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“I need you to stay after class, if you don’t mind.”
I look up from where I had been picking I up papers from the floor. I stayed after everyday, didn’t he know that?
“Yes, sir.” As soon as the bell rings, the class high tails it out of the room and down the hall. I make sure my belongings are tidied on the table, then turn to face the teacher.
“You wanted me to stay after, sir?” He nods, then gestures for me to come closer to him. I take a few uncertain steps, and come just within his reach. As soon as I am arm length away, he grabs my shoulder and spins me around. Before I know it, I’m pinned to the wall next to his desk, face to face with my teacher.
“S-sir?” I gasp as he sticks his nose in the divot between my collarbone and neck. He slowly slides his way up, placing small kisses as he goes. I gasp once more as his teeth graze my jaw. He comes to rest and inch from my face, his eyes searching mine.
“Are you alright?” I take a shaky breath and nod my head. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he growls in that seductive voice of his, “This either.”
He presses his lips against mine in a hungry passion. I can feel fire spread through my veins, all triggered by his lips on mine, his hand resting on my waist. He breaks away, allowing me to gasp for air. My hands had unconsciously balled themselves in his shirt, and I wrestle them free now. I blush furiously, looking anywhere but my teacher. He places a single finger under my jaw, tilting my face to meet his.
“Are you alright?” I shake my head no, then nod yes wearily.
“N-no clue.”
He chuckles the beautiful laugh he has and presses his lips to mine again. Just then, we hear a knock on the door. We break away quickly, and he slicks his hair back from where it had been messed up by my hands. I go stand by my binder at the table, pretending to look through some papers I had left out.
“Come in,” he calls, his voice no longer the sexy growl.
The person marches in the room and I can see Mrs. Smith.
“Hey,” she greets him, “I was wondering if Y/N was in here? She is supposed to come to UIL today and I never saw her leave your room.”
My history teacher looks to me and laughs.
“Yeah,” he says, “She was worried about her Texas History grade. Crazy kid. She’s making a 98. She can never stop improving.”
I blush at his praise, mumbling, “I’m just trying to get it back up to a hundred. It was that one paper with the name. Ten points. I haven’t forgotten my name, since.”
The both laugh quietly and the male smiling at me affectionately.