Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
I feel a shiver run up my spine. Did he really just ask me that while looking at me in a way that could easily be misconstrued as…lust?
My heart is pounding, my skin tingling. I don’t know how to respond, and I know he can see what it’s doing to me. I know he can read everything about me like a book.
“I’m forty-two,” he says, breaking the tension, allowing me to breathe again as he turns away to continue with the cooking. “And you caught me. I don’t exactly need the teaching gig. I’m a bit of a nerd, deep down. Always have been. I wrote an app a few years ago, then sold it. I’m not going to be making any rich lists anytime soon, but I’m comfortable. More than comfortable, actually. But that’s a discussion for another time. The table’s already set, but why don’t you go pick some music? This won’t be long now.”
An hour later, I’m as relaxed in Max Stern’s company as I’ve ever been with another person, except perhaps Cyn. It’s like I can tell him things, like I can just enjoy being here with him. Nothing I say seems to be judged, and nor does he seem bored by tales of my life, such as they are. He’s sympathetic when it comes to the way people have treated me in my life, more sympathetic than I’d expect, not interrupting, just listening.
It’s not like he’s the teacher and I’m the student, more like I’m just someone he’s getting to know. And I like it.
“So,” I say after I’ve swallowed the last delicious mouthful of mushroom bourguignon and cheesy mash. “This was supposed to be about more than just dinner.”
“Indeed it was,” he says, his eyes gently caressing my mouth, my throat, my chest. “I believe we were talking about discipline?”
I can’t help the blush, or the sudden urge to look anywhere but into his eyes. “Y—yes,” I stutter, my fork clattering to my plate.
He nods, a little grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “You seem nervous. What do you think is going to happen here?”
What do I think is going to happen? Or what do I hope is going to happen?
Because those are two very different things.
I’m expecting some sort of homework assignment, or instructions to set an alarm, or a rota that clearly marks studying time and leisure time. But what I want is for him to take control. For him to tell me what to do. And not just with my studies, but…everything.
Every single thing.
“Stand up, Keryn,” he tells me, using that voice. The same one he used when I was outside his office. A shiver traverses my spine, but I obstinately stay where I am. And he smirks. “Bratty. That’s good.”
I gasp. I can’t help it. Did he really just call me a brat? Why is it making me tingle all over? Why do I want him to say it again? Why do I want to hear him praise me for doing well and admonish me for being disobedient?
God, this is too much. Isn’t it? My brain is racing ahead and I’m going to be disappointed.
“I should leave,” I tell him.
“I don’t think so.”
“I do.” Move, legs. Move. Why aren’t you moving? “This is wholly inappropriate.”
He laughs that throaty laugh all over again. “Wholly inappropriate? Are we in a Jane Austen novel?”
He pauses, eyes roving over my chest as if imagining me in one of those period-drama dresses that make the girl’s boobs look amazing. I think I actually have one back at home, bought from a vintage clothing fair and never worn.
“You’re right though,” he continues, “it definitely is inappropriate, Miss Brinson. I’ll make you a deal, anytime you want to leave, the door is right there. I’ll let you go. I won’t come after you. Cross my heart and hope to die, and all that.”
I don’t believe him. Would he lie?
Yes. I think he would.
He pushes his seat back and gets to his feet. “Now do as I say and stand up.”
I should go before I get myself in trouble.
He’s playing with me. This is a game, surely? Like those trust things where you fall back and hope the other person is going to catch you. There’s no way someone like him would be interested in someone like me. Especially not in the way that my mind is conjuring. This is all just a part of his whole discipline shtick.
So why not do as he says?
Shaking, I stand as he walks toward me, my mouth going dry at the thought of what he might do. The touch of his fingers on my bare arm pulls a desperate noise from my throat. I want more, but I know I shouldn’t. I mustn’t. Even fantasizing about it is so wrong. He’s my teacher, for God’s sake.