Arabella: Why? Would you like to join me? Or are you just checking up on me because you like me?
She’s feisty. And I love it. I tap back my response and hit send.
Elian: I’d like to make sure you’re safe. I may not be a nice man, but there are times I consider myself a level-headed adult.
I don’t have to wait long, because the moment it shows delivered, there are dots that dance along the bottom of the screen. I’m tense, holding onto my phone waiting for her message to come through. I haven’t truly allowed myself to do anything as stupid as this for so many years.
I may not be that old, but sometimes, it feels like I’m in my forties. At thirty, I’m at times shocked that I don’t do what I’m sure most men my age do—sleep around with pretty girls who taunt and tease.
Arabella: I wouldn’t call you level-headed, perhaps more … grumpy and rude. And why would you care if I’m safe?
That’s the million-dollar question, sunshine, I think to myself. She’s only a student in my class, but I feel as if I’m invested in her. As if she’s mine to keep safe, she’s mine to look after. But it’s purely instinct on my part. I’m not responsible for her, but I just seem to want to be.
Elian: I’m straightforward, not rude. I’m serious, not grumpy. I don’t know why I want to keep you safe. Perhaps I’m also losing my mind.
The raw honesty in my words scrapes at the inside of my chest. It makes no sense, but I admit how I’m feeling. She’s one of the only people in this world who will get any form of honest emotion out of me. The other being my brother.
Arabella: Is that a show of emotion on your part, Mr. Donati?
I don’t know how to respond. If I say yes, she’ll only think she’s the one in control. And that’s not how this plays out. I’m the one who will take control of this situation. If she wants to play this game with me, I’m the rule master, and she’ll be the pawn.
Elian: Emotions are for people who feel something. I don’t feel. I merely calculate, ensure that what I’m doing will have a positive outcome.
Arabella: And I’m guessing you’re probably lying in bed, messaging me early on a Saturday morning instead of waking up beside a hot woman?
Elian: Who I wake up beside is none of your business.
Arabella: I beg to differ. Because I have a feeling you’d like to be waking up next to me, Mr. Donati. And don’t deny it. I’ve seen how you look at me.
Her message has my body responding, and it has my cock hard. The thought of feeling her silky skin beneath my fingertips is racing through my mind. I can’t help but picture her body bowing as an orgasm takes hold of her. I want to hear her sounds, listen to her beg for mercy, but I’ll deliver none.
Arabella: Did I get that right?
I smile.
I tap out a response.
I hit send.
And then I turn my phone off before we can continue this all weekend. Because I know I could. Her fiery nature has me wanting to talk to her all day every day. She’s mature beyond her nineteen years.
But for now, we’ll stop the game.
13
Arabella
Monday freaking morning.
I didn’t hear anything back from Elian after his message. I’ve been thinking about it, then rethinking about it, and then driving myself crazy. I’ve considered what he said. It’s the only thing I’ve thought about all weekend. And even yesterday, as I wrote my paper for history, I couldn’t shake the thought of seeing Elian in class today.
I didn’t respond to his last message from Saturday morning. But I have read it over and over again, and each time I did, I tried to pick apart our text conversation. It’s strange to even think it, let alone want it, but as I get dressed, I can’t deny there is something appealing about having an older guy crush on me.
I pick up my phone and scroll to his message again. The only reason I do it is to light the fire that rages inside me.
Elian: Don’t flatter yourself, sunshine. You may burn bright, but I’m not blinded by your rays.
I’m not sure why it got to me so much. Perhaps he did it because he wanted to annoy me. Maybe he enjoys seeing me squirm. But I plan to make sure he’s the one who’s barely holding onto his restraint when I walk into his class today.
As I pull on my skirt, I make sure it’s as short as I can get away with at school. Then I slowly run the tights up my legs until they stop just under the hemline. The white button-up is paired with a bright red bra underneath, which shows off my B-cup breasts.
As soon as I step foot in history today, I’m going right to his desk, and I’m going to tell him exactly what I think of him. Frustration burns through me that we can’t be together publicly, not yet anyway. I thought we were making headway with the texts, but then he disappeared, and he didn’t say anything more.
Grabbing my hair tie, I get my long hair over my shoulder, and my fingers move swiftly, braiding the thick, shiny locks almost all the way to the tips before looping the tie a couple of times.
Slipping my feet into my black boots, I tie the laces before I grab my backpack, along with my phone and keys. Even though I usually leave my phone at home, I’m going to need it after school because the plan is not to come home but to go to the Donati house with Ahren.
I can’t stop smiling. For the first time in a while,
