He pours the champagne. I’ve had champagne once, at a wedding. It was gross, like dry ginger ale, but worse. I try a sip. This isn’t gross, not at all. It’s sweet and tickles the back of my throat. I want to down the entire glass, but hold myself back, not wanting to be obvious about just how nervous I really am. So far I think I’m really pulling off this whole confidence thing—to the point I’m actually starting to believe it myself.
He pulls my chair out for me and I sit.
“Help yourself,” he says, pointing at the food on the table in bowls.
There’s salad, pasta with red sauce, and breadsticks that also look homemade. I take a little of each.
“You’re not one of those girls, are you?” he asks, smirking at me from across the table, the candlelight doing beautiful things with his face.
“What girls?”
“The ones who eat like birds on a date, then scarf down a pizza when they get home.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Is this a date?”
The corner of his mouth twitches into a half smile. “No.”
“Well then, no, I guess not.”
I reach over and grab a heaping spoonful of pasta and plop it down on my plate. He laughs and starts to fill his own plate.
He eats much quicker than I do. I’ve always been a slow eater ever since I choked on a Red Vine in a dark movie theater; it put the fear of God into me.
“So, Mr. Johnson,” I say, trying to fill the room with sounds other than my chewing. “Why’d you get into porn?”
His champagne glass stops on its way to his lips. I think he’s blushing but it’s too difficult to tell in the dull glow of the room. “Call me Loche,” he says. “And I did it out of necessity. I was a struggling student and I saw an opportunity to better my situation and I took it.” He looks pointedly at me over his glass.
“I know what that look is for,” I tell him. It’s so obvious that he’s suspicious, like he can’t believe I have all this information on him and all I want out of the deal is to see his dick. “I’m still not blackmailing you, so stop looking at me like I’m a criminal.”
His smile beats me over the head, leaves me breathless and incapacitated for a moment. He’s so insanely handsome. He might even be better-looking than Tom Hardy, if that’s even humanly possible, or maybe it’s just the champagne going to my head. I don’t think so, though. I think I closed myself off to men because of my workload for so long that I just forgot to look. Well, not anymore. I’m definitely looking now.
My body’s reacting, but my mind is telling me if I go too far, it’ll ruin everything. I want at least one mind-blowing porn scene of my own with him, but how will we ever go back to our student-teacher relationship after that? How can I ever look at him the same again? Things would get awkward. I’d have to switch classes and teachers. What a pain in the ass. Actually, I probably wouldn’t even be able to switch. I’m sure this far into the school year classes are full. I groan quietly enough so he doesn’t hear. I’ve really got myself in deep this time, but there’s no turning back now.
Loche stands and walks toward me. There’s something very commanding about the way he moves. Apparently his authority isn’t reserved only for the classroom.
My fork still hovers in front of my mouth, but I struggle to move, mesmerized by his every step as he gets nearer. With my empty hand, I reach for my champagne glass and chug what’s left in it.
“More?” he asks, standing right in front of me now.
I nod because words fail me. He fills the glass and I chug it too.
He breathes out silent laughter. “Am I making you nervous?”
I try to roll my eyes and laugh it off, but I have no idea what my face is doing because it’s completely numb. “What? No,” I say. He takes another step closer and my voice starts to warble. “What’s there to be nervous about?”
I have a good buzz going and a slight headache. So much for feeling confident. I shouldn’t still be this nervous.
“Are you still eating?” he asks.
I look at the fork in my hand. How could I possibly still think about food at a time like this? I put it down on my plate. He pushes it off to the side and sits on the edge of the table in front of me.
He touches my cheek, running his fingers along my jawline and caressing my bottom lip with his thumb. “Time for dessert,” he says in a low voice.
Swallowing hard, I have a feeling he’s not talking about cake.
Chapter 4
Loche Johnson
It’ll be a shame to see that dress go, but worth it to see what’s underneath. Though it’s not like it leaves much to the imagination to begin with. Georgia has an incredible figure. Nice round hips, small waist, flat stomach, and breasts just large enough for a mouthful. I never really noticed her body before under the comfort-style clothing she always wears to class. But damn, does she clean up well.