Chapter 17 || His Stormy Blues

Unedited.

Hehehe... I know it's been a while and I'm sorry for that guys, but here's a slightlyyyy long chapter to make up for it!

I'll try to update more but no promises, we'll see what happens.

Cheers to those who asked me to update, I usually need some form of pressure to do so😋

Sending lots of love xx

HIS STORMY BLUES

I've been avoiding him.

I didn't greet him in the morning, neither did I go visit him during lunch.

But now it's time for my class with him to start, and I'll have to go.

To face his wrath.

Have him scream at me. Maybe ridicule me.

I'm not sure what to expect, really. He's too unpredictable for my tastes.

But I still love him.

And I can still feel his rosy lips on mine, that sensation from all those days ago.

And boy, how I'm addicted. To his taste. To his lips.

Realizing that I'm unconsciously touching my lips with my fingers, I immediately plaster my hands to my side. I don't need anyone to think of me more of a weirdo than I already am.

That's part of the reason why I stayed away from him.

I didn't know how I would react.

With sweaty hands, I move to open the door. But to my greatest confusion, it's already being opened. Adding to my anxious state.

I look up hesitantly, and I feel my brown skin paling when my mahogany orbs clash against those beautiful blues.

Beautiful blues which seem to flash with red when they see me.

A cruel smirk adorns his face. Steady voice, angry undertone. "Ah, and here we have our favorite late comer."

I gulp.

I'm not going to get out of here unscathed, and I just know it.

"Why don't you come in? Or do you need an invitation card?"

The chuckles from the students don't help calm my nerves as I step into the room.

I look up at him, lips wobbling, feeling my eyes tearing up already.

For a second, his cruel expression seems to crack. But he turns away from me, letting me take my seat in silence.

"Now, as I was saying before we were interrupted..."

He still has some bitterness in him. I can feel it; taste it on the tip of my tongue.

But for my sake, he's trying to control himself. And I find my heart hammering wildly inside my chest when I realise that's the reason.

Fúck.

I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a shaky breath. Trying to get rid of the sensation of feeling my lips on his.

God.

"Are you okay, Namora?" Daniel asks from next to me, his concerned tone bringing a small smile over my face.

"I'm fine, Dan, thanks for the other day," I say courteously, allowing him to smile a toothy grin at the nickname I've given him.

"You've warmed up to me now, haven't you?"

"Yup, but let's quit talking before Mr. Grumpy Pants calls us out."

Daniel can barely contain his laughter at my factual remark, and that brings him to the limelight of the sharp man's vision.

"Daniel, boy, may you tell us what you're so keenly laughing about?"

He stills, gulping at Mr. Williams' warning tone.

I don't blame him; that beautiful man is too intimidating for his own good. He would make a beautiful model with his face that rarely ever breaks into a smile.

"I'd rather you remain in the state you're in throughout the rest of the lesson, otherwise you'll be laughing in the principal's office," Mr. Williams drawls wittily, and murmurs break out at the underlying menace the words hold.

"Jesus, he's too scary," Daniel whispers to me, and I remain tight-lipped, feeling a twang of guilt.

I kissed this scary man a few days ago.

And I don't regret it.

I can't say the same for him, though, as I look at him from underneath my eyelashes, studying his body language, which point to signs of irritability.

With a sigh, I note that I won't be facing his pleasant side at the end of the lesson.

If he will even acknowledge me at the end of the lesson.

My heavy heart distracts me from the lecture, and soon enough I find myself entranced in watching him go about, though not conscious of the words falling out of his mouth. I'm too busy thinking about the way that mouth would feel pressed against mine in a steamy embrace as he thrusts into me.

"Namora?"

I blink, shifting my hazy vision.

"Namora?"

Embarrassment courses through me when I realize that Mr. Williams has called on me thrice without my acknowledgement.

"Uh, I- sorry?" I offer, still disoriented.

I tune out the snickers resonating around me; I can't deal with their bull right now.

Mr. Williams has a look of disapproval plastered on his face, "I said, what do you think of the-"

"She clearly doesn't know the answer, Mr. Williams," Charlotte crawls out from the cave she was hibernating in, interrupting him midsentence.

If glares could kill, I'd have killed her by now.

"I'll answer you in her stead," she begins, giving him a sultry smile to which he narrows his eyes.

Ha, bítch, I've done better than that. I've kissed him.

"The paragraph instigates that Romeo felt uncomfortable with..." I tune her out, watching the way Mr. Williams listens to her with keen interest.

A burst of envy courses through me, but I keep it tamed. She might have charmed him with her wits, but I'm the one who is going to seduce him at the end of the day.

My features crumble as I realize what I'm doing.

Why am I acting this way? It's so unlike me.

I hate it.

Can't this class be over? Because I'm suffocating.

As if God hears me, the bell rings.

"Remember to finish your homework, everyone!"

I make the mistake of looking up at Mr. Williams, to find him already looking at me with his electric blue eyes.

Stay.

His gaze seems to demand of me. And so that's how I find myself slowly packing up my things, waiting for everyone to crawl out of the classroom before I let my eyes catch his.

And the intensity of his gaze renders me immobile.

"They say that literature lets us sharpen our skills and interpret things in a much more thorough manner," Mr. Williams begins mockingly, his voice a steady, dominant drawl that reverberates through the empty classroom.

Under which I can sense a rising storm, one which I will be the recipient to.

"However, even after spending so much time together, Namora, I cannot begin to fathom where we," he motions between me and him, "stand."

I remain silent, twiddling my thumbs together anxiously, limbs shaking, unable to open my mouth an answer him.

Because after all, it's not everyday that you kiss your professor and then ignore him until the day you have class. I should have expected that he'd be bitter; but for the kiss or my ignoring him?

"So I'd like you, Namora," he continues, eyebrows raised in mock enthusiasm, "to tell me, where we stand."

"I... I'm sorry—"

"Namora. You have to understand that apologising profusely after committing every wrong action won't cut it. You can't just do something like that and then expect me to just... accept it," he seems exasperated as he reasons with me, and my heart weeps for him. Longs for him.

Grovels for me to let him know how much I love him— and show it.

But I won't— I can't.

And then comes the big bang.

"For God's sake, Namora, you kissed me."

I wince, as if I'd been physically slapped.

It's not as if I didn't expect it; I most certainly did.

But I guess I wasn't prepared for the effect it would have on me.

Guilt.

Unadulterated, unrelenting guilt.

I swallow down the thick coat of deadliness found at the tip of my tongue, wiping my shaking, sweaty hands on my clothed thighs.

I can't cry nor apologize my way out of this.

Both of us know I can't.

"I... I don't know what to tell you," I whisper into the otherwise silent classroom.

"You'll have to find something to say, Namora. Your actions seem to be getting more and more reckless by the—"

His eyes widen, and he interrupts himself.

But for the love of God, I would have rather faced his wrath than face this.

"Namora, are you attracted to me?"