Tutoring the Delinquent

Why is he asking? Maybe I’m such an anomaly in his world of television cameras and touchdowns, he’s fascinated by my celibate lifestyle. I shake my head.

His eyelids grow heavy with relief, his shoulders relaxing. “Saves me some time,” he mutters, straightening. Looking around the room. “I have an apartment off campus. You’ll have a lot more space there.” This time when he looks at me, his eyes seem a lot darker. “We will.”

“Oh.” I stand up again, holding the open textbook to my chest. That’s when I notice how fast my heart is beating. And my knees are sort of wobbly. Because of Teddy Xavier? I’ve never had this kind of reaction to anything or anyone before. Why does the first time have to be with a nationally admired quarterback? “You want us to study at your apartment, instead?”

A line moves in his cheek and for a moment, he looks almost amused. But only for a moment. Then he’s deadly serious. “I’m going to need a lot of tutoring, Iris. Day and night. For years. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“No,” I whisper, honestly. This happens a lot. I was raised in a quiet orphanage by a nun named Sister Mary Donovan who’d taken a vow of silence. I’m not great at interacting with people, let alone very tall, very good-looking men who smell like fresh rain. “I’m sorry.”

He swallows. “Don’t apologize. It’s me. I’m going too fast, doing this all wrong. Jesus, you fucking fluster me, honey. You know that?” His laughter is strained. “Let’s take this slower, okay?”

I don’t know what else do but nod, sitting back down on the bed. As a matter of fact, I’ve stood up and sat down so many times since he arrived, I might as well be in mass. I duck my chin into my chest to suppress a laugh—and that’s when Teddy drops down beside me. Hard. All of his weight lands on the spot to my left and I go flying, catapulted straight into the air.

“Iris!”

He catches me in mid-air and jerks me down into his lap protectively.

Now, my mouth is right below his. His eyes search mine with a lot more worry than the situation warrants. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m—”

I break off on a moan when his hand lifts to cradle the side of my face. His palm touches my bare skin and…and every nerve ending in my body screams in delight. Screams. Powerful enough to shatter glass. Or me, rather. I’m shattering, shaking. Moaning again.

Mentally, I know I’m embarrassing myself.

I know that.

But physically, I can’t stop rubbing my cheek into his palm, barely capable of keeping my eyes open, the rush of sensations is so large. Consuming.

“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer. “I’m just not used to…I haven’t been touched by anyone. I can’t remember the last time. Sister might have given me a hug on my fifteenth birthday…”

Teddy’s breath accelerates, his dark brows slashing together. “I don’t understand. You haven’t been touched at all since you were fifteen?” His thumb brushes my cheekbone and I go limp with a sob, but his strong arms tighten and hold me up easily. “Ah honey. What about your parents?”

My brain is so muddled by the warmth of his hand, the tingles his touch spreads all the way to my belly, I can barely explain. “I was put up for adoption when I was eleven. They needed someone to help out at the monastery and I was adopted. By the church.”

He processes that with a deep look of concentration, his rough knuckle trailing along the curve of my jaw, down the side of my neck, making me gasp. “How did you end up here? You’re a freshman, right? You have to be. I would have seen you. Known you were here…somehow.”

I’m trying to grasp what he’s saying to me, but his knuckle is in the hollow of my throat now, then it’s traveling lower. Looking me in the eye, Teddy pops open the buttons of my cardigan, one by one. But when he starts to spread it open, I regain my senses and grab his wrist to stop him. “I-I’m not wearing anything underneath this.”

“That’s okay, Iris. That’s good. From now on, I’m the one who gets to look. I’m the only one who is allowed. Understood?” I nod, barely cognizant of what I’m agreeing to, only that looking into this man’s eyes while he’s touching me feels infinitely right. Like it was inevitable long before he walked through the door tonight. “If my hand feels good on your face, think of how nice it’ll feel on your tits, honey.”

Tits.

I’ve never heard that word out loud before.

Some of the language around campus is “salty” as Sister would call it in those rare times she wasn’t living in silence, but I’ve yet to hear any sexual references being tossed around. To be fair, I normally put my head down and power walk between classes, because I’m so overwhelmed by the size of the university. The multitude of people. It’s so much bigger and busier than anywhere I’ve ever seen or been. It’s safer to stick to my books and assignments. “I…I don’t know.”