When Elian returns, he’s holding a glass of white wine. “Something light, and you’re only allowed one,” he tells me in an authoritative tone, which makes me smile. I can’t believe I’m here, in his house, having a drink with him. It feels slightly surreal.
“Thank you.” I take a sip of the chilled liquid, and a burst of citrus flavors takes hold. It’s delicious, and I tell him so. “This is a really good wine.”
“And you’re an expert, little deviant?” he teases before tipping the tumbler he refilled and swallowing the honey-colored alcohol.
“Not an expert, but I know enough about the world of alcohol and drugs to last me a lifetime,” I admit. Even though he’s my teacher and I should probably not tell him all of this, I have a feeling my file already has the information I’m about to spew. “I’ve done bad things as a teenager, rebelled because of the world I grew up around, but I’m not … bad.”
Elian regards me with a look that leaves me breathless. His shrewd, narrow gaze holds me in place, as if he’s trying to gauge if I’m telling the truth or not. For a long while, we stare at each other in silence before he speaks.
“Tell me about the night you got plastered across the media,” he says as he settles in one of the armchairs, resting his left ankle over his right knee.
“I don’t—”
“I want to know what your version of the story is,” he interrupts. So, he has read everything in my file.
“I was drunk, we were out partying, and things got messy. The night before, I was called into my father’s office like I was one of his colleagues. He and my mother agreed that I would be sent away. A wayward teenager out of control. I was angry, and I did something stupid. It was a mistake I will not be repeating ever again.”
Even though that’s only part of the story I’m comfortable telling, Elian nods as if he’s satisfied with my recollection. He sips his drink and continues staring at me.
“Now tell me the truth,” he says suddenly. Leaning back in the chair, he grins when my mouth opens, then closes. “You can’t lie to me, and you can’t withhold information. If we’re going to do this, you need to be honest. I have to know all those dark, little secrets you keep hidden behind those pretty, gray eyes.”
“The past is just that,” I tell him. “It’s something I’ve walked away from. Surely that’s something you can understand.” A glint of frustration sparks in his stare, the blue reminding me of the ocean, deep and endless.
“Take off your dress,” he orders suddenly, taking the topic of conversation away from my past and knocking it right into the present. He glowers when I don’t immediately obey. “I don’t like repeating myself.”
I set the glass down, never breaking eye contact with him. Slowly, torturously, I tug the hem up to my thighs. The higher it inches, the darker those cerulean orbs turn, and as the dress hitches past my hips, they’re almost black. His pupils dilate, and I can hardly see the endless pools.
Once the dress is over my head, I drop it at my feet onto the soft, plush carpet. Elian’s appraising gaze trails over me, from my hair, down my shoulders, over my breasts. And then slowly down my stomach, which has hummingbird wings fluttering wildly inside as he lowers his stare until he reaches my panties.
A rumble vibrates in his chest. He lifts his drink, taking a long swallow before lowering the glass and setting it on the table in front of him. When he rises to full height, he takes a step toward me, but he doesn’t come close enough to touch.
Silently, he shoves his hands in his pockets before a small grin forms on his face. “On your knees,” he finally speaks, the words booming around me even though he hasn’t said it loudly. My nerves take hold as I slowly lower to my knees. This time, he gifts me a full, megawatt smile when he takes me in. “Are your panties getting wet, deviant?”
I nod, even though I know it’s going to get me into trouble. Taunting the monster that lurks beneath those pretty, blue eyes is what I do best. Why change the habit now?
“I’m sure your clit is throbbing at the anticipation of what I’m going to do to you. Before I even touch that tight cunt, I’m going to see how good you are with your mouth.” As he speaks, I watch as his hands move to the buttons of his shirt. Each one released from its confines. Once they’re all loose, he shrugs off the material, allowing it to flutter to the floor.
His body is exquisite. Toned with dips and peaks that make my mouth water. He’s not overly chiseled, but he doesn’t need to be because every inch of him is pure muscle. This isn’t a boy. This is a man.