His Favorite Teacher: Student-Teacher romance

Chapter 4

Lana's POV

But his eyes soften before answering.

-        I've had a pretty shitty life so far.

I nod with empathy.

-        I'm sorry I asked that way, it was not really sensible. I know what it feels like to have a shitty life right now.

-        Do you? He asks with a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

I take a deep breath in. Fuck it. After all, I barely see the guy once a month, I might as well get a good therapy session out of it.

-        I... The reason I came here, to this country, is because France gives me too many painful memories right now. My parents died in a car accident a few months ago and living in their house and being with family is just too...

I stop, at a loss for words and starting to feel my voice getting emotional. I can't look at him anymore, too afraid to realize I've shared too much information and meet a cold and uncaring look. But when I hear him finishing my sentence, my heart feels lighter:

-        It's a constant reminder of what happened and that they're not here anymore.

I finally meet his eyes and find a sympathetic face looking at me intently. Almost... tenderly?

I nod, and I feel a knot forming in my throat, I realize I'm close to crying. My eyes turn automatically to the floor, so that he doesn't see them get red or wet. I hear him leaning forward and he puts his hand on my knee. The touch makes my whole body melt. His hand is warm and a little rough. It's huge compared to my leg and his thumb draws little circles at the very bottom of my inner thigh, and I fear this contact will haunt me for days.

I'm afraid to meet his gaze but gather the courage. I'm surprised to see sympathy in his eyes, but not lust. I am fucked, aren't I?

His thumb stops circling and he removes his hand from my leg. A cold sensation replaces his warmth where his hand rested. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, again.

-        I was fifteen when my mother left. My father is a drunk, so I had to take care of my baby sister alone. I didn't go to school for two years, and went through hell. When I got back I found absolutely no sympathy from anyone in the system.  I gave up entirely. I really don't care. As long as my sister gets a good life, I'm fine with not going to college or whatever. I'm a car mechanic for now, I got a job on the edge of town. That's how I feed her and get clothes on her back. And that's why school isn't a priority. But I do want to finish this. High school.

Damn. His life was pretty tough, he wasn't lying.

-        How old is your sister?

-        She's 9 now, he says with a smile. She's all I got.

-        She's lucky to have you. As a brother.

He nods and smiles, but his eyes are sad.

-        Thanks.

The room falls silent and we just stare at each other. I can't believe how this went. How it ended up with us sharing the most intimate parts of our lives. I feel guilty I shared so much. I should probably bounce back to teacher mode to downplay how safe I feel now, next to him.

I clear my throat a little.

-        Well, we'll do it in French next time. Thanks for coming, Aaron, I say coolly.

He frowns.

-        Trying to save face, are we?

-        I...

-        You just told me your parents died and now you just want to be Miss Mercier again?

-        Well, maybe I shouldn't have said anything.

-        It's too late, Lana.

-        I know, but it wasn't appropriate, I shouldn't have...

-        Fuck appropriate, he says angrily, leaning forward, resting his hands on both sides of my chair, his face an inch away from mine.

-        Aaron... I say, my brain not working anymore from the proximity and the feeling of his wrists brushing on each side of my waist.

-        Lana, he whispers against my lips.

-        Aaron... don't.

He doesn't move for a second, and he just stares at me with an intensity that makes my skin burn. Again, the warmth in my lower stomach feels too intense and the tingling sensation between my thighs makes me move them slightly apart, out of discomfort or instinct, I'm not sure. The only thing I'm sure of, is that when he notices the slight movement of my legs, and turns his head up again to look at me, I'm pretty sure I've never seen so much lust in anyone's eyes before.

He clenches his jaw and whispers very low, his lips almost touching mine:

-        Ok. I won't. But fuck, Lana, the things I wanna do to you.

He stares at me for a few more seconds, as if to see if what he said affected me. My face feels extremely hot so I am guessing it got red and he looks satisfied. He then leans back, and gets up.

-        Are we done here, Miss Mercier? he asks formally.

I clear my throat.

-        I think so.

He nods and contemplates me for a few second. I think I must look immensely vulnerable; my legs are still pressed together, and my breathing is rapid.

-        Well then.

He opens the door and gives me one last smirk before going out. I'm left alone, flustered, and uncomfortably hot in the small room.

What is wrong with me??