It takes four more lessons twice a week, filled with banter, innuendos and inappropriate looks before I get fed up of the stalemate. I’ve had enough of eye fucking across the room, especially since I know that she wants me. I’m done waiting for her to throw herself at me like all the others did. It seemed like I was going to have to make the first move so I wait after the session, leaning against the crappy little Polo left in the car park. It was earning me creepy points if nothing else, as I waited, almost completely hidden by shadows.

In the distance I hear locks turning as she closes up the community hall. Watching her walk towards me is one of the sexiest things I’ve seen— definitely earning me more creeper points as I’m hypnotized by the sway of her hips, the way her lips purse slightly as she tries to put the keys in her bag with one hand. Fuck, even the way she looks in her stupid brown coat is making me hard. This woman is like crack and I think I’m addicted. Her phone rings, she frowns before hitting busy and putting it back in her pocket. If I took four steps forward I’d be standing toe to toe with her, but I don’t.

I call out, “Go out with me tonight.”

She doesn’t jump but narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. She moves towards me cautiously, well, towards her car.

“I don’t go out with my students,” she says calmly, like she’s well practiced at turning down men like me but that’s where she’s wrong, because baby she’s never had anyone like me. I’m one of a kind.

“I’m not a student,” I say cockily. I am a twenty eight year old man, too fucking old to be taught.

“You pay me to teach you to dance. What do you call that?” she asks slowly as she tilts her head.

Chuckling I respond with “Foreplay.”

She’s quick with her retort, “I feel very sorry for you Mr Beaumont if you have to pay for sex.”

“No, no… No. Foreplay and sex are very different things. I’d be happy to educate you on the difference one night Miss Lopez. I can stick my dick anywhere I like for free but great foreplay is like a tango, and I’d gladly pay for a worthy dance partner,” I shrug as she stares at me, both horrified and intrigued by my honesty.

She brushes some imaginary lint off her coat to hide her face, “In that case I’d say you are clearly not worthy of me. I need someone more experienced and you are only a beginner.”

I snort. This woman has no clue about the things I can do with my body. But she will. Very soon. Sofia Lopez may be making me work for it, but she has no idea what it’s doing to me. It’s like a warmup before a show and trust me, it’s not one you’d want to miss.

“Look I’m just saying there’s clearly some tension between us. And if you’d just let me into your panties, I could help with that.”

We’re facing off, barely a finger length of space between us and I can see her thinking it over. Sofia has this amazingly open face when she’s not shutting me down and I can see the cogs turning as she wonders what it’d be like to have sex with me. Then there it is again, falling down like a curtain behind her hazel eyes— the teacher issue, the moral line she’s drawn in the sand.

She crosses her arms, “Say what you like Sinclair, you're not getting into my 'panties' as you so eloquently put it.”

“Why? What’re you afraid of?” I ask as I lean down closer. I can almost kiss her from here but she does nothing to move away. It’s the danger zone and Sofia may not like to admit it, but she’s trapped in my web and I’m seconds away from devouring her.

“I’m not scared. You're just not my type. You're…”

“What? Devilishly handsome? Alpha male? A fuckboy? I'll take any of above,” I reel off, as I brush her hair away from her neck, my fingertips grazing the soft skin there.

“Well I don't need any of them,” she whispers as she moves into me. Her eyes glaze over slightly and I can feel her softening towards me as she succumbs to my charms.

“Now now, no need to lie. We both know you need a good fuck, you're wound tighter than a chastity belt.”

Flinching she moves away sputtering and blushing. Damn, there goes my charm offensive. I may have just ballsed that one up with my frankness. Women don’t like to be called frigid even though I technically never said it, only implied it.

“What I need is none of your concern Mr Beaumont.” she asserts, her tone haughty now and I want to kick myself. Definitely ballsed that up.

“I’m just offering to help you out. To help both of us out,” I say, hoping she’ll change her mind as she unlocks her car door.

“I think I’ll pass on your generous proposition thanks.”

With a gentle nudge of her hip she moves me out of her way and without a second look she gets in her car and drives off. This woman is fucking with me, who says no to someone like me? I ooze charm and yet it never seems to stick, rolling off her like water. It’s only in the rare moments I catch her flustered and interested. This hot and cold thing she has going on is only making me more determined to tear through that infallible hardass act.