Cara
Mouth dry as sandpaper, I can hardly swallow. I moan and lick my lips. Great, a hangover from hell. I lick my lips again, and stagger out of bed and down into the kitchen. The hangover doesn’t help my sour mood. Guilt nips at the edges of me, sharp and raw. I’m not a nasty person. I try to be a good person, and yet last night I let my political views hurt someone.
Oh, shit! The memory of what else I did last night slams into me. Hard and hot. Making me tremble a little where I stand.
Crap! I could lose my fucking job.
Then I think of the look on Luka’s face. Something changed after the heated argument, and the even more heated kiss. When he left the pub, he looked…hollowed out. And I did that to him. I’d no right. My views are my views, and I won’t be changing them any time soon, but I should have shut up instead of going on and on. Something about Luka pushes my buttons. He doesn’t hold back either, and maybe he hurt my feelings a little with the way he clearly derides what I do at the prison. I’m touchy about it since what happened to my cousin.
I got onto a topic I’m passionate about anyway. Add in too much alcohol, and I messed up. Big time.
What if he complains about me? Somehow, I don’t think he will. He doesn’t strike me as the sort of person to do that. No, he’d be much more likely to confront me openly about it.
Maybe I should apologize? Again. But that might make things worse by dragging the whole thing up again. I swear to myself I won’t air my personal views in front of students again. And I’ll keep the professional distance with Luka I seem to have lost along the way somehow.
The thought of that kiss though. It makes my head spin more than it already is. He didn’t hesitate, or start off slow and tentative. No, Luka took what he wanted, and I gave it gladly. It lasted seconds, but it was the best kiss of my life. My stomach flutters, and so do other parts of me. I sigh and tell myself to get a grip. Nothing like it will happen again. It can’t.
I head to the fridge and pour myself a large glass of orange juice. The bliss as it coats my dry throat is epic.
Thank God, I’ve got a free period this morning. My heart sinks though, as I think about the class at the prison tomorrow. And not for the usual reason it does these days with my anxiety issues, but because I’ll have to face Luka. Then my traitorous lady bits do their little happy flutter again, and I roll my eyes at myself. Disgusted.
*****
“So, she says, yeah, but last night you didn’t sit in it.” The class guffaws as Bobby finishes his off-color joke.
I spent most of yesterday being useless, and this morning wasn’t much better. Maybe it’s because I’m coming up to my mid-twenties, but it seems I’m now cursed to suffer two-day hangovers. Seems a bit young for that to be happening, but I’ve always been old before my time in many ways. I finished university a year early. Then I did my Post-Graduate Certificate of Education with the intention of going into schools to teach, but hit it off with Laura, and she kind of took me under her wing. I got offered the job on the teaching course, and I’d already been doing volunteer hours at the prison.
A year later, some more permanent hours came up, and at the grand age of twenty-four I find myself with two teaching jobs, and the outright owner of a valuable house in the old town area of Harrogate. Although, I’d much rather not have the house, considering it took losing my parents for me to be in this position.
Still, owning it outright, and Dad’s generous life insurance policy, mean I don’t have to worry about money, and can afford to work two low paying, part-time jobs in our increasingly under-funded public sector.
I shuffle my papers and give Bobby a pointed look as he begins to tell another joke. He shuts up and looks back down to the book he’s meant to be reading.
I hope Luka doesn’t bring the events of the other night up, although he’s not here yet, so maybe he’s decided not to work with me anymore.
Going forward, we need to stop letting our views get in the way of things. I may have upset him with my views on the military, but he hasn’t exactly kept his views of prisoners to himself. The reason I do this job is highly personal. I lost my cousin after he got in with the wrong crowd, got into a mess, and ended up stealing a few cars. He was arrested and served what I thought was the ridiculously long sentence of a year. It broke something in him, and while inside, he killed himself. I always believed something happened to him in prison, but I don’t know what.
When I found out I could volunteer to teach in a prison unit as part of my teaching course, I did so. I bonded with Pete who runs the prison education program here, and he offered me a part-time job, which I snapped up. The stars aligned for me when Laura offered me the work on the teacher training course.
I loved it all, until the attack…and now I don’t know if I’m as cut out for this as I’d thought. My belief in these men deserving another chance is still rock solid, but now there’s a fear there, too. And it’s hard to do your job effectively when you are spending half your work life in a daze of anxiety.
Someone’s telling another rude joke, and I sigh. Luka still isn’t here, and I’m convinced he’s not going to turn up at all, and worse, he’ll have complained about me to Laura. Will I get in trouble for sexual harassment? Although, he’s the one who made the move on me, I didn’t stop him. Not at first.
Sat here, alone in this room, in front of these rowdy men, where I used to feel so comfortable, I’m achingly vulnerable. Mike’s right at the front of the class again, and his heavy gaze sits oily and thick on my skin.
The door to the classroom bangs open and Luka stalks in. I try not to dwell on the rush of relief, because since when did I become some damsel in distress? He’s wearing black trousers, and a white shirt. Same get up as last time, and I’ll have to tell him he can wear more casual stuff in future if he wishes to.
I stand up, and when Luka reaches my side, I clear my throat and face the group.
“Guys, you remember Luka from the other day? He’s going to help teach you from now on. Give him the same respect you do me, and one another, and there won’t be any problems.”
“We won’t pick on the student teacher, Miss. We promise,” one of the B-Wing prisoners quips. “Not with his nice shiny shoes and his nice shiny hair.”
I glance at the register to check the kid’s name, and see he’s called Paul Heron. I’m about to give Mr. Heron a piece of my mind when Luka speaks up.
“Pick on me all you like, Paul.” His voice comes out low and easy – and how the hell does he know the student’s name off the top of his head? “But if you ask me, someone with hair like yours shouldn’t be saying anything to others. People in glass houses and all that. Did you do it yourself, or your mother get the bowl out before you came in here?”
A rumble of laughter sweeps the room and Paul flushes a deep shade of red. Great! All my arduous work to get the men to treat one another with respect seems about to go down the drain.
“Anyone else got anything they want to say?” Luka strolls out amongst the men. “What about you, David?” He stops by one of the loudest students, who often causes disruption.
David snorts and shrugs. He stares belligerently at Luka’s chest, not meeting his gaze.
“You like my shirt? You’re staring at it like you do.”
“No.” David huffs.
“Oh, so you don’t like my shirt. What’s wrong with this shirt?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Luka’s voice holds an easy, conversational tone, but it won’t fool anyone. Cold, hard steel lies under his words.
“Nothing’s wrong with it.”
“Then why are you staring at it? My eyes are up here, pal.” Luka clicks his fingers, and David obediently raises his gaze. I watch this whole exchange, rapt despite myself.
“Thank you.” Luka says the words sincerely and nods once at David who nods back, respect lighting up his icy blue gaze.
“Anyone else?” Luka wanders up and down each aisle, slow and steady, looking at each man he passes. They either shake their heads or avert their gaze when their turn comes.
Mike smiles, and it’s not horrible or calculating. It looks genuine. Almost as if he’s happy to see Luka give the class a bit of a bollocking. Maybe he thinks I’m too soft?
Finally returning to the front of the class, Luka stands with his hands crossed behind his back. “Good. We seem to have put the topic of my clothing and appearance to bed, which suits me, because it’s as boring as fuck. I was under the impression you were here to learn, not jerk me around like idiots.”
Holy shit. I nearly choke. I watch the students for any signs of impending violence, my fingers curled over the panic button under the desk. Instead of the anger I’m braced for, the room erupts into laughter.
“You’s alright, sir.” One of the youngest students laughs.
“Yeah, you’re okay.” Another chuckles.
Mike continues to watch Luka, and there’s a smile in his eyes. A positive emotion shining there. Something like recognition, or…warmth? I shake my head. I must be losing it.
For the rest of the class, Luka and I work well together. I’m amazed at how well. It’s as if we’re ultra aware of one another on some level as we seamlessly move around the room and play off each other when talking to the group. I relax into my role, like I used to do. It’s a great feeling, but it scares me. I’m only experiencing it because of Luka. I can’t spend the rest of my life only doing things with him by my side. Normally, I stay behind after class to complete some paperwork, but I want to get home today. My body still aches from this strange hangover, and I need a hot meal and bed.
I leave as Luka is still messing around in his locker, tossing a thanks his way as I head out. But once outside the gates of the prison, I hear footsteps behind me, and turn to see Luka walking the same way as me.
“You taking the bus?” he asks.
I nod.
“Me too.”
I look at him, surprised.
“Let my sis use the car,” he grumbles. “Still not got around to sorting a second.”
I smile at that. He’s obviously not all bad if he lets his sister borrow his car.
The prison lies three miles outside of Harrogate, on the outskirts of another small market town, and the buses only run every thirty minutes. Seems we’re stuck with one another for a while.
Luka turns to me, a smile playing about his beautiful mouth. “I’m planning to buy another car at the weekend…but of course, it will enlarge our family’s carbon footprint.”
“I bet you think I’m a real pain in the butt?” I smile, genuinely amused at how I imagined Luka must view me.
“No.” Luka’s face grows serious. “I think you’re…interesting. You remind me of a few people I used to know, back in the day, on the dance scene. Earnest and enthusiastic, little bit idealistic.”
“You used to be into dance music?” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice.
“Oh yeah.” Luka nods, grinning. “Big time. Right proper raver back in the day. Still got my decks at home.”
“You used to DJ?” I can’t help but be intrigued by this. I mean, he’s a Special Forces soldier, but he used to be a raver! Doesn’t fit somehow.
“Yeah. Even got a gig out in Ibiza for a week one summer. The rest of the time I worked on construction sites with my uncle.”
“How did a raving builder end up a Commando?” I hope my tone doesn’t hold any censure about the military because I genuinely want to know, and don’t want him to clam up on me.
“I lost my job, couldn’t find any work after the construction business dried up, and didn’t know what to do with myself. My dad had been in the military. He died in service. Mum slowly drank herself to death after that. Being at home was shit. I wanted to get out of there, and I got offered a place on the Royal Marine’s training course.”
“I’m sorry.” Oh, God, that’s awful. My heart goes out to him. I’m someone who knows what it’s like to lose both parents young, but I know he’s not the type of man who will want me to be pitying.
“It’s fine.” His brusque tone shows my assessment is spot on. He smiles at something, eyes forward. “Joining the Marines was a real shock to the system, I can tell you. No more going out dancing ‘til four and getting up at lunchtime. Christ, it was hard. But I knew if I passed, I could send money back to Mum each month. It also meant I wouldn’t end up like my friends, signing on, or taking some shitty, dead end job in a call center.”
I swallow my discomfort about him being less worried about having to take another life, than the idea of a call center job, and instead ask another question. Wanting to know more for some reason. “Weren’t you scared? I mean, after your dad lost his life in the military?”
“God, yeah. But…it’s hard to explain.” He slows his pace. “When you’re training, you know what’s at the end of it intellectually, but you’ve no real grasp of what it truly entails. And I loved the physical side of it. I mastered some amazing skills. I suppose it made me who I am today.”
“It obviously gave you incredible confidence. You didn’t seem intimidated by the men today. You put them in their place. Not even Mike seems to throw you.” I realize I’ve given my own hand away as soon as the words leave my mouth.
Thankfully he doesn’t pick up on it and say anything about me being nervous and clearly out of my depth in my job right now.
We lapse into silence until we reach the bus station. The bus is already idling in the bay, so we pay and clamber aboard.
“Might as well sit at the back, more legroom.” Luka speaks behind me, and he’s so close his breath whispers over the hairs at the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
He’s not even touched me, but suddenly every nerve ending is alive. I tell myself it’s a natural reaction. Since Dane left me, I’ve been alone, no one night stands. Nothing. And it means I’ve been somewhat starved of touch for long months now.
“Okay.” My voice comes out high, and I hope he doesn’t notice.
We reach the last seats and I sit on the long bench running the across the back of the bus, facing forward. I can’t ride backwards, it makes me sick. Luka sits opposite me. Long legs relaxed and slightly parted, but not doing that man-spreading thing I can’t stand.
As we sit there, I become acutely aware of him. Of his size, his presence. There’s something extremely charismatic about him. I saw it today with the students and now all that personality is opposite me, wrapped up in the big, hard body that houses it.
I’m starting to get anxious. My stupid over-analytical mind starts to wonder if he’s noticed my reaction to him. Then I start to worry what it means about me that I’m finding myself attracted to the sort of man I supposedly can’t stand. Since his somewhat forceful kiss, my little fantasy has sprung back to life. But now, instead of a nameless, faceless man dominating me, it’s Luka.
The bus is hot, and airless, idling with the engine running. I want us to move. How long is this damn thing going to sit here? My anxiety levels are climbing, and I’m starting to think I might have a full-blown panic attack.
“So, Ms. Toulson, what do you do to relax?” Luka’s words are full of meaning, only I can’t decipher what. Is he flirting with me? Or laughing at me? Either way, he’s pulled me out of my impending panic attack with his question.
“Erm…lots of things. I run. Do yoga. I love old movies, but my favorite thing is reading.”
“Me too.”
I gawp at him. His words couldn’t have surprised me more.
“Really? What do you like to read?”
He shrugs. “Everything. I like the classics. Dickens is a favorite. I like thrillers, and history. Anything about the Third Reich.” His face has become animated as he talks. “But the political side of it, you know. Not so much the military side. It fascinates me how it happened. How a whole nation effectively suffered from Stockholm Syndrome and supported a mad man. It’s terrifying.”
Wow. I’m shocked, and my shock tells me something unpleasant about myself. That I judge people too quickly on appearances.
“What do you like to read?” he asks me.
“Like you, a bit of everything. I love the classics too, although Austen is my personal fave. I love literary books. But I have a secret weak spot for Chick Lit.” I confess my shame and he laughs.
“I have a weak spot for pulp fiction.”
We smile at one another and it feels as if something’s shifted between us.
I want to apologize again for the other night, but I daren’t, so I shut my mouth. Then I open it again, only to snap it shut once more.
As the bus pulls in to Harrogate and we disembark, I realize Luka will have to walk past my house on his way out of the town center. On impulse I turn to him. “Would you like to come for a bite to eat at mine? I’ve got a good bottle of wine it would be nice to share, and we could discuss next week’s lesson plan?”
And I can maybe find the courage to make my apology, because until I do it will niggle away at me. I’ll also tell him in no uncertain terms we can’t do the kissing thing again.
He walks along for a couple of steps not saying anything, the tick in his jaw telling me the invite is unexpected, and perhaps, unwanted. A horrible thought hits me. What if he thinks my invite means something else?
What if he thinks I want a repeat of the other night? Do I want a repeat of the other night?
It’s irrelevant what I want. We can’t. I’m his tutor and it’s ethically all kinds of wrong. Although, the power balance truthfully doesn’t seem to lie in my favor. He’s older than me. More confident than me. He’s experienced a wealth of adventures, where I went straight from college to teaching.
I decide firmly that I’m not hitting on him, because he’s frankly way out of my league even if I went for his type. Which I don’t.
“Okay. That’d be nice, thanks.” Luka glances at me, and his lips curl up in a small smile. As we walk through the gate to the house, I try to remember if I’ve left it in a total state.
It turns out the house is fine, but I’ve nothing in to make a meal from. In the end, we crack open the wine, and take it through to the lounge with some hummus and tortillas. I’m mortified.
“You’ll be ravenous tonight. I can’t believe I invited you in for tea without remembering I needed to go shopping!”
“I’ll be fine, I’ll grab a Kebab on the way home.”
I shudder at the thought but don’t say anything. How anyone can eat cheap meat is beyond me.
I’m a pescatarian, so don’t eat meat at all. A kebab sounds utterly vile.
We sit in the lounge, Luka on the sofa, me curled up on the huge, oversize chair I treated myself to last year. Wine in hand as I sip away.
We talk for a while about nothing much. The prison, the students. I tell him how the course will unfold, and during this we manage to polish off a big glass of wine each, and are now halfway down our second. It’s gone right to my head, tired and hungry as I am.
“This is a nice place you’ve got.” Luka looks around, eyes lingering on the coffee table and my Green party booklet, and then on the anti-war poster on my wall. Shit. It brings up the other night in my mind. And the apology is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say it.
A folder is on the table, too. The one that holds all the pictures and basic information for the prisoners I’m teaching literature to this year.
Luka drops his head back and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he looks at me with an almost gentle expression. “Do they intimidate you?”
I don’t have to ask who. I weigh up simply lying, shrugging off my earlier comment and saying, no, of course my students don’t intimidate me. But it seems suddenly way too easy to talk to Luka, what with the wine rushing through my veins, and those changeable eyes of his soft in this dim light.
“They never did before. This year though, yeah, some days they…don’t intimidate me, I’m not scared of them, but I get the weirdest feeling. It’s as if…I’m outside of my comfort zone, but I can’t put my finger on it. Like…I want to walk out of the class or something, so I can stop being so…uncomfortable. So I can breathe. You won’t know what I mean, though. Forget it. I sound crazy.”
Luka starts to laugh. I bristle as anger surges through me. How dare he when I’ve bared my soul?
But then he stops laughing and his smile drips from his face. “Yeah. I do know the feeling. You’ve described how I feel every single fucking day.”
“Really?” I couldn’t have been more amazed if he’d announced he’d booked a trip to Mars. The only time I’ve seen any hint of Luka struggling with any sort of emotion came during our brief conversation in the pub.
“Yeah. I don’t know how to fit back in. I mean, I do. I’m playing the part, doing all the stuff society expects of me. But it’s as if…it’s an act. I’m play acting living a normal life, whereas in reality…” He glances down at the floor. “I’m not sure I know how anymore.”
I don’t know what to say to such a weighty confession. Could we become friends maybe? This isn’t the same irritation mixed with lust simmering between us I normally sense. I choose my next words carefully. “It must be hard, after the things you’ve seen.”
“I miss it.” He snorts and shakes his head. “It was hell at times, a living hell, but I knew how to do it, you know? This. The after part? I’m not too good at it.”
“I suppose they don’t train you for that.”
He sits forward, gaze intense. “You know? I think you’ve hit the nail on the head there. Everything else you’re trained for. Not being back home though.” He laughs again, but this time it’s a real laugh. Not bitter or jaded, but glorious and free.
“Christ, Cara. Did you slip something into this wine? I’ve told you more tonight than I’ve told my therapist in months.”
“You see a therapist?” Okay, now I’m truly seeing him in a different light. He reads the classics. He doesn’t feel he fits in, and he’s seeing a therapist. And that alone makes him a damn sight braver than me, who fled my therapist’s office after one particularly grueling session and never went back.
“Yep. I knew I needed to. Think I’d started to display some signs of impending PTSD. You know…. anger, rage… anger, rage.” He laughs again, only this time it’s got the bitter tone back. He looks uncomfortable suddenly, and I know our caring and sharing session is over. He glances at his watch.
“I better get going.”
He stands abruptly, almost knocking the wine glass over on the table in front of him. “I don’t drink wine often, it’s gone straight to my head without food.”
“Sorry.” I’m such a shit hostess. “You’ve not got an early start have you?”
“Luckily for me, I have the morning off but my niece is a real live-wire. I need more sleep to deal with her than I do to face a full day at the office, or training clients.”
His face lights up though at the mention of his niece, and his beauty when he lets go takes my breath away.
His niece! It clicks into place then. The girl on Facebook, and the woman with him in the pictures, they must be his sister and his niece. I nearly say something, and bite my tongue at the last minute. He’ll think I’m a totally unhinged stalker if he knows I’ve been searching him out on Facebook. And he’ll have a good point.
Still, the whole niece thing has my heart beating faster at the knowledge he doesn’t have a significant other in his life. Or at least not significant enough to put on Facebook. Then I tell myself I’m being epically dumb.
This is a guy who is strikingly gorgeous. And I’m a plain little duckling. Not ugly, but not pretty, either. I bet he goes for tall, leggy brunettes with gorgeous, fashionable clothes. Not ginger girls with too many freckles like me.
For once, not happy in my own skin, when normally I don’t even think about it, I follow him into the hallway.
We get to the door and Luka is so close I can feel the heat radiating from him.
“It’s been interesting. Thanks for the talk.”
“You t-too.” Since when did I stutter? Heat rushes through my face and I curse myself. This man messes with my equilibrium like no other.
Luka’s eyes darken as he watches me squirm. “You look good all flushed like that. I like the way everything you’re feeling shows on your skin.”
What? My heart beats double time as I digest the possible meaning of his words. I’ve no response. What can I say to such a blatant line? Maybe he does like freckly types. Or maybe he’s playing with me? Enjoying making the geeky girl blush.
“Christ, Cara, stop thinking so much.” He shakes his head.
His face comes closer to mine and his gaze flickers all over my face as if he’s trying to read me. “I’m going to kiss you again, but I don’t want to get into trouble for sexually harassing my teacher, so if I’m a million miles off target here, tell me now.”
Unable to speak, or even think clearly, I shake my head. He’s not a million miles off. I’d sell a kidney to have him kiss me right now. Despite being unnerved by him on so many levels, despite disagreeing with his views on many things, I want him to kiss me more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.
And he does.
He drops his head down and brushes his lips over mine. Subtle as air at first—the kiss tingles, but quickly deepens to something almost desperate as he claims my mouth. He’s utterly in control, and I’m happy to let him be. Happy for once to give up over-thinking, and planning, and worrying. Not always trying to be one step ahead, for once just living in this glorious, blissful moment.
All rational thought flees my mind and a deep ache takes up residence at my core. I want to relieve it, and on instinct I press into him, He groans and pushes forward, until I’ve got hard wall against my back, and hard Luka against my front.
And he’s hard everywhere.
His body is incredible. His erection is poking into my belly, and I wish it were lower.
We’re both rubbing against one another now, our bodies moving in a primal, familiar dance, seeking relief. His fingers wind into my hair and he tips my head to an angle to give him better access to my mouth. Then he’s kissing me full force his tongue tasting me, tangling with my own.
Oh god, I can honestly say it’s one of the best sexual experiences of my life, and we’re only kissing.
His thigh pushes between my legs and presses there, and it’s oh-so-good. It eases the ache and I let him push against my core, ratcheting up my arousal.
One hand is tight around my back, the other moves up my side to cup my breast through my top. He palms my flesh, and then pinches my nipple firmly enough to make me gasp into his mouth.
His lips lift into a smile against mine. I’ve forgotten all the reasons I shouldn’t be doing this. His scent curled around me is delicious. The taste of him divine. The heaviness of his thigh at my center, heavenly.
I start to move against him, and I must be insane, because I’m dry humping my student’s thigh in the hallway. Getting off on it, and climbing towards an orgasm. I can’t. But I also can’t stop myself.
When he tears his lips from my mouth and bites my neck, I tip over the edge and come, pulsing against his leg as I moan and squirm.
“Fuck, you’re such a horny thing,” he growls.
I should hate him calling me a thing, but in the heat of the moment it only turns me on more.
“I’ve jerked off imagining your lips around my dick so many times.”
He has? And for once I don’t feel unattractive. I feel…hot. Hot enough to make a guy fantasize about me.
I want to hold onto that feeling, but I’m not good at sex. Not this kind of sex anyway. Not in my hallway, with the stark light above us. Him so big and powerful against me. I’m used to…nice sex. Not obliterating sex.
I need to taste him though, now he’s said what he wants I can’t get the idea out of my head.
“Shall we go to my bedroom?” I ask.
He grins at me then, and it’s a whole lot hot, and a little bit nasty. “We could. Or you can get on your knees for me here, like a good girl.”
Holy shit! I’m playing so far out of my depth I’m drowning.
“Erm…I don’t know what to say to that. I mean, here? In my hallway?” I look at the door, but the glass is stained, and you can’t see through it, which means people can’t see in. Then I glance at the floor. It’s clean. I mopped yesterday. Although, my knees are going to be on the floor and it’s hard...
“Cara.” He says my name like an order. I look at him.
“Stop thinking and get on your knees.”
And I do. God help me, but I do it. I sink to my knees until I’m facing a rather large bulge.
“Take me out, babe.”
Babe. Ugh. My feminist hackles are rising, but then I start to smile to myself, thinking that’s what I’m bothered about in this whole fucked up scenario. Him calling me babe?
I unzip him and take him out and he’s…stunning. Perfect. Thick and long, with a nice curve. But hell, he’s big. Maybe too thick. I lick my lips and am about to explore him when one hand wraps in my hair and pulls it into a ponytail, pulling me forward.
It doesn’t hurt. In fact, it makes me moan with pent up desire. I catch the masculine scent of him, and then I lean in and take him in my mouth.
He tastes clean and tangy. I settle into the rhythm of tasting him. Sucking at him as my hand moves up and down the lower part of him.
“Fuck, that’s good. This is a much better use of that smart mouth of yours.”
I stop and look up at him, narrowing my eyes. But he smiles at me, and it’s genuine and dazzling, and I can’t be angry, despite his dick-ish ways.
I go back to what I’m doing, loving how my mind has finally shut off for once. I exist on a purely physical plain in this moment, and I’m so turned on I want to touch myself, but I daren’t do anything so forward in front of him.
It doesn’t take long before he’s grunting, and he gives a little tug on my hair, starts to pull out of me as I feel him swell. Oh, so now he’s being chivalrous. But I don’t want him to be. I want to swallow him down. I stay the course, and soon he’s pulsing down my throat, and I am taking it all.
Once he’s done, he pulls me up, and starts kissing me again. It’s as if he’s starving. Then, to my total surprise, he drops to his own knees. Smooth and easy, with the finesse of someone totally in control of their body.
“Payback,” he mutters as his big hands sweep my skirt up my legs.
I already came, so he doesn’t owe me anything. About to say as much, I lose all coherent thought when he pulls my panties to one side and licks a stripe right up my center.
Oh, Lord. My head falls back against the wall behind me, and I close my eyes and give in to the heady sensations.
It doesn’t take him long at all until I’m dancing on that precipice once more. When I go over I cry out. I’m not noisy during sex normally, but I can’t keep the sounds in.
He stands up, moves my underwear back into place, and pushes my skirt back down.
Oh, crap. I’m all at sea. I don’t know where to look, and shame at my behavior, at what we’ve done, washes over me.
I want to invite him to stay, to take him upstairs and forget all the shit in my head for a little while longer. But reality crashes in on me. We’re too different. I’m not sure, despite the glimpses I’ve seen of another side of him, that I even like the man. I’m in no place for a relationship. And he’s a student!
I may well lose my job over this moment of insanity.
I need time and space to think, so I step away and give him a bright, painted on smile.
“Well, as you said earlier, it’s been…interesting.” I hate ending it this way, but don’t know what else to say. And I need him to go because I’m starting to panic now at what I’ve done, and in about thirty seconds might start freaking out.
“Yeah.” He gives his right shoulder a lazy roll. “I’ll see you Thursday night for the adult ed class.”
“Okay, see you then.”
Luka turns to go but stops on the step and looks back to me. He leans in close. “I’m going to come again tonight thinking about you.”
With those final words, he jogs down the steps and out into the dark.
Did he honestly just say that? How crude?
But the words turn me on despite myself.
This can never happen again.
But I’m only kidding myself.
I know deep down that me and Luka aren’t remotely done with one another yet.
Not by a long shot.