Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
I yell it out loud in the fantasy because I’ll never get to say it in real life.
And yet, despite all that, I can’t deny I’m looking forward to the meeting later.
At the very least, math with Elias will be better than doing it alone.
CHAPTER 6
Elias
I try to focus on my work, but I keep glancing at the clock, the second hand seeming to go oddly slow today.
I think about the text I sent to Della, telling her she doesn’t have to go through anything alone.
I almost left it like that, but then I quickly added the part about the college, how Second Chance is here to help her.
But I want to be the one she leans on, the one who’ll always support us and our family.
It’s almost three now, a few minutes to go, and suddenly I can’t sit still.
I pace around my office, neat and tidy, with few personal flourishes. It’s not that I don’t have photos I could hang – dad and me fishing, my friends and me on one of our trips – but it helps me focus, keeping it streamlined.
As I pace, my fists clenched at my sides with tension rioting through me, I imagine photos of Della and the kids on the wall. The kids, as though they’re already here, as though they exist anywhere but in my head.
A knock at the door made me pause, head tilted.
I feel like a predator, listening for his prey. And that’s what I am…a predator to anybody who would ever harm Della or hurt her in any way.
I’d turn savage for that.
“Hello?” I call.
“It’s me, Mr., uh, I mean Elias.”
My woman’s voice is even sweeter than I knew it would be, her tone high with a telling shiver in it. I wonder if that’s the usual nerves some students experience when meeting with a teacher…or if it’s something more, something related to just us.
I take a moment before opening the door, knowing I need to calm down. My manhood is already twitching, lust rushing up my shaft, making me solid.
When I open the door, it takes everything I have not to pull Della into my arms and kiss her hard.
Kiss her passionately.
Kiss her, so she knows she’s mine and only ever will be.
She’s wearing a baggy sweater, an open weave which shows me glimpses of her bare arms through it. The sweater clings to her curvy breasts, so juicy, so tempting it’s difficult not to reach over and start massaging her. Her jeans are pale blue, on the tighter side, hugging onto her voluptuous legs.
Her hair is down, wavy to her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed.
Her eyes…I could stare at them, into them, for years.
Forever.
“Am I late?” she asks, a shiver in her voice.
“No,” I say, clearing my throat. “You’re early.”
“Oh.” She moves to step away. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” My voice is far too loud, far too flooded with hunger. “It’s fine. Come in.”
I move aside, realizing way too late I’ve left a small gap for her to walk through. I could take another step back, but then her scent touches me on an animal level, making my balls swell, my shaft gets even harder, my everything roars out to touch her.
I stay where I am, drinking in her closeness.
Once she’s in, I close the door behind her, thinking, even as I do it, that I should probably keep it open. There’s no policy about open or closed doors at the college, but it would be the smart move with all this temptation trying to make me claim her.
“So, what did you need help with?” I ask, walking over to my side of the desk.
I’ll focus on the math. Nothing else. The problems and the solutions.
It’s the only thing I can solve.
I can’t unravel my need for Della.
She lays her bag on the ground and then starts rooting through it. My gaze snaps to her sweater, to where it hangs down, giving me a look at her breasts.
She’s wearing a white T-shirt beneath the sweater, her bra showing, the shape of her tits, making me think of tearing it all away.
I’d push her breasts together, greedily sucking one nipple then the other, listening to the pleasure noises she makes as she moans, telling me how badly she wants it.
Just as badly as me.
Then she sits up, and I’m able to focus on her face.
Just about.
This is already the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.
For the next twenty or so minutes, we discuss math. I have to switch off my emotions to distance myself from them as best I can. The numbers make it easier, the true-or-false nature of them, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
“Wow.” Della sits back, her smile intoxicating. “That seems a lot simpler. Yeah. Way simpler.”
“It’s all about breaking it into steps,” I say, my tone flat to prevent it from becoming a roar. “I’ve had students before who hated math so badly, the first step was, Open the book. Or, Pick up the pencil. It stops it from becoming this huge, terrifying thing in your mind.”