Forbidden Lust

11 ❦ the best fruit is always forbidden

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In the afternoon, hunger lingering, I gathered my belongings and essentials from my house. Thankfully, my mother was away at work, and I wasn't certain when I'd return. Anger toward her actions still festered within me. Deep down, I knew she wouldn't change; even her attempts at therapy had proven futile. Her trauma was a wound too deep to heal.

I settled on Mr. Voss's inviting couch, appreciating the warmth and comfort it exuded. His home was one of the most beautiful houses I'd ever seen, immediately making you feel at ease. Pouring myself some tea, I lost myself in a book, a true bookworm at heart.

When I finally rose from the couch, my feet sank into the soft carpet. I discovered that Mr. Voss had gone into town, leaving me to roam the house at will. My wanderings led me to his bedroom once again, where memories of his care for me stirred a blush on my cheeks.

The curtains allowed light to filter in, casting a serene glow throughout the room. Beyond the window, dark green trees swayed in the breeze. Sitting down on the bed, I fell back into the sheets, closing my eyes to inhale his lingering scent. My fingers brushed against the sheets, each touch mirroring his presence. The mere memory of him sent shivers down my spine, my longing palpable.

As the door downstairs clicked shut, my body jolted from the bed, but I stubbed my toes against the door in my haste, eliciting an involuntary exclamation of pain. "Ouch!"

"Angelina?" Mr. Voss's voice called from downstairs. I made my way down, attempting to regain my composure and present a composed demeanor. "Hi," I greeted him with a soft smile.

Our eyes locked as I found Mr. Voss in the hallway, plastic bags in his hands, his expression unreadable. "What were you doing?" he inquired.

I shook my head and shrugged. "It was nothing."

Furrowing his eyebrows, he asked, "Okay... you mind helping me with some groceries?" He smiled and gestured for me to follow him to the kitchen. I walked behind him, my bare feet grazing the cold floors. Rain pattered outside, the wind breezing through the trees, and I couldn't help but notice Mr. Voss's wet hair. It looked so... alluring, strands falling in front of his face. He was practically drenched. I wished he would take off his shirt.

I nonchalantly shrugged, taking hold of the juice cans and neatly arranging them in the fridge. Mr. Voss began unpacking too, his body just inches from mine. He positioned himself behind me, stretching his hand above to place a can in the pantry cabinet. I could sense his body warmth, and then, his chest lightly brushed against my back, causing me to involuntarily part my lips. He felt warm and robust, but his shirt was cool and slightly damp from the rain.

He retreated, seeming to realize the unexpected contact, and turned to face me. "Sorry," he apologized blankly.

My cheeks blushed, vividly aware of how close he was to my petite frame. "It's alright," I replied, shaking my head. I gazed at him, concern in my eyes. "Sir, you should change into something warmer. You might catch a cold."

He smiled gently and replied, "You shouldn't worry about me."

Perplexed, I insisted, "But I do care for you, Mr. Voss. I wouldn't want you to get sick."

He responded, "You care too much about someone you don't even know much about. And you shouldn't care for me at all."

Puzzled, I questioned, "But—"

He halted me with a firm "No."

"Why?" I inquired, my desire to care for him unresolved. He seemed resistant to the idea.

He shook his head, closing the distance between us. Taking my hand, he placed it over my heart, his warmth enveloping my hand. "Because you're too good for everyone," he insisted. "You're smart, pure, and you have a good soul. You have your whole life ahead of you, and nobody deserves you the way you deserve yourself."

I gripped his hand tightly with my free one and pleaded, "No, no, you deserve me, Mr. Voss. You deserve every bit of me." I bit my lip in nervous anticipation.

"Angelina, I can't. I'm your teacher, and it's highly inappropriate," he replied with a tightened jaw.

I pressed on, my eyes pleading for more. "But you do deserve me. Please, just take me as if I were yours, just this once. I promise not to tell a soul; we'll take our secret to the grave."

Mr. Voss looked away, releasing my hand, and sighed. "Angelina, listen to me. You're asking for something that could jeopardize my career, and you're not considering the consequences, which could hurt us both mentally and physically."

I blinked, realizing he was right. Mr. Voss was always right. I shouldn't be asking him this; it would always be wrong in other people's eyes and ours. I wasn't thinking straight, letting my emotions get the best of me. "Okay," I nodded. "I'm sorry, Mr. Voss. I'm so sorry."