Angel (h.s)
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- Votes 5
- Parts 1
"I have a question" I sipped my coffee once more.
"Shoot," he placed his mug on the coaster listening intently.
"Why do you call me 'Angel'?" I asked, desperate to hear his answer.
"Because when I see you I can't even fathom the hours of work God must have put into your face, sculpting your perfectly shaped little nose, your eyes that have flecks of deep brown married with lighter hues, and lips so perfectly shaped and heavenly I have to fight the urge not to kiss you every minute of the day. Oh, the way you talk; God yes you may be young but you're wise beyond your years. You are my best I'll ever know. You're mine, Angel."
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Your eyeballs glued to his ass as he paced the floor in front of you. Your pen nervously tapping your desk, awaiting the ring of the bell. Your heart jolting every time he looked your way. You wanted more than anything to be his. But you knew it was impossible. A fantasy, too good to be true. And besides, what separates you from all those other beautiful women? All those models, actresses, and singers? Oh right. You’re his student.
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