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Elian walks over to the liquor cabinet, and for a moment, I think he’s going to offer me something to drink, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pours a glass of water and brings it to the table before setting it in front of me.
“I’m intrigued by your writing,” he tells me. “You have a real talent for storytelling.”
“Thank you.” I’m still not sure why he’s invited me here; he could’ve told me this in class. But instead of pointing that out, I pick up the glass of water and take a long sip.
“Granted, this could’ve been done in class, but I like having you all to myself,” he tells me, causing the water to choke me, and I splutter all over myself.
“What?” I croak, my gaze snapping to his.
The amusement that creases his expression only annoys me. “I thought you’d like being all alone here with me.” He waves his hand in the air, but he doesn’t make a move to come closer to me. I’m thankful for that because I don’t know how I would’ve dealt with his overwhelming masculine scent and that stupid handsome face near me.
“I still don’t understand what I’m doing here talking about schoolwork?”
“The privacy allows us to talk about anything we want,” he tells me nonchalantly as he settles in the chair to watch my gawking response. “I spoke to Dawson, and he asked me to keep an eye on you because you suffered a great loss. I think you’re capable of an A in all your classes.” Elian leans forward with his arms on his thighs. “So, I think you need some private tutoring because even though you’re most certainly not a bad student, I would prefer taking a hands-on approach.” The salacious grin on his face explains why I’m here and why we’re talking about school. It’s the only way we’re going to keep this … relationship … a secret. “So, will you tell me your version of your story, or am I meant to believe what’s written in your student file?”
“My dad died two days after he and my mom told me they’re sending me out here. I was angry,” I tell him honestly. “Granted, I was never the easiest teenager. I did stupid shit to garner their attention, but for them to send me away hurt more than I ever considered.”
“All children are difficult or hard work. Parents aren’t meant to send their kids away,” he tells me earnestly. Pain flashes in his eyes, and I wonder if it’s for me or if he’s recalling something from his past.
“I lashed out. Did something I now regret. So, anything you think you’re doing to help me,” I inform him, pushing to my feet. “It’s not needed. I’m just like every other student. No special treatment is needed, and as I said before, and I will say again, I don’t expect to be treated with kid gloves.”
“Sit.” The one word is ice cold, piercing my chest with its finality. There is no room for debate from the look in his eyes, and as much as I want to fight him on it, I don’t.
Sighing, I sit down, but I don’t get comfortable. If this asshole thinks I’m some fragile little girl, he has another fucking thing coming.
“I would like to know more about you,” he says. “The night with the two men, and they were men, in their early twenties. What did you feel when you had their hands all over you?” His voice drops an octave; it’s gruff.
“Why do you want to know about that?” I challenge quickly. I don’t like talking about what I did. The past is where it needs to be—behind me. And as much as I would like someone to confide in, Mr. Donati is not the person I want to be spilling all my ugly secrets to.
“Pretty girls who do bad things are my kryptonite.” Elian’s tone turns to a husky growl, and the deep rumble sends a tingle straight between my thighs.
“Handsome men who do sinful things are my poison,” I counter, which earns me a sexy grin. “But what if I’m one of those bad girls who would most probably be very bad news for you?” I watch how his mouth tilts, how his perfectly full lips turn upward at the corners, and his eyes seem to glow with intrigue. “My addiction.”
“I doubt that, little deviant,” he says. “If I were to order you on your knees right this very second, tell you to spread your legs and settle your cunt on my shoe and rub it until you’re a whimpering mess … would you?”
The rumble of his tone turns dark, his eyes dim with a shadow, and the usually bright blue has turned into a deep, endless ocean. There is a promise in his voice, one that warns me once more to run, to turn for the door.
