Lessons In Butterflies ｡ ｡ ｡ (StudentxTeacher Romance)

Chapter 57: My Sweet, Shy Shella

Elias's POV

Her warmth lingered on me long after she'd pulled away, long after the sound of her small, broken whimpers had faded into the silence of my office. My hands still burned where I'd held her too tightly — bruises I knew I'd left, marks that would remind her of me when no one else could see.

God help me.

I leaned back in my chair, dragging both hands over my face, but it did nothing to wash away the taste of her skin, the weight of her body pressed so trustingly against mine. She was everywhere — in my lungs, in the frantic pounding of my chest, in the ache still thrumming low in my body.

And worse — in my mind.

I should have stopped. Christ, I should have shoved her off my lap the second she whispered my name like that, breathless and hungry. But I hadn't. I couldn't. Because the second she gave herself over to me, trembling and desperate, something in me snapped.

The control I prided myself on — gone.

The lines I'd sworn I'd never cross — obliterated.

And all I could think, all I can still think, is that she's mine.

I catch sight of the papers scattered on my desk, test scripts I was meant to mark, lessons I was meant to plan. They look ridiculous now, laughable against the raw chaos she's left inside me. What use are equations and supply-and-demand graphs when I'm sitting here drowning in the memory of her lips, her scent, her unguarded devotion?

A sound rises in my throat, half-growl, half-laugh, and I shove back from the desk, pacing. I can't sit still. I can't breathe right. My body wants her, again and again, and my mind—my damn mind—keeps circling back to one brutal truth:

I don't regret it.

Not one second.

I should. God, I should feel filthy. Ashamed. But all I feel is hunger, sharpened by the look in her eyes when she gave herself over. Not fear. Not uncertainty. Just that fierce, reckless need that matched mine in every way.

I've claimed her now.

And there's no turning back.

_____

I had survived wars before — well, not actual wars, but staff meetings with Mrs. Palmer were close enough — and yet nothing could have prepared me for this particular battlefield: standing at the front of my classroom the morning after Shella had been in my lap, in my hands, in my damn soul.

She was sitting in her usual seat, glasses sliding down her nose, pretending to scribble notes while sneaking glances up at me. Every time our eyes met she blushed furiously, lips pressing together like she was trying to swallow back a smile.

It was torture.

My entire body was one clenched fist of restraint. I gripped the edge of my desk so tightly the wood groaned. My jaw ached from how hard I was grinding my teeth. And God help me, my trousers... well, let's just say standing in front of thirty oblivious students while very much not fit for polite company was a new level of hell.

"Supply and demand," I barked, voice sharper than I intended. "What happens when demand exceeds supply?"

Half the class blinked at me like stunned sheep. Shella, however, smirked — actually smirked — and raised her hand with infuriating calm.

"Yes, Shella?" I asked, though my voice cracked halfway through her name. Perfect.

"When demand exceeds supply..." she began sweetly, eyes glittering with mischief, "...the price goes up."