Chapter Six - Lessons In Restraint
935 Words
Olivia’s POV
I didn’t sleep.
Not properly, anyway.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his breath on my skin. Heard that voice again — low, rough, dangerous.
If I ever catch you standing in the rain like that again, don’t expect me to be a gentleman.
I kept replaying the moment over and over.
How close he leaned.
How my body reacted without permission.
How I didn’t stop him.
Didn’t want to.
And now I had to sit in his class, act like nothing happened.
Act like I didn’t climb into his car last night with every inch of my body on display.
The classroom felt different today.
Colder.
Sharper.
Like the walls themselves remembered.
Nick walked in five minutes late, dressed in black — shirt rolled at the sleeves, hair a little messier than usual, like maybe he hadn’t slept much either.
But his face?
Emotionless.
“Turn to page 74,” he said without looking up.
His voice had no edge. No inflection. Like I was just another body in the room.
Like I hadn’t shivered when his mouth brushed my ear.
Like he hadn’t all but promised to ruin me if he ever saw me like that again.
He didn’t call on me during the entire lecture.
Not once.
Not even to make a point of ignoring me — which would’ve been easier, in a way.
Instead, he treated me like I wasn’t there at all.
I stared at the ink bleeding across my notebook, the words on the page a blur. My body was in class. My mind was in his car.
“Blake.”
My head jerked up.
He was staring straight at me.
“Stay after.”
Not a request.
Not even a full sentence.
Just a command tossed my way before he turned back to the board like it meant nothing.
But it meant everything.
The moment the lecture ended, chairs scraped, pages flipped, and the others filed out — the same as always.
Except this time, I was the only one still sitting when the door clicked shut.
He didn’t look at me.
Just gathered his papers. Calm. Detached.
“You’ve been distracted,” he said.
I swallowed. “I’m fine.”
His gaze snapped to mine.
“You think fine is good enough in my class?”
I shook my head, pulse skipping.
He walked toward me, each step unhurried — deliberate.
“Because I don’t.”
I stood. I didn’t know why. Maybe to feel taller. Maybe to feel less like prey. But it didn’t work. Not when he stopped a breath away, close enough that I could smell the same scent from last night. That same sharp, dark pull.
“About yesterday—” I began.
“I don’t want your apologies.”
His voice was low. Controlled. But something flickered behind it. Heat. Or maybe hunger.
“I wasn’t going to apologize.”
He blinked slowly. “Then what were you going to do, Olivia?”
I licked my lips before I could stop myself. “I don’t know.”
He looked at my mouth. Just for a second. Then back to my eyes.
“That’s the problem.”
The silence that followed crackled — thick and electric.
Then he leaned down, just enough so his mouth was near my ear again, mimicking last night.
But this time his voice was colder.
“I don’t mix with students. Don’t confuse attention for intention.”
I flinched. Not because of what he said — but because part of me wanted him to break his own rules.
And he knew it.
He stepped back, grabbed his folder, and turned away like the conversation had never happened.
“You can go.”
I left before I embarrassed myself.
Before I begged.
I stepped out of the classroom, heart thudding like it wanted to claw out of my chest.
The hallway was empty. Quiet.
Everyone had gone.
But before I could take another breath—
“Olivia.”
His voice again.
I turned, startled.
Nick stood in the doorway, half in shadow. The kind of lighting that made him look like sin incarnate. His tie was loose now, top two buttons undone like he’d finally let go of whatever control he was gripping too tight.
“Come here.”
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
His jaw flexed.
“I said, come here.”
God, I should have walked away. I meant to. But I took two steps forward like my body didn’t belong to me anymore.
When I was within reach, he didn’t touch me — not at first. Just stared.
Then his hand shot out and gripped my waist, yanking me hard against him.
I gasped, palms landing on his chest, feeling the tension coiled beneath his shirt like a loaded spring.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he said, voice rough.
“Then don’t.”
He didn’t move.
Neither did I.
His hand slid lower, curling just over my hip, fingers digging in.
“You think I didn’t notice you last night?” he whispered. “Soaked through, n*****s hard, shirt clinging to every inch of your body—”
“Nick…”
“Say my name like that again and I swear—”
He cut himself off. Exhaled sharp.
Then suddenly—he let me go.
Just like that.
Like it meant nothing.
“You’re playing with fire, Olivia,” he said, voice colder now. Guarded.
“I don’t care.”
“You will.”
And then he turned his back, walked into the office, and shut the door behind him.
Hard.
- Writer
