After Class

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟹

𝒞𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒹𝓎

The school library had always been my safe place. I would eat my lunch there, get lost in a different world with novels. I would sometimes sleep there during my free period. But now, it had become my own nightmare. Last Friday, when Mr. Santos told me that on Monday, Wendsday, and Friday, we would meet in the library to go over things I was struggling with.

Now I was standing in the library of my dreams and felt the need to leave. I hated it when my sanctuary became the place I dreaded. Damn him. I spotted him at the back of the library, standing by a shelf browsing the options. I doubted he possessed the intelligence to actually pick up one of those books, although my hateful mind would think that.

Everyone knew of the prodigy Lorenzo Santos. He could speak several languages, had many degrees, and was known for his teachings. The worst part of it was that he was handsome. So handsome that I was aware of everything I did in his presence. When my normal pick-a-part habits increased, I was nervous.

He can make me angry, so angry, but the handsome man could also make me nervous. So nervous that I almost fell on weak knees when I took my first step towards him. I got myself together, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of him. "This way," he said, the simple command pulling me from my thoughts and directing my attention towards his back, leading me farther into the library.

No matter how much I despised the man, I couldn't drag my eyes away from his back covered in a white button-up. I could see the flexing of every muscle, the roll of his shoulders, that faint ink of a tattoo through the sheer fabric. 

My mind flashed with something I thought was impossible for me. But I couldn't let go of the image. The thought of my hands dragging down his back, my nails digging into his skin. His lips bruising me in places they shouldn't and his hands tugging at my hair. I felt my cheeks flush and goosebumps prickle my skin.

When he brought us to the back of the library, where a table sat with several books and papers, and shelves blocked every visible view, I felt my hands start to sweat, and my eyes almost roll in the back of my head in annoyance and something that felt like a relief.

No one could peer in, and I couldn't shake how satisfied that made me. He walked over to one of the chairs and motioned for me to sit in the one next to him—this time, I did panic. Mr. Santos wanted me to sit next to him. Not in front of him, where the only parts of us could touch are our toes, but next to him where anything was up for grabs.

But still, I walked over to him and sat in the chair next to him. I smoothed the school skirt down over my thighs and pulled up the knee socks I wore today that are an unofficial requirement for the dress code. By unofficial, I mean all of the girls wear them every single day. The school doesn't force them to, but it's a part of another clique thing.

Today it was especially cold, and all of my tights had run in them, making them unable to wear. So socks it was, and when I pulled them up, I watched as his eyes tracked every movement I made. This man really does know how to make a girl nervous. I hid the shake in my hands and looked at him expectedly, my hands clutching each other in my lap.

"So let's go over the latest test," He pulled out a paper from the stacks of graded papers and placed it in front of me. It was a photocopy of the one I had at home. He had a copy of the test in front of him that was unmarked and with the correct answers. Of course, he did, I thought to myself. It's not like I haven't picked every single one of my answers apart and corrected my own test as soon as it was in my hands.

Instead of commenting on how useless this was, I bit my tongue; literally and watched as he pulled a pen from the side pocket of his dress pants. "Multiple choice answers are what you did good on, but trick questions you did not so hot on, so tell me what you would change for 10, 12, 16, and 18," He listed off the question I got wrong, and it made me feel embarrassed by how many I missed.

I knew I was better than this, and if my parents found out how close I am to failing his class, I am screwed. Here is the thing about my parents, they are catholic, very catholic. Conservative clothing, limited makeup, anything that would make me look remotely mature is out of the question. My mother put off getting me an actual bra for too long; being scared would taint my 'pure' ways—her words, not mine.

I always wondered what was so sinful about a padded bra with a wire that wasn't so flimsy that if a cold whiff of airbrushed through, my nipples would be hard. During puberty, I wore two layers of shirts so that no one would see the embarrassment I felt from being limited to training bras.

When Mr. Santos looked at me expectedly, I nodded my head, picked up the test, and went to the first number. He must not have been satisfied with my agreeance that he grabbed my wrist, stopping me from continuing flipping through the pages, and fixed me in a stern look.

"Respond with words Cassidy. Nodding your head won't suffice when you are supposed to be engaged," Mr. Santos said with a no-nonsense tone. He had always held that standard in the classroom. Saying what you think clearly and responding with words is something he holds all students to do.

But the combination of his warm, calloused hand clutching my wrist and his stern gaze on me made things happen to me that has never happened before. I had never been turned on or feel overwhelmed with lust like the girls at school explained when they all had their first times with their boyfriends or their after-date make-outs.

I never had a boyfriend or a crush, and I started to think I was broken in some way. The one time I ever felt remotely attracted to a man was when I met one of my dad's married coworkers, so no feelings festered there. But still, I hadn't felt like I was on fire and would melt into a puddle right there.

Never felt the dampening of my panties, or the flush of my skin, the need to bite into my lip, stopping an inappropriate noise falling from my lips. This was bad, so very bad. I said that this man wouldn't affect me and that he was my teacher/asshole. 

I was an innocent girl who had never experienced anything remotely close to this, but I was also a curious person. When I found something I had never felt or experienced before. I always felt the need to explore.

This time I was going to grip onto my self-control and not throw myself at this man and make a fool out of myself. That means no bringing attention to me and definitely no more secret corners where the temptation was too much.

"Yes, sir," I said, releasing a sigh of air and recollecting myself. His hand let go of my wrist, his palm brushing against my skin, and he leaned back in his chair, the answer key now in his hands. 

"Excellent, continue," With that, I found the question and started finding the 'error' to my ways.