Dirty Look - Dark Desires

Fuck. Fuck. Why is that thought so hot?

I switch the shower head to the pulse setting and I let the water caress me until the swirling pleasure between my thighs takes over completely and I am left shaking in the shower, finding the desperate release I wanted to have with him.

Freshly relieved of all that sexual tension, I get out of the shower and dress. Usually I wear what’s cute. Today, I’m picking out clothes that don’t hug my ass. The best I can do is a skirt that kind of flares out at my hips and mostly avoids the tender region. Sitting down on the wooden bench seats isn't going to be fun. I consider skipping class, but that would only make things worse.

I check my schedule, and then my watch.

“Fuck!” I’m late for my first class of the day.

I can't be late. I don't want to give him any reason to punish me again. I don't think I can stand being spanked again. It was so embarrassing. It made me feel as though I was completely out of control.I head to class in a mad rush. There's no time for breakfast. I feel like I'm forgetting something, but there’s no time to try to remember. Before I know it, I'm sitting uncomfortably and conjugating French verbs with the rest of my class.

By the time I get out, my stomach is growling. I head to the cafeteria to get something to eat, but before I can get anywhere near the poor offerings there, I’m accosted by the sight of the man who made me call him sir coming down the hall toward me.

God, he's fucking handsome. He moves like a prowling animal, all muscle and intensity. How does everybody not see exactly what he is? To my gaze, it’s written all over him. There’s no way he would ever have been able to hide from me.

“Hello, Mia,” he says, stopping in front of me.

“Oh, hi,” I smile. “How are you, professor?”

“Disappointed, Mia."

My heart sinks, and I don't know why. What have I done wrong? I've only been in his presence for twenty seconds. Is he mad that I came in the shower?

“Is it your birthday and all your friends forgot?” I try to lighten the mood with a joke. It doesn’t work. He crosses his arms on his chest and gives me one curt shake of his head. Glancing around, I reassure myself that I am surrounded by people coming and going from classes. College is a safe space. Here, he has to be my professor, and I can't be anything more than his student.

Enzo reaches over me casually, puts the flat of his big palm next to my head, boxing me in. This is already too intimate. People are looking. Why doesn’t he seem to care?

"Have you forgotten something, Mia?” His voice is low and soft, but full of warning.

“Uhm, I don’t think so?”

"What did I tell you to do last night?"

Fuck. I don't know. Last night is a blur of touching and being touched. He spanked me, I know that much. There were some words, but I’d been at a bar all night and I don’t really remember them.

“Uhmmmm….”

"I told you to report to me in the morning," he says. "Among other things.”

“Oh, well, I had class, so..."

“I'll see you at your apartment at lunch time," he says. “Be there, twelve o’clock. Every minute you make me wait is another minute you’ll spend over my knee." He leans in and purrs down at me. “And a minute is a very long time, when you’re being spanked, cara mia.”

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me with the very uncomfortable feeling of being in trouble. Dear diary, I murmur to myself. Today, I learned my ass can sweat.I think about skipping the meeting with Enzo, but the truth is, I want to see him. I kinda sorta miss him. Though I don't miss what I think he's going to do to me.

He’s waiting at my apartment when I get there. And he's prepared. I love the white leather couch that sits in front of the balcony. It's super cute and stylish. But there's something black on it, something leather and long, and ominous looking.

“What’s that?”

“It's a paddle,” he says, not breaking eye contact with me.

“Oh, you like boating?”

The quip falls flat. He stares at me with that stony expression, and I know I’m not going to be talking my way out of this one. I've not talked my way out of anything since I met him.

“So,” he says. “Do you remember what I told you last night? Or were you too high to recollect?”

That’s not an encouraging way to have a question framed. If I tell him I don't remember, I’m basically saying I was high. Which I kinda was, but that's not going to help. I end up staring at him hopelessly until he fills me in.