𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 8: "𝒄𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔"

୨୧
France, Paris
ISP
O.T.M.
──── ୨୧ ────

The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, and the school halls are quieter than usual. I drag myself into the cafeteria, barely awake, trying to muster up some energy for the long day ahead. My thoughts are still tangled in the memories of last night—thinking about Mrs. Carter, replaying every moment we shared on the trip, the way she looked at me, touched me.

I shake my head and walk over to the coffee station, trying to focus. I’m halfway through pouring my coffee when I hear her voice—smooth, familiar, and already making my heart race.

“Good morning, Onika.”

I whip around, and there she is. Mrs. Carter, dressed in a tight, professional black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, her long blonde hair cascading down her back like she just walked out of a magazine. She looks perfect, but there’s something different today—her eyes look a little tired, her movements a little rushed.

“Morning, Mrs. Carter,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, even though I feel my pulse quicken.

She steps closer, holding her coffee cup and glancing down at her phone. She looks distracted, maybe even a little stressed. It’s rare to see her like this—usually, she’s so composed, so in control. I steal a glance at her, admiring the way her dress clings to her body, the soft scent of vanilla and coconut already filling the air around her. God, I can’t stop staring.

Just as I’m about to take a sip of my coffee, something unexpected happens. Mrs. Carter, still distracted by her phone, bumps into me, and suddenly, my coffee is all over me. The hot liquid spills onto my blouse and drips down my chest.

“Shit!” I yelp, dropping the cup and stepping back. The coffee is seeping into my clothes, warm and sticky, and I’m too stunned to even move.

Mrs. Carter’s eyes widen, and she quickly puts her phone away, grabbing napkins from the counter. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Onika,” she says, her voice rushed, as she starts dabbing at my shirt. “I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s fine, really,” I stammer, trying to make her stop, but she’s already wiping at my chest, her hands moving over my skin, the napkin pressing against me. My breath catches in my throat.

Her touch is gentle but firm, her fingers brushing against my skin through the fabric, and suddenly, it feels like the air between us has changed. I’m not sure if she notices it too, but I can’t ignore the way my body responds, the heat rising in my cheeks, the warmth spreading down my spine.

“We should get you cleaned up,” she says, glancing around. “Come on, let’s head to the bathroom. I’ll help you.”

I nod, unable to form words as she leads me out of the cafeteria and down the hallway to the nearest restroom. My mind is racing, every step making me more aware of her presence beside me—the click of her heels on the floor, the soft swish of her dress, the way her hand brushes my arm as she pushes open the bathroom door.

Inside, the bathroom is quiet, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat simmering between us. Mrs. Carter locks the door behind us, and I suddenly feel like we’re alone in a world of our own. She moves quickly, grabbing paper towels and wetting them in the sink before turning back to me.

“Take off your blouse,” she says, her voice soft but commanding.

I hesitate for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest, but I do as she says. My fingers fumble with the buttons, and I pull the wet fabric off my shoulders, leaving me standing there in just my bra. The air feels colder against my skin now, and I can feel Mrs. Carter’s eyes on me as she steps closer.