, fingers digging into your hips. “All day,” she continues, dragging her mouth just barely over the shell of your ear, “walkin’ around like that. Like you wanted me to find out.”

You swallow hard, thighs pressing together. “Maybe I did.”

That does something to her.

She exhales, sharp and controlled, and then she’s pulling you closer, slotting one of her thighs between your legs. The pressure is sudden, delicious, and you gasp, hands flying to her shoulders to steady yourself.

Melissa smirks. “Uh-huh. That what you wanted, sweetheart?”

You nod, dizzy with need, fingers tightening against the fabric of her blouse.

She hums, hands sliding to your waist. “Then go on.”

You barely process the command before she guides you forward, pressing you down against the solid muscle of her thigh. The friction is instant, perfect - the heat of her, the strength beneath you and your breath catches, hips rocking before you can stop yourself.

Melissa watches you, eyes dark, smirk lazy. “That’s it,” she murmurs, voice rougher now. “Take what you need.”

You whimper, grip tightening as you move. Slow at first, testing, feeling her beneath you. She lets you set the pace, lets you grind down against her, the pressure hitting just right.

And God, it’s so good.

The tension that’s been coiling inside you all day snaps tighter, heat building low in your belly with every slow, aching drag of your body against hers. Melissa’s hands stay firm on your waist, guiding, steadying.

Her voice is low, wrecked. “You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, barely able to breathe, pleasure winding so tight now.

She chuckles, breath hot against your jaw. “Of course you are. You’ve been needy all damn day.”

Her words send a fresh wave of arousal through you, your movements becoming faster, more desperate. The fabric of her slacks is damp beneath you, slick with how wrecked you are for her.

“Melissa—” you gasp, hands fisting against her shoulders. You’re close, so close it’s unbearable.

She tightens her grip, pulling you down harder, pressing her thigh up into you just right. “C’mon, sweetheart,” she rasps. “Cum for me.”

That’s all it takes.

The tension snaps, pleasure slamming through you as you break, thighs shaking, head tipping back. Your body trembles against hers, grinding down through the aftershocks as heat floods through every inch of you.

Melissa watches, completely enraptured. She doesn’t move, just lets you fall apart against her, her grip steady and sure.

When you finally still, boneless and panting, she smirks.

“Told you you’d get yourself in trouble.”

You let out a breathless laugh, forehead dropping to her shoulder.

Your body still trembles from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your thighs sticky and aching from where you rode her, your dress still bunched up around your waist, Melissa’s strong hands gripping your hips like she’s not quite ready to let you go. You should be satisfied, should be sated from the way she unraveled you so easily, but you’re not. You can still feel the heat pooling between your legs, the need pulsing low in your belly, the craving to push her past that same edge; to watch her come apart beneath you.

And you’re not about to waste this opportunity.

Before she can smirk and pull away, before she can regain that careful, controlled composure, you crash your lips against hers, pouring every ounce of hunger into the kiss. She lets out a muffled sound of surprise against your mouth, but it melts into a groan when you slide your fingers into her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head back, deepening the kiss. She tastes like coffee and something darker, richer, something entirely her, and it only fuels the fire burning in your veins.

You don’t let her take control.

Not this time.

Your hands move with purpose, gripping her waist as you press forward, pushing her back step by step until her spine collides with the nearest wall. A sharp breath escapes her, her fingers twitching against your hips, but she doesn’t fight it. If anything, you can feel the tension rolling off her, coiling like a spring beneath her skin, as if she’s waiting - daring - to see just how far you’ll take this.

You intend to take it all the way.

Your lips leave hers only to trail down the column of her throat, slow and deliberate, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the freckled skin, savoring the way she exhales sharply when you nip just below her jaw. Her pulse thrums beneath your tongue, quick and unsteady, betraying just how much she’s feeling this, no matter how composed she tries to seem.

Sliding your hands down, you make quick work of the buttons of her blouse, shoving it open with a flick of your wrists, exposing smooth skin and the curve of lace beneath. You don’t stop to admire - not yet. Instead, you drop to your knees, your mouth never leaving her body as you kiss lower, dragging your lips over her stomach, inhaling the lingering traces of her perfume, something musky and warm that only adds to the heat already simmering between you.

Melissa watches you, her breathing uneven now, her hands twitching like she wants to touch you, to thread her fingers through your hair and guide you where she needs you, but she doesn’t. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s restraint. Either way, you’re determined to break it.

Your hands find the waistband of her slacks, and with a wicked grin, you hook your fingers into both her pants and panties in one swift motion, yanking them down with no hesitation, letting them pool around her ankles. The sound she makes is quiet but sharp, a tiny hitch in her breath that sends a jolt of satisfaction through you.

And then you see just how wet she is.

Your mouth goes dry, heat coiling in your stomach at the sight of slick glistening between her thighs, proof of just how much she’s been affected by your teasing all day. You glance up, meeting her gaze, and you swear her pupils are blown wide, dark with arousal, her breath coming a little quicker now.

For once, she doesn’t have some cocky remark, doesn’t have some teasing quip. She just watches, waiting, anticipation rolling off her in waves.

You take your time, dragging your fingers along the inside of her thigh, tracing slow, lazy circles that get closer and closer but never quite touching where she needs it. Her muscles tense beneath your fingertips, her thighs twitching ever so slightly.

She exhales sharply, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk behind her. “You keep teasing like that, sweetheart,” she mutters, voice rougher now, “and you’re gonna regret it.”

You smirk against her skin, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh before finally, finally running your tongue through her folds, slow and deliberate, collecting every bit of wetness before swirling the tip around her clit.

Melissa gasps, sharp and sudden, her whole body tensing as her fingers snap up to grip your hair, holding you in place, like she needs you there, like she can’t even pretend to be unaffected anymore.

That sound alone sends a rush of arousal through you, a deep, aching need to see her fall apart completely. You repeat the motion, dragging your tongue over her again, this time flicking against her clit just a little faster, a little harder, watching the way her stomach tenses at the sensation.

“Fuck,” she hisses, her grip in your hair tightening, her hips shifting forward almost involuntarily, chasing more friction.

You hum against her, the vibration making her shudder, and then you do it again, circling her clit with the flat of your tongue before dipping lower, teasing her entrance with slow, shallow strokes.

Her breath catches.

She’s struggling—you can feel it. The way she wants to stay in control, to act unaffected, but her body betrays her with every quiet moan, every twitch of her hips, every time she curses under her breath like she’s mad at herself for giving in.

Good.

You grip her thighs, holding her steady as you press your tongue inside her, slow at first, savoring the way she clenches around you, then deeper, faster.

“Jesus --” she chokes out, her fingers tightening, tugging at your hair, her body pressing closer, needing more. “Fuck --”

Her thighs tremble around your head, her breaths coming faster now, sharper, like she’s trying to hold herself together but knows she won’t last much longer. Her control is slipping. You can feel it.

“God, don’t stop,” she groans, her voice strained, desperate, and that’s all you need.

You press deeper, tongue fucking her in perfect rhythm, drinking down every moan, every shaky breath, until

“Oh, fuck—”

Melissa shatters against your mouth.

Her body jerks, her breath catching in a strangled moan, fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair as her orgasm rips through her. You feel every tremor, every pulse of pleasure that rolls through her, her slick coating your tongue as she rides out the high.

You don’t pull away - not yet.

Instead, you keep your tongue moving in slow, lazy strokes, savoring the way she twitches, the way her thighs shake around your head, the way her hips give one last desperate roll before her body finally sags against the wall.

Only then do you ease back, letting your lips drag along her inner thigh, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses against her skin as she trembles, her breath still ragged, uneven.

When you finally lift your gaze, Melissa is wrecked.

Her head is tipped back against the wall, eyes heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted as she struggles to catch her breath. Her freckles stand out stark against the deep flush staining her cheeks, and her blouse hangs loose around her shoulders, collar askew, one strap of her bra slipping down her arm. She looks completely undone, like she’s barely holding herself together, and God, if that isn’t the most satisfying sight you’ve ever seen.

You smirk, licking your lips, the taste of her still thick on your tongue. “Cat got your tongue, Schemmenti?”

Her eyes snap open, hazy but sharp, and suddenly, her fingers are tugging at your hair, pulling you up, her grip just firm enough to make your scalp sting in the best way.

You barely have time to register it before her lips crash against yours, hungry, desperate, her tongue sweeping into your mouth like she wants to claim back every single ounce of control you just stripped from her. She groans softly when she tastes herself on your lips, her grip shifting from your hair to your jaw, thumb pressing against your chin, tilting your head just enough to let her deepen the kiss.

It’s dizzying, the way she kisses you now, like she’s making up for the fact that you had the upper hand for once, like she needs to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with.

When she finally pulls back, she exhales a rough, breathless chuckle, her forehead pressing lightly against yours. “You think you’re real cute, don’t you?”

You grin, your hands smoothing over her waist, feeling the slight tremor still running through her. “I know I am.”

Melissa huffs, but there’s no real bite behind it. If anything, there’s something softer in her gaze now, something warm flickering beneath all the post-orgasm haze and lingering cockiness.

For a moment, neither of you move. The only sounds in the room are your uneven breaths, the distant hum of the school’s ventilation, the occasional creak of the building settling. The sun has dipped lower now, casting a deep orange glow through the blinds, painting the room in long, slanted shadows.

It’s quiet. Intimate.

And then...

“You’re gonna regret that,” Melissa murmurs, her voice lower now, rough with the promise of something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.

A shiver rolls down your spine, anticipation sparking like electricity beneath your skin.

You grin.

“Oh, I hope so.”

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