More claps and whistles erupt but fade just as quickly when Mr. Harrington begins handing out quizzes.
Once he's handed out the last one, he stalks over to my desk and leans down, handing me my book. "If leaving this in my classroom is some kind of rebellious act, then it just means you'll be spending more time with me."
Fuck. I glance around to see who might be listening, but everyone is head down reading or completing their work, and I let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you," I tell him, reaching for the small book. "I'm sure my parents wouldn't be happy if I were to lose it."
Pulling his arm back, his brows furrow in what appears as confusion. "This wasn't some ploy to get out of schoolwork?"
"What?" I ask a little too loudly, and some of my classmates shush me. I ignore them, turning a stern gaze on the teacher, offended he'd even consider I'd do something like that. "No, of course not."
His body relaxes as though me trying to get out of schoolwork was such a burden for him. He thumbs through the pages and says, "This is a five-thousand-dollar book, I'd expect you'd get in quite some trouble if it were lost. You may want to consider an ebook for the rest of the class."
His knowledge of the book's value doesn't surprise me, as an English Lit teacher, but the way he appreciates holding something so valuable in his hand, like its worth its weight in gold, says a lot about him.
My parents could quickly drop five-grand in an hour without a second thought, and they wouldn't give a shit about this book. Not like I do and most definitely not the way Mr. Harrington does.
He presents it to me once again, and I grip the edge, but he doesn't let go. Our eyes lock. Everything around me goes silent; papers rustling, the low chatter of students exiting the room as they finish their quizzes, and even the appreciative stare I'm getting from Quinn, all of it moves to the back of my mind.
In my world, at this very moment, is only Mr. Harrington and me.
Chapter Six
Winston Asher Harrington
Never has a student made me react the way I am now. Her brown eyes peer into my very soul. Leaving me feeling vulnerable and speechless. Tutoring her is going to be a challenge for that very reason. I'm not sure why I'd even suggested it. I could take the money her parents offered, but that's not ethical, and I don't need the money.
I genuinely feel this young woman has talent, but there's a strong possibility someone like her, a society child, would never need anything I can teach, other than forcing her to work hard and earn her grade.
Releasing the book, I give her one last reminder, "Don't forget, today after class, is our first session."
Her lips part as if she's about to say something, but she must change her mind and nods instead. I acknowledge her by tapping her desk with my fingers then head back to the front of the class, where I can hide my traitorous dick behind my desk before anyone notices her effect on me.
The rest of the class time goes by quickly.
On occasion, I'd chance a glance at Harlyn. I tell myself it was to make sure she was reading, but deep down, I know it's more than that. There's something about her pulling me in. Something different, I just can't put my finger on it. I'd love to put fingers on all of her.
Yesterday when I'd dropped the tutoring suggestion, and she'd called me sir, I was sure my composure would be lost. The innocent way it had rolled off her lips started a chain reaction of need I should never feel about one of my students.
I'm not into hard-core BDSM or anything even at the intermediate level, but I've dabbled a little and enjoy watching. I expect her use of the title set off desires I hadn't realized were lurking just below the surface in the back of my mind. It makes me wonder if I should reconsider tutoring her. No, I'm a professional. I've been dealing with students for four years. Some of whom have been incredibly attractive and aggressively interested in me, but I was able to resist their advances. I can surely control myself around an introvert such as Harlyn.
The afternoon bell buzzes, pulling my attention from my thoughts, and I realize I've been staring at her the entire time. Luckily the classroom is almost empty. The only stragglers are students who were still reading but now closing up their books and gathering their things to leave.
Quinn leans in and says something to Harlyn that makes her cheeks tint before she picks up her things and saunters past my desk.
I have ways of making her blush like that. It entails having her strip naked, right here in the classroom. Maybe, while I sit and watch, then once her cheeks are the perfect shade, I'd bend her over the desk, flip her skirt up over her back, and smack her ass until her bottom cheeks were the same color. Fuck! Asher, get your fucking mind out of the gutter. She's your student.
"Have a good evening, Winston," Quinn says, pulling my attention away from her friend as she exits through the door. Her grin is as wide as her face.
I rub a hand through my hair. Hoping it serves as a distraction from the inappropriate thoughts playing on my mind. When I finally focus back on the classroom, there's only Harlyn and myself left.
I look at her, and she back at me, my dick twitches. I need to get my reaction under control. Closing my eyes for a moment and thinking rational non-sexual thoughts, I'm able to control the adrenaline coursing through me enough that I can move around to the front of the desk and sit on its edge.
