At 3 AM, no one is on the campuses of any Catholic school. At 5 am, the kitchen staff and janitorial stuff and perhaps the dean will come in early to check on things and make sure the school is prepared for the day of classes and teenage girl drama.  But at 3am, there is not a soul in the school or even in the parking lot.

Jack does not park in the parking lot, instead he parks down the road and then walks in the still-darkness. He left a window open in his office, so he could easily shimmy through and get inside. He didn't know how Catherina planned to get inside, but he could swear that he could smell her cheap perfume. It's the kind of perfume that sticks to things and leaves a trail for any old boy to follow.

The school is dark, the only light is the creeping moonlight that streams in through the high windows that kiss the ceiling.

His hands are sweating and his knees are shaking as he climbs the stairs to reach the 3rd floor. He walks unevenly, nervous but excited out of his mind. He doesn't know what Catherina has planned, but he has hopes that she thinks similar to him.

He has trouble finding the bathroom, and he repeatedly checks his watch. At 3:08 he finally finds the bathroom. The door is ajar, and he can smell that beautiful and wretched scent.

He sees her.

She's sitting on the floor, her legs spread. She's in her school uniform, and that somehow makes her more delicious. He sits across from her, and he can see a glimpse of pink cotton underwear. There's some sort of pattern on it. Flowers? Snowflakes? Butterflies? He's not sure, his vision is slightly blurred from the darkness.

Catherina's legs fall to the floor, and she snakes a hand along her stomach up to her breast, which she squeezes.

Jack swallows.

Her other hand moves to the top of her skirt, and she slips her fingers under the plaid and teases the elastic band of her panties.

"Watch me." She says, biting her chapped lip.

And Jack watches.

He can hear the sound, he can see her movement and hear her ragged breathing. He watches her head loll back and her long eyelashes flutter. She moans, and he grunts in return. It's almost too much for him.

When she's done she slinks over to him like a panther, her tale swishing the floor. Her hand, still wet, unbuckles his belt.

From there it's his turn to moan.