I couldn’t believe what I was doing; he was my teacher, an authority figure, and what was happening was illegal. Very, very illegal. He would probably get fired if anyone found out, and I would be thrown so fast into therapy that it would ruin my life forever.

That last bit of inner monologue made me chuckle quietly to myself. My life had never meant that much to me, so it was no big deal if I had to talk to a shrink. There really were worse things, like being abused or killed. Okay, so my life meant something because I didn’t really want that happening to me.

A low rumble against my throat made me realize I was being spoken to. I exhaled a moan and pressed myself closer to Elias, my fingers sliding into dangerous territory as they went to unbutton his shirt.

“We can’t,” he mumbled, covering my hand with his.

I didn’t need to ask if he wanted me; I could feel it. I felt it the first time he kissed me, and I felt it now, as he bent me back over the desk. He was able to lock his fingers around my wrists as I stayed still.

“Why?” I said. “I want you.”

“You’re a child,” he said, suddenly becoming agitated. He let me go and stepped away from my body. There was no regret from doing so on his face; he was serious. “I think you should leave.”

“You kissed me,” I mumbled, slowly becoming aware of how I sounded. “You want me, I know it. I see it.”

His face twisted into something angry now as he dragged a hand down his face, sighing. “I am your teacher and you’re my student. This was a mistake, and I think you should forget it happened before you go telling your friends and get me into trouble.”

I stared at him, and as I straightened myself, I blinked.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said. The look in his eyes told me that he didn’t believe me. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. No one would believe me if I did.”

Elias’ expression softened and he came toward me again, reaching for my hand. I gave it to him, and he smiled. Then he turned it so that my palm was up, slipped a felt-tip pen from his pocket, and wrote something across my skin.

It was his cell phone number that he had etched into me. I looked up at him with a blank expression.

“It’s generally a good idea to use the information given to you,” he said, smirking. “Now you’d better go before you’re late for another class. I’d hate to see you fail.”

I nodded, and as I walked back to the door a second time, his voice stopped me.

“I’ll be looking forward to your call, Tate.”

The End

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