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“Oh, I can’t pick just one,” she laughed.
“You must.” My chest filled with warmth at the sweet, tinkling sound of that laugh.
“That’s so cruel!” Her laugh became more fervent, more excited. My cheeks hurt as I smiled indulgently, watching her walls begin to crumble. “I suppose if I had to pick only one, though, it would be Jane Eyre.”
“A solid choice,” I said, nodding firmly. “Excellent, really. You know…” I twisted my lips to the side, giving her a look that told her I definitely shouldn’t be telling her what I was about to. Over the years, I’d learned the right words, the perfect tone, the subtle expression, that would twist these girls into the exact mold of what I wanted them to be. “Never mind.”
“What?” she asked, clearly curious.
I watched her for a moment longer and sighed, resigned. “I might know where to find an early copy of Jane Eyre.”
Madeline didn't share my love for books, but I'd been surprised when she hadn't tried to take my collection from me out of spite. She saw no monetary value in the old, worn books I cherished, so it shouldn't have been a shock.
"Just a bunch of dusty classics," she'd sneered. "Who even reads those anymore?"
But little did she know, the girl sitting in front of me read them. The girl sitting in front of me loved them.
I didn't believe in God or a higher power, but moments like this made me second guess myself. What were the chances that Winnie's favorite novel was one currently sitting in a box in my shitty apartment?
She perked up, straightening in her seat. “Really?” she asked, sounding so hopeful that it made my dick ache in its cage, as if it wanted to batter against the metal bars, begging to be set free. Begging to swell.
Would she sound like that after a night of edging and I finally told her I was about to fuck her? Excited? Hopeful? Breathless?
I shook myself. Now wasn’t the time.
“I’ll bring it to you,” I said, but she shook her head as I spoke.
“I couldn’t ask you?—”
"You didn't. I offered." Her face softened at my words. The control I already had over her was intoxicating, almost overwhelming. What would happen if I toed closer to that forbidden invisible line between us?
But I couldn't, not yet. If I did, I might scare her away and lose my little fawn forever. So I had to tread carefully.
She didn’t argue with me, instead dropping her head to hide her growing smile. I couldn't see all of it, but the glimpse I caught was beyond beautiful. She tucked her hair behind her ear again, a tell I'd picked up on and could read like a book. Already, I knew her. I wanted to know more—I wanted to know everything.
Without a word, I opened the plastic bag housing the sandwich and put half on a napkin before sliding it to her. She glanced at it, then at me, and hesitantly reached for it. I watched her bring the corner to her full lips, white crumbs sticking to her lip gloss. What flavor was it? Cherry? Strawberry? Or maybe my favorite, sweet watermelon?
Whatever it was, I wanted to taste it. I wanted to lick it off her lips, swallow it down, let it absorb into my bloodstream. I wanted her in my bloodstream. I wanted to consume every fucking inch of her, devour her whole and feel her settle inside me like she was always meant to live there.
I blinked and tore my gaze from her, focusing on the sandwich before me. It felt odd, eating the other half of the same thing she was currently nibbling on. Like it somehow connected us, bound us together by an invisible string. In a twisted, macabre way, we were one.
We ate in companionable silence, the papers I needed to read and grade forgotten as I watched her. With every bite, she bobbed her head, her eyes slowly taking in every inch of the room. I wondered what she thought of it. Was it to her liking? Was it too stuffy? I knew it was for me. I wanted something homier, cozier. A place for my students to feel relaxed.
And this room didn’t feel like that. It felt like a tomb, like the ghosts of uninspired professors drained the life from what should be a temple of creativity.
Unable to hold the question in any more, I shifted forward in my chair, wiping my mouth with the palm of my hand. “What do you think of the room?”
She blinked those big blue eyes a few times, like she’d forgotten I was here. I should’ve felt insulted, but seeing her zone out made me feel…oddly protective. She trusted me enough to lower her guard completely.
I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.
“The room?” She looked around again, confused. “It’s nice? It looks like a classroom.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” I sighed, pressing my fingers into my temple.
“Professor?” It was a small, unsure voice, and a part of me loved it. Loved the honorific, loved the power that title held. But another part, a bigger part, wanted to hear her say my name.
“I haven’t had time to spruce it up, to make it feel more comfortable for you all.”
