“History and archaeology? Isn’t that like way different?” Ryan asked.
“Archaeologists study history through physical evidence while historians study history through documented evidence, sometimes discovered by archaeologists. So, it’s not very far off. I needed a break and Winthrop Royal had the perfect opening,” he explained.
Thank God for Mrs Jones’ time off. I knew that was callous of me given I didn’t know the reason for her absence. But having Mr Sinclair as my teacher just added the cherry on top of my love for history.
“What are your likes or dislikes, sir?” another student asked.
“I like fast cars and obedience.” His smile was delicious, yet his eyes remained a dark enigma I wanted to delve further into.
Laughter hummed through the class while my thoughts were focused on who wouldn’t want to be obedient to this man. I imagined him ordering me to bend over his desk while he feasted between my thighs.Oh wow.Warmth flooded my panties.
Cut it out, girl, you’re acting like a pervert.
“What’s your favourite car?” Wes asked.
“My favourite toy is my 1941 BMWR12 motorbike.”
“Sweet ride, Mr Sinclair. My grandpa had one of those,” one of the boys called out. “Did you bring it with you?”
“I did,” he replied.
He brought his bike over. On a plane? That should cost a lot of money. He must be a Winthrop.
“And what do you do for fun, sir?” Samantha questioned, her voice all breathy again.
Tempted to kick her chair, just to annoy the shit out of her, I refrained and instead focused my attention on Mr Sinclair’s answer.
“I’m a man of certain tastes.” He crossed his arms over his chest, displaying a bulk of muscle beneath his shirt and I had a sudden recollection of his hand around my throat when he’d threatened me. I squeezed my thighs, scrunching the damp material between them. Then his eyes met mine as he added, “it all depends on what I’m in the mood for.” There was no mistaking the throaty huskiness to his words.
A tremble raced through my body making me sit up straighter in my seat, our eyes still locked in a secret conversation I had yet to understand.
The sudden peal of the bell broke the contact, and I began packing my bag. While waiting for Cian, I watched Samantha and Vanessa sidle up to Mr Sinclair, tossing their hair and giggling like two hairbrained nymphos. When they propped themselves against his table, he smiled at something Samantha said and my blood boiled.
Annoyed, I rushed Cian. “Let’s go.” My tone not exactly friendly.
“Jeez, who crawled up your ass and died,” she muttered, rising.
“We have a calculus test, remember,” I quipped, saving me from explaining my sullen mood. Shouldering our bags, we walked out together, I didn’t spare Mr Sinclair a second glance, but I did wonder how I’d get through the rest of the time the man stayed here as my teacher.
