Trapped With My Teacher

So. Cold.

“Corina, I’ve been calling for you for an hour,” he pants as he carries me into the house.

An hour? Was it really that long?

He tugs the door shut behind us and carries me straight to the couch, where he piles both blankets onto me as he turns to stoke the fire.

“B-but—” I manage to stammer. “We… have to… save…”

Tony has a mind of his own now, though. He throws every last piece of wood we have into the fireplace, until the flames are roaring, and still I’m shivering. “I tried walking as far as the rope I found in the shed would let me, in every direction. I used that to keep finding my way back to the cabin—I couldn’t find your tracks anymore, though, after about half an hour…”

I wince. “S-s-s-so… rry…”

“Don’t.” He closes the fireplace and spins to face me, his expression serious. “I’m just glad you’re safe now.” He steps over to the couch and rubs my arms. “We need to warm you up.”

Now I need to speak up. “T-tony. C-c-can’t. Need to… s-save wood.”

“No. We need to save you.” He sizes me up, my chattering teeth and the shivers I can’t stop. My fingertips and my toes still feel numb, but worse than that, my whole body just feels… cold. Tony can clearly see that, too. After a moment’s consideration, he strips off his shirt.

“Wh-what… about… you,” I manage.

“I’m plenty hot enough for both of us,” he replies, and tries for a little grin. It fails because underneath I can see how worried he is, how his eyes track my every shiver. He pushes down his jeans, then crawls under the blankets with me. I gasp at the touch of his skin, so warm against my freezing body.

He starts to strip off my clothes. I’m shaking too hard to protest anymore, or do anything really but stare at the fireplace across the room. At the last of our wood going up in flames.

What are we going to do tomorrow?

Tony won’t let me worry about it now, clearly. He pulls off my shirt, my jeans, strips me down to my underwear, and then wraps his body around mine, curved around me on the couch. I grab his hand, but he takes both of my hands—which must be freezing, to judge by how white-hot his skin feels on mine—and puts them under his arms, clenching tight to pin them in one of the warmest spots on his body.

If it makes him too cold, he doesn’t let it show. He just keeps those steady green eyes on my face, watching me, gauging my reaction. I sink into him and let the shivering slowly pass. Eventually, my teeth stop their chatter, and I thaw enough to be able to feel the heat from the flames, the warmth of his skin.

I gasp in a mix of pain and relief. Pain because my fingers and toes and the tip of my nose have all begun to burn with the pain of returning blood flow. Relief because now, finally, my bones are beginning to feel something like warmth again.

Tony, for his part, hasn’t let go of me yet. He weaves his fingers through mine and he’s rubbing the back of my hand, my arm, my fingertips. He folds me into his arms, pulling my body against his warm one, and I almost start to drift off there, eyelids fluttering half-closed as I listen to his heartbeat, feel my body tingling and aching as it begins to recover from my flight. Between that and the cheery crackle of the wood in the fireplace, the weight of the heavy blankets over us, I’m warm enough that I could sleep now, safely.

Safe. That’s how I feel in his arms. Safe and protected… I’m almost asleep when his voice stirs me again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

I blink back awake. “No, Tony, I’m sorry.” I tighten my grip on his hands.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I should have been honest with you. I should trust you by now. I know that. I just… It’s hard to talk about because…” He pauses. Swallows so loud I can hear it.

I lean back against him. “It’s okay, Tony. If you don’t want to tell me…”

“I do, though.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Corina, I don’t think you’re spoiled. Not now that I know you. I had it all wrong, because… I knew your father.”

Whatever I expected, it wasn’t that. I spin around to stare at him.

He spreads his hands, an apologetic, regretful look on his face. “You know he’s an alum. He’s been involved in the school since long before you started attending—he’s one of our main contributors. He donates more than most of the other alumni combined, and so did your grandfather before him. Your father, though, he takes advantage of that position. Sets all kinds of rules about who can use the money and where and when and for what. He tried to get me fired on more than one occasion simply because he didn’t approve of the direction we were taking this department.”