Lessons in Sin: A Student/Teacher Romance (Forbidden Love)

Chapter 14

I feel a sense of déjà vu when I wake, the bright light from the sun dragging me from sleep. The feel of the sheets, the smell clinging to them, the big, towering windows; they all feel familiar.

And that’s when I remember, my splintered memories crashing over me in one big embarrassing wave.

I’m in Tristan’s bed, wearing one of his shirts.

Holy shit Scarlett, what the fuck did you do last night?

Wincing at the fragments of last night, I look to the right to see that his side of the bed is, thankfully, empty. At least I can postpone the embarrassment of seeing him for a little bit longer. From the looks of the imprint on the mattress, he slept here - his night preserved in a sleepy snow angel.

Shifting, I bury my head into the pillow, groaning at the pounding in my skull. My head is killing me right now - it should be a rule that if you spend your night throwing up every drink you bought, you shouldn’t then be punished with a hangover the next morning. It’s only fair.

Holy hell I want to die.

Sitting up, I ignore the pounding in my skull. The entire apartment is silent bar from the shifting of the sheets. He must have soundproof windows because even everyday sounds like birds and traffic are silenced in this place. It’s creepy as hell.

Maybe I could slip away and forget this ever happened, maybe he wouldn’t bring it up again. But —

I guess we’re a match made in heaven.

He really did care and I’d be a fool to run away now when I’ve finally got something to go on.

Slipping from the bed, I make my way through to his open-plan kitchen and living room. The kitchen is any cook’s wet dream complete with double ovens, a kitchen island, and a huge fridge - all decorated tastefully in shades of black and white. It looks like the sort of kitchen you’d see in one of those interior design magazines - perfectly designed yet coldly clinical.

His living room feels slightly more lived in with the coffee cup on the coffee table and the imprint on the couch where he clearly favours sitting. But it still feels … cold.

There are no photographs or decorations - he doesn’t even have any throw pillows. Who doesn’t have throw pillows?

I grew up living in a house similar to this - cold and clinical. Every decoration wasn’t picked because my mom and dad liked it, it was picked to keep the perfect picture of perfection on the outside.

I wasn’t even allowed to sit on the sofa unless it was night-time, and I knew that no one would be coming over.

Shaking my head, I rid my mind of the memories and move to the kitchen to see a note sitting on the counter beside a glass of water and two painkillers.

Smiling I down the drink and pills before reading the note.

Scarlett,

I have a meeting I can’t get out of, but I will be back soon.

Do Not Leave.

-Tristan.

Butterflies soar in my stomach as I read. He’s double-underlined the Do Not Leave. The command in his words is clear - do not disobey.

Jumping onto one of the island chairs, I pull out my phone. There’s a message waiting from Noah.

Noah: Don’t forget to message when you’re up otherwise imma come drag you out of bed myself to see if you’re safe.

Scarlett: The only dangerous thing right now is my hangover.

Just as the text sends, the door to Tristan’s apartment opens. Tristan walks in holding a bag and a tray of four drinks that smell like the drink of the Holy Spirit - coffee. He’s discarded his casual sweatpants from the night before for a suit. His meeting must have been at LAU.

Ignoring the heat filling my cheeks, I point at the coffee cups. ‘Please tell me one of those is for me.’

He smiles, the sight leaving my mouth dry. ‘They’re all for you.’ He points to each one in turn. ‘Latte, Caramel Macchiato, Americano, Black.’

I raise my brow. ’Do I look like I need this much caffeine to revive myself?’

’There’s no such thing as too much coffee … but no. I just wasn’t sure which you preferred so I got a selection.’

Reaching over, I take the Caramel Macchiato, swallowing the lump that’s formed in my throat at the gesture. ‘Thank you.’

He grabs the black, sipping the bitter brew before nudging over the bag in his hands. ‘Breakfast.’

The steam fills my nostrils, the smell of bacon, pancakes and maple syrup sending my stomach grumbling. I flush at the sound, but Tristan only smiles as I dig in.

Spooning in a mouthful of pancakes, I moan. ‘Oh my god, these are so good.’

I look to Tristan, expecting him to be digging into his own breakfast, but instead, I find his eyes fixated on me. Desire floods his features, his eyes dipping to my lips. He lifts his hands, wiping at a drop of syrup on my lip before bringing It to his own. ‘Sweet.’

Gaping at him, I forget to breathe. I’m aching and swollen and fucking horny. It’s like he wants me to sit in a puddle of my own wetness twenty-four-seven.

‘Something on your mind?’ He smirks like he knows exactly what’s on my mind.

Closing my mouth, I shake my head too fast. ‘Nope, nothing at all.’ Shifting in my seat, I try to ignore the pulsing between my thighs. ‘So … why don’t you decorate?’

He looks confused. ‘What do you mean?’ He gestures around him. ’There’s plenty of decorations.’

I send him a really look. ‘Did they come with the place?’

‘Yes.’

’Then that doesn’t count!’

‘What do you mean that doesn’t count?’

‘I mean, these—‘ I wave a hand to the kitchen and living room, ‘Don’t reflect who you are because you didn’t choose them.’

He sits back and stretches. ‘Is that a rule?’

I nod and send him a serious look. ‘Yep. One that shouldn’t be broken for the sake of sanity.’

He grins, the wide smile lighting his eyes. ‘Is this like your sex voodoo theory?’

‘Yep.’ I raise my head. ‘They’re both logical and correct.’

‘I see. Well, maybe we’ll have to rectify my dire situation.’

He’s teasing, I know, but he said we, as in me and him - him and me. The two of us together. Maybe it’s nothing but …

Coughing, I say as nonchalantly as possible. ’So, about last night …’

His eyes don’t dim. ‘Yes?’

I narrow my eyes. ‘You’re not helping.’

He laughs, the sound full and bright. ‘I don’t intend on helping. I like watching you squirm.’

Slipping off the seat I storm away, but he catches my arm before I can go far.

’Scarlett, I think it’s pretty clear that this thing between us isn’t just going to go away.’ He pauses, searching for the words. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you - this week’s been fucking miserable trying to stop myself from going anywhere near you.’

My heart beats faster as he speaks, a flood of emotions sending hope souring through me.

He continues. ‘I want you to know that this,’ he gestures between us. ‘Is not something I’ve ever done before. It’s reckless and stupid but I think it might just be worth it.’ He cups my jaw and strokes my cheek with his thumb. ‘If you’re willing - I want to try.’

Leaning into his touch, I smile. ‘I want that too.’

Sometimes the darkest love brings the strongest light, and I’d be a fool to throw that away.