Lessons In Butterflies ｡ ｡ ｡ (StudentxTeacher Romance)

Chapter 39: Strawberries suits You.

Elias's POV:

I was sitting on the sand, watching her. My elbow rested on my knee as I leaned forward, unable to take my eyes off her. She was running around with Juliet and Dani, her laughter carrying over the breeze, and damn, she was breathtaking.

The weight of what had happened earlier—how close I'd come to losing control—wasn't helping. My thoughts kept circling back to her, to the way her body had pressed against mine, how she'd looked at me like I was the only person in the world. I was drowning in the memory, and I couldn't shake the guilt for wanting it to happen again.

And then she took off her cover-up.

God help me.

She wasn't rail-thin, but every inch of her was stunning, from the soft lines of her waist to the gentle curve of her hips. Her thighs were strong and smooth, and her legs went on forever as the sand clung to them.

I wasn't even trying to hide the smirk tugging at my lips. She was something else—completely unaware of the way she held my attention.

Then she glanced over at me.

Our eyes met for the briefest second, and I watched as her cheeks flushed, the way she quickly turned her head away, pretending not to notice. Cute. 

Too damn cute.

A few moments later, she walked over. Her steps were hesitant, her movements unsure, but then she dropped to sit beside me on the sand.

"Hi," she said softly, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

"Hi," I replied, my voice low, unsure of how much control I had over it.

Her hand then moved to rest on my thigh.

I froze for a second, my body immediately responding to her touch. She had no idea what she was doing to me.

"Shella," I muttered, glancing around the beach. "You can't do that."

Her head tilted, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Why not?" she asked, rolling her eyes as if my concern was ridiculous.

I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "Because there are people watching."

She shrugged, her hand staying where it was. "So?"

"Sweetheart," I said, my tone both warning and pleading.

She turned to look at me, her expression half-defiant and half-playful. The teasing glint in her eyes made my jaw tighten, the heat in my chest intensifying.

She was testing me, pushing the boundaries, and damn it, I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold out.

Sexual frustration was a slow, steady burn, and she wasn't helping.

She shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against my leg, and I had to force myself to focus on anything but her—her hand, her scent, her laugh—because if I didn't, I'd lose every ounce of restraint I had left.

"Shella," I said again, my voice strained. "Please."

She rolled her eyes again, but this time she pulled her hand back.

"Fine," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips, like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This girl was going to be the death of me.

She was being incredibly cute, and it was driving me insane. She sat there beside me, arms crossed, pretending to pout, but I caught the corner of her lips twitching upward.