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"Something funny, Miss Hamilton?" Mia elbows me subtly.
"Shoot your shot," she whispers. I elbow her back, my most pageant-worthy smile on my lips as I return DeLuca's gaze. He crosses his arms with an expectant look on his face. My mouth has gone dry at the sight of his sleeves riding up his tanned forearms, revealing corded muscles, veins rippling his flesh. Holy fuck, this is going to be a long semester. Wait. Does he have a fucking French accent? I give a sassy side-long glance at Mia and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
"Non, j'admire juste la vue, professeur.” I give a small shrug. His eyes narrow with a flash of trepidation. Mia's head turns in my direction so quickly that I think her neck may snap. Like others in the class, her mouth falls open in shock and confusion, then forms a disbelieving smile.
"Votre français est parfait," he responds with a quipped brow, seeming moderately confused, albeit amused.
“Oui.” I’m as dumbfounded as he is by this conversation.
I decide to behave for the rest of the class. He speaks evenly and with an air of excitement that charms me. His lecture style is less dry than I expected. I can't tell if he's arrogant or nervous and trying to appear cool when he leans against the podium with his arms crossed. Maybe he's just trying to get me to brazenly objectify him. If it's the latter, it's working. He discusses the class expectations, assignments over the coming months, as well as the final competency. If he wasn't so fucking hot, I’d be bored to tears over the level of detail he's providing. When he opens the floor for questions, several students raise their hands. Professor DeLuca looks like he was expecting the stupid questions they're asking, even though he's already answered them at least three times. I involuntarily groan in frustration, which catches his gaze again.
To cope with the torture, I get lost in a montage of imagining him behind me on the desk–me spread out on the long lecture hall desk with my fingers gripping that dark brown hair–and me under his desk. Mia kicks me in the shin and I wince.
"For the love of God, can you fucking sit still?" She stares straight ahead and talks out of one side of her mouth. DeLuca smirks at me. Why is he looking at me like that? My face heats. Good thing I didn't wear blush today since I didn't fucking need it. Fifteen additional agonizing minutes pass, and I have my thighs clamped so tightly that they're beginning to ache. I believe he's stalling just to bask in my desperation to get out of here. Finally, he dismisses class, and the second I stand up, I feel just how soaked he has me. I need to go home and take a long, cold shower. Maybe a hot one so I can practice burning in hell. I'm still packing up as Mia is bolting out the door.
"I have to run to get ready for the start of rush week tonight. I'll see you at home, Liv."
"You’re fucking leaving me?" I whisper-hiss into the void as she leaves before I fully get the sentence out.
I’m finally packed, and despite my previous need to get out of here, I linger and find I’m alone with the devil himself. His eyes are on me. I feel them burning a hole through the back of my head. Giving myself a silent pep talk, I will myself to pretend I have a shred of confidence and dignity left in my body.
"Oh, Miss Hamilton?" he calls, just as I'm about to cross into the hallway. My steps falter, but I do not twist to face him. I don't want to give him the satisfaction yet. "Au revoir.”
Just like that, an obsession is born.
Chapter Two
Tomas
Idon'tneedtoremove my gloves to know my knuckles are bleeding. I expected this week to play out just as it did. Freshmen are the unruliest, most arrogant and ungrateful students there are. They don't fucking listen. Class kept me an additional ten minutes over information that was clearly in the syllabus. More concerning was that I didn't necessarily mind. I didn't mind as long as it bought me time in front of her.
The stunning, witty firecracker sitting in the center of the room was the perfect height and distance from me to cause every coherent thought in my head to take an extended vacation. Compared to the rest of the class, she stuck out like a Vogue model, dressed like this was a fashion shoot and not a class that would hold labs weekly. Her messy black curls cascaded down her back. It was so artfully constructed that I'm sure it took an hour to perfect with the sole intention of making me imagine how they would look sprawled out on my bed.
Then, realization dawned where I recognized her: James Hamilton's daughter. The outfit suddenly made more sense. I'm positive she has an image to uphold as the dean's darling daughter. Maybe she had to constantly dress for a photoshoot. Given her father’s position, she was undoubtedly the center of attention around here. Frankly, I don't mind what she wears to labs as long as she wears those goddamn pants again. The image of her walking out of my classroom in those tight leather pants is practically branded in my mind, securing her a spot in my fantasies.
Those soft curls have plagued me all week, too. The amount of thoughts that resulted in my fist wrapped around my cock was unsavory, one that I didn't care to admit to myself or anyone else. My body is tense with nervous pent-up energy that was going to get me in trouble again. I need to find a hobby. Something has to douse the flames.
The gym has always been my haven. It's the one place I have all the control and discipline over myself that I need. This week surfaced emotions I hadn't felt in years. After the incident with Vanessa was over, ousting me out of my hopes of tenure track and a fully funded oncology lab, I settled down, avoided temptation, and put in the work. I've spent two grueling years sitting on committees that I couldn't care less about. I just have to prove myself to one fucking guy. That's it. One fucking guy has to be in my court, and as luck would have it, that someone is the father of the only student to capture my attention.
Every time I averted my eyes, tried to focus elsewhere, I found my eyes searching for hers. At one point when I found them, I did a double take, sure that what I thought I saw wasn't what I actually saw. There would be no way Bennington's proverbial princess would grind her pussy against the chair while staring at me, right? Because that's what it looked like to me, garnering my attention really fucking quickly. When her friend, the cute blonde, kicked her hard enough that I heard the impact from the podium, the fun really began. She knew she was guilty as she glanced away, and a pink hue, pretty enough to rival the most breath-taking sunset, spread on her high cheekbones.
The door opens, and my eyes snap to the threshold as Olivia's friend from class walks in, blonde hair piled up to the heavens in the tallest bun I've ever seen. What the hell is she doing in the faculty gym? Halfway to a treadmill, surprise registers in her eyes as she takes in my tired body, slumped against the punching bag. She gives a terse smile and waves, continuing on to her treadmill and immediately picking up an impressive pace. When I hear the door for a second time, I immediately have the overwhelming urge to rip off my gloves and punch the bag. I need to punish myself for the pathetic way my heart drops out of my chest in hopes I would see her. It had been a week, and I was weak, despite my need to not fuck up the second chance I graciously have at Bennington. Fuck, was she tempting, though.
Olivia strolls in, walking right by me. Her shorts are impossibly tiny. I'm surprised that they keep her firm, round ass contained. She grabs a couple of thirty-pound plates, racking them on the Olympic-sized barbell with ease. No warm up. No nonsense. She's all business, and I feel the panic bone-deep when I realize she’s not flopping onto the bench for a set of bench presses.
God, I know I've fucked up in life, but what, for the love of Christ, did I do to deserve this level of temptation? I might as well be Adam in the garden, biting the goddamn apple myself.
She adjusts the bar and hitches slightly, distributing the weight evenly across her shoulders. She sinks into the squat, perfect form and muscles clenched, giving me an unrestricted view of her toned body. As petite as she is, I wouldn't have expected her to lift as heavily as she does. Olivia finishes the first set of ten, shaking out her arms as she retrieves two plates to add to the bar. Her eyes widen in alarm when she sees me, but it's too late. She trips over my shoe, gravity tumbling her and the weights forward. I grab her just in time to avoid her forehead clipping the side of a row of racked weights.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry.” Her eyes are wide with shock, and I'm not sure if it's from seeing me or if she feels the same electric current that I feel pulsing through me as I hold her.
"You're sorry? Why are you apologizing to me?" I say incredulously.
She claws her way out of my arms, and I hate how I enjoyed feeling her in them.
"I didn't see you sitting there. I'm so sorry."
"So you've mentioned. I didn't mean to scare you, Miss Hamilton.”
