beneath me in that car you felt free from whatever the hell it was that was weighing you down.”
“This is wildly inappropriate.” I throw my hand up between us, and shake my head in faux disgust. My heels clatter against the tile as I approach the door
He spins around to face me. “That’s something we can both agree on.”
“Then stop,” I command as I reach for the door handle.
“It’s wrong…” He paces toward me, “but it feels so right.”
“That’s called testosterone. It’s rushing through your blood. You’d fuck a couch if your parents were asleep in a neighboring chair.”
“I don’t live with my parents,” he says so matter-of-a-fucking-factly, as if I’m a dense log for not already knowing his entire life story. “But most of all,” he continues, “I know what I feel for you. It’s tangible and it’s real.”
“It’s wrong, and it’s not real. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” His brow arches and he steps to me, so close to pinning me against the door but he doesn’t. “I know my cock twitched when I was sitting in my seat.” He points to his seat, the seat nearest the back of the room under the light of the large windows. “I know that when you steal a glance at me, you’re lost in a memory, but you pretend as if you’re staring at a clock.” He inches closer, his body pressing against mine. “I know that every time I’ll pass you in the hall, my heart will flutter the way it’s fluttering now.” He drops a hand to my side, caressing a path down to my hips. “And maybe that makes me a pussy, but I’m a real man.” He drops his head against my neck and presses his knee between my legs. “You’re hurt and broken. So let me teach you how to live again.” And then his mouth is planted against my ear, hot breath burning against me. “I promise, it’ll be one hell of a ride.”
“Number one,” I say and push him backward, “this isn’t happening.” I travel to the center of the room, where he is no longer able to corner me. “Number two, this isn’t happening. Number three, your heart flutters?”
He scratches the back of his head, and his cheeks flush a pinkish red. “Yeah.”
“Love at first sight isn’t a thing, despite what you may read in the books or see in the movies.”
He purses his lips and shakes his head. “I never said I was in love.”
“Saying your heart flutters is practically the same thing.”
He begins to retreat away from me, stumbling backward as one foot hooks around the leg of a desk. “Yeah, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“You excite me.” His eyes glisten. “You thrill me.” His lips so bitable. “The way you provoke me with the most innocent of looks.”
“That’s not provocation. It’s embarrassment. It’s shame.”
“It’s lust.”
“Call it what you want to call it, but Webster defines this relationship as over.” I reach for the door handle one last time. “I’m your teacher. You’re my student. We don’t know each other, and we never will outside of this classroom.”
“Am I just supposed to pretend that night didn’t happen?”
“Do you not remember what you said?” I pull the door open, and gesture for him to leave. “ Whatever happens tonight won’t have had happened in the morning.”
“That was before I realized I’d be seeing you again,” he wags a finger at my face as he steps out into the hallway.
“You need to go.” I don’t wait for a response before I close the door on his face. I throw myself backwards against the door, close my eyes, and take a long, deep breath.
There’s no fucking way this ends well.
From the desk, I hear my phone vibrating against the drawer. I rush over and retrieve the phone and put it to my ear.
I grow cold, and taste the vomit rising through my throat. I collapse onto the floor, sobbing and wailing a silent wail.
* * *
I rip open the top drawer of our bedroom dresser and search
“This is wildly inappropriate.” I throw my hand up between us, and shake my head in faux disgust. My heels clatter against the tile as I approach the door
He spins around to face me. “That’s something we can both agree on.”
“Then stop,” I command as I reach for the door handle.
“It’s wrong…” He paces toward me, “but it feels so right.”
“That’s called testosterone. It’s rushing through your blood. You’d fuck a couch if your parents were asleep in a neighboring chair.”
“I don’t live with my parents,” he says so matter-of-a-fucking-factly, as if I’m a dense log for not already knowing his entire life story. “But most of all,” he continues, “I know what I feel for you. It’s tangible and it’s real.”
“It’s wrong, and it’s not real. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” His brow arches and he steps to me, so close to pinning me against the door but he doesn’t. “I know my cock twitched when I was sitting in my seat.” He points to his seat, the seat nearest the back of the room under the light of the large windows. “I know that when you steal a glance at me, you’re lost in a memory, but you pretend as if you’re staring at a clock.” He inches closer, his body pressing against mine. “I know that every time I’ll pass you in the hall, my heart will flutter the way it’s fluttering now.” He drops a hand to my side, caressing a path down to my hips. “And maybe that makes me a pussy, but I’m a real man.” He drops his head against my neck and presses his knee between my legs. “You’re hurt and broken. So let me teach you how to live again.” And then his mouth is planted against my ear, hot breath burning against me. “I promise, it’ll be one hell of a ride.”
“Number one,” I say and push him backward, “this isn’t happening.” I travel to the center of the room, where he is no longer able to corner me. “Number two, this isn’t happening. Number three, your heart flutters?”
He scratches the back of his head, and his cheeks flush a pinkish red. “Yeah.”
“Love at first sight isn’t a thing, despite what you may read in the books or see in the movies.”
He purses his lips and shakes his head. “I never said I was in love.”
“Saying your heart flutters is practically the same thing.”
He begins to retreat away from me, stumbling backward as one foot hooks around the leg of a desk. “Yeah, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“You excite me.” His eyes glisten. “You thrill me.” His lips so bitable. “The way you provoke me with the most innocent of looks.”
“That’s not provocation. It’s embarrassment. It’s shame.”
“It’s lust.”
“Call it what you want to call it, but Webster defines this relationship as over.” I reach for the door handle one last time. “I’m your teacher. You’re my student. We don’t know each other, and we never will outside of this classroom.”
“Am I just supposed to pretend that night didn’t happen?”
“Do you not remember what you said?” I pull the door open, and gesture for him to leave. “ Whatever happens tonight won’t have had happened in the morning.”
“That was before I realized I’d be seeing you again,” he wags a finger at my face as he steps out into the hallway.
“You need to go.” I don’t wait for a response before I close the door on his face. I throw myself backwards against the door, close my eyes, and take a long, deep breath.
There’s no fucking way this ends well.
From the desk, I hear my phone vibrating against the drawer. I rush over and retrieve the phone and put it to my ear.
I grow cold, and taste the vomit rising through my throat. I collapse onto the floor, sobbing and wailing a silent wail.
* * *
I rip open the top drawer of our bedroom dresser and search
Similar Books
