He’s tall—even leaning against the edge of a spare desk his height is impressive. His dark grey trousers fit like a glove, unmistakably made to measure. With the collar of his white cotton shirt left open, he’s aiming for relaxed andapproachable. I’m not sure he realizes, or maybe he does, but somehow it only makes him even more attractive.
I miss when his attention shifts to me—I’m still caught up admiring his hands. But maybe that’s a good thing. It gives me a chance to feel his focus settle on me, and from that alone, I already know—his eyes are going to be spellbinding. Life changing.
Using the chance to shore up similar techniques I use when having to interact with Brody, I slip into an altered version of Simona Vanderling. And it is just as well, because as I trail my eyes slowly up his body and then I study his features, I can feel myself responding on every level to and at him.
Taking a leap of faith, and testing my control, I look into his eyes. Deep into them.
I knew it would be as poetic as meeting Rye, and I’m thankful I prepared myself because how I hold the mask of indifference when all my insides ripple in realignment, I’ll never know. His eyes are vibrant green, like the electric, vivid green of a peacock’s feather. With dark eyelashes, and mixed with his deep tan, the green shimmers in the light.
My eyes fly back to the paper on my desk, but in my mind, I’m still locked in his gaze.
And then he takes a step towards me. I can feel him come closer. I see him in my peripheral vision, and I don’t have enough time in this lifetime or the next to ready myself. He squats next to my desk, and I clench my teeth hard so I don’t whine in protest—or in encouragement.
He pushes the Unity supplied scent blocking spray into the middle of my desk, making it impossible to ignore. “You missed me introducing myself to the class. Your usual professor was in a car wreck and is out of action for the rest of the semester. I was telling everyone, I’m not a teacher, but I have a passion for photography.”
“Okay,” I answer without looking at him.
I feel bad, but I just need the opportunity to bolster my defences for a few extra seconds.
“I take it you’re Simona Vanderling?” he asks, and his voice soothes the newly acquired jagged edges on my most private parts.
His voice carries the faintest hint of playful teasing. I wish I could meet his gaze so he’d see that I’m laughing with him, but I’m frozen—locked in place like a statue, eyes fixed on the assignment he left on my desk. Out of necessity.
“You know you’re going to have to look at me eventually. I promise I won’t bite.”
My lips pull, and I only manage to keep my giggle to myself, but he’s not finished his gentle teasing. Inappropriateness be damned. We’re more than teacher and student, besides he just said he wasn’t a teacher.
He taps his finger on the top of my desk as he speaks. “Can you imagine the coronary Omega Mother Beatrice would have if she saw her most capable, and favourite, student this year unable to even look at the substitute teacher, who isn’t really a teacher?”
I bite my lip.
And perhaps it was the wrong move, because he hisses under his breath, then stands and turns away. With his back to me, he addresses the class, outlining the task.
The longer he speaks, the more settled I become. By the end of his outline, I’m watching him, and waiting for the instant he turns to face me. It’s as monumental as the first time, but now I pine for his attention instead of hiding from it in shock.
The smile that breaks over his lips as he faces me is the type of smile that is undoubtedly about to test my panties. My pussy throbs in time which each step he takes. I have to openmy legs slightly to relieve the smouldering pressure, or I’ll be rubbing them together in messy desperation.
He walks to the front of my desk, and if I ever had any doubt about whether he could similarly feel anything between us, the way he subtly kicks my feet back together, closing my legs, is the answer I need.
“Again, I’m sorry I was late. I missed your introduction,” I manage. Although manage is a stretch, talking with him is as easy as breathing. Clearly, thinking is outside of what I can manage, though.
“We’ve done introductions already.”
He moves, intentionally placing himself between me and the rest of the class. Then he leans on my desk—near enough that his breath fans against my cheek, cementing the undeniable truth: he is mine.
“While we’re here, you will call me Mr. Torres, or Hendrix like everyone else.” He dips down lower, his words meant just for me. “One day, outside of here I want to hear you moan my name. Now be a good girl and use some more of that spray Unity so generously provides before you start on your assignment. I’d hate to have to ask you to stay behind after class.”
“Yeah, I’d hate that too, sir.”
I literally slap my hand over my mouth, stopping me from saying another freaking word.
But it doesn’t stop him. “Four minutes. And in that time, you’ve already learned how to push my buttons. Keep up being a brat, and I’m sure I’ll come up with something that will fit the crime.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Torres.”
We’re both saved by another student. He moves to them without hesitation, but my awareness of him doesn’t waver. What I get as I completely eavesdrop on his conversation with her is a kinship of sorts. Just like me, he has theseopposing forces inside of him, and I could say the same about Brody, but Brody hides his and still does. Hendrix has shown me already who he is. And as for me, I’m only finding out.
An abrupt knock at the door snaps me back to reality.
