Chapter Two
HOPE
The legs of old plastic chairs grind against the floor, and a flurry of panic shoots through my chest. I came to class tonight with one goal, and by the look on Wilson Delaney’s face, it seems I’ve achieved it.
Ever since I started my show, he hasn’t been able to shift his steely-blue eyes anywhere else. Exactly how I pictured it.
Wilson runs a hand through his hair, chewing on the end of an orange Bic pen.
He’s easy on the eyes, even with his salt-and-pepper hair, graying beard, and crow’s feet.
They add a sense of authority to his grizzled good looks.
From the moment I saw him, I felt drawn to him.
His very presence commands respect. He oozes a sense of calm control, while his eyes shine with an alluring darkness.
I’ve known him for six months, and I’ve been hooked since the day we met. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame, I’m floating in dangerous circles closer to his toxic heat.
I’ve seen the way he looks at me. The burning mix of desire and desperation.
The way he undresses me with his eyes, eager to take me.
I feel the same. My mind races at the thought of his strong arms pulling me tight against his broad frame.
Of his rough hands ripping my blouse in two.
I can’t fight this craving any longer. Tonight I make my stand.
Mindless chatter follows the noise from the people scattering out of Wilson Delaney’s classroom. I stay put in my chair because I’m not done with him yet. I’ve got no reason to get home early and, God knows, I’m not interested in spending time with family. They’re the worst…
I wait for the noise to simmer down, and for the last few people taking the class to leave.
Wilson sits steadily in his chair, with steepled fingers resting in front of his face.
Even in this somewhat relaxed pose, his muscular arms stretch the fabric of his white button-down shirt.
He’s the kind of man who’d be every woman’s wet dream, but I know how to make my fantasies a reality.
“What would you like to talk about, Mr. Delaney? Did I do something wrong on my assignment?” I play dumb.
“I’m sure we both know what this is about, Hope.” He’s not addressing me with the fake cheerfulness he generally uses. Instead his words come out in a deep, husky whisper.
“I don’t follow.” I slide out of my chair with slow, deliberate movements. I get to my feet and approach his desk, swaying my hips with every step.
“What was that?” he asks.
I get to his desk and lean forward on my elbows. His eyes drift from mine to the V of my blouse, staring at my cleavage.
“You know—”
“I really don’t,” he cuts me off.
“When the need arises, you’ve gotta take care of it,” I wink. Wilson barely notices. He’s still drinking in my body.
“In the middle of class where anyone can see?” He crooks a brow.
I press myself off Wilson’s desk and step around it. His gaze sinks from my breasts down to my hips. He’s lost in a world of his own, enjoying the spectacle I’m putting on.
“That’s the fun of it.” An involuntary grin stretches across my face. “What’s the point of doing anything if there isn’t at least some danger involved?”
With the hell I go through to keep ahead, why wouldn’t I play this low-stakes game? I’m a woman; he’s a man. There’s nothing wrong with a little fun.
When I’ve reached Wilson’s side of the desk, I sit down against it. My heart pounds against my ribs because I’m nervous about how this entire interaction’s going. Though his eyes betray him, Wilson’s doing his darndest to stay in control.
I’m not. I’ve lost it all to the handsome bastard sitting in front of me.
Wilson’s thick frame leans back in his chair, trying to put distance between us. The first beads of nervous sweat form on his brow.
“You could offend someone.” He takes a deep huff of air.
“But did I?” We both know he isn’t upset about what I did. He’d have turned away, said something in code to stop me… “I was quite in control of that situation.”
Hell, this conversation should’ve been about what a bad girl I’d been.
“You didn’t, but you could’ve,” he says so softly, I almost can’t make it out.
I kick one leg into the air, and Wilson follows it. From high above, I sink it onto his lap. The bottom of my shoe is instantly met by his throbbing erection. A muffled groan escapes his lips, and with a heavy sigh, Wilson’s gaze trails my legs until he’s staring straight between my thighs.
“What are you doing?” he asks without much fight.
My heart’s pounding a hauntingly beautiful beat in my ears. My limbs feel heavy and restricted. I’ve got this all figured out. I’ve planned and rehearsed it several times. This question, the most obvious one, is what I prepared for best. But nerves choke my reply in the back of my throat.
“You…” I stutter and stammer. My mouth’s so dry, I can barely swallow. “You can touch it if you want.” I finally get it out.
Wilson seems intrigued by the offer and mulls it over for a second that feels like an eternity. His hand reaches toward my leg. Is he going to do it? Have I somehow whittled down his resolve with nothing but a short show and a foot to his cock?
He takes my ankle in a light grip and pushes my leg away. He clears his throat, shakes his head, and turns his attention to the ceiling while sliding back in his chair. It screeches and creaks with every movement of his muscular body.
“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but it has to stop,” he says.
“Whatever do you mean?” I lift myself off Wilson’s table and stand right in front of him. His concentration doesn’t break from the dirty ceiling.
“You work hard enough to get good grades, so I can’t imagine this is a seduce the teacher for an A situation,” he ignores my question.
I graze his cheek with three fingers, bringing his attention back to me.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I wink, this time ensuring he sees it. “Apart from this, anyway.”
I drop onto Wilson’s lap, one hand still touching his face while the other slips between our bodies. I run my palm over his erection, and a low groan escapes Wilson.
“Holy fuck,” he mutters.
“Fuck? If you insist,” I tease. I get a hold on his zipper, starting to lower it.
This is where Wilson draws the line. He grabs my hand and pulls it away.
“We can’t do this, Hope. I’m two decades your senior.” He sighs. “You’re my student. It’s not right. What will people think?”
“Some fun between consenting adults? Who cares what people think?” I say. “They won’t even know if we’re careful.”
“Nineteen doesn’t make you an adult.” Wilson pauses. He’s straining to turn away from me, but he manages it before saying, “You’re here to better your situation, unlike the majority of the degene—”
He cuts himself off before finishing the sentence. “I understand. Your mother’s ill and it must be hard on you to carry the weight of her health on your shoulders. But you’re fighting for something better. Flinging yourself into my arms is looking for trouble.”
A sharp sting shoots through my chest at Wilson’s mention of my mother. He remembered the story I told him? There’s nothing wrong with my mother or my father. When I told him that story, I believed it would be forgotten by the second week of the semester.
My parents are just terrible people. They’re the reason I’m in night school, to begin with.
I could’ve had a free ride to the University of Alabama, but I was forced to work and take care of their lazy asses.
Every time I plan a grand escape, they shut it down and break my will.
They keep me around to be their lonely, depressed puppet.
Not much of an opening line…
“I can handle trouble,” I say.
“Not my kind, you can’t.”
“Try me.”
I cup Wilson’s cheek and lean toward him. Now, more than ever, I need him as a distraction from the thoughts of my parents. He’s a beacon of light in a tunnel of darkness, and I’m going to take it the best way I know how…
Our lips meet, but I feel no welcome from Wilson. He clenches his jaw, grabs me by the hips, and hoists me off of him.
He gets to his feet, patting down his black pants. “I need to go.” He starts walking off, but I grab his arm and pull him back toward me.
“No.”
I don’t want him to go. I don’t want to be alone. Not yet. “Stay with me.”
“Go home, Hope. Think about what you’re doing and if this is what you really want,” he says.
His words strike me as odd. He didn’t shut me down outright this time. Does that mean he’s interested? He just wants to know that I’m fully willing to hand myself to him? The thought excites me deeply, but a new wave of nervousness rears up.
I don’t have to think about it. This is what I want. I’ve become obsessed with the idea of being with Wilson, and if he gave in, it would’ve happened tonight.
He doesn’t face me again, breaking free of my grip and walking away.
But he’s left me, for lack of a better word, with hope.