Bad Teacher

That, or I’m losing my mind.

I try not to make it awkward as I run my ribbon around his waist and chest, determining the sizes I need. Even though I’m sweating profusely just from being so close to him, I refuse to acknowledge any effect he may have on me.

When I catch him staring at me as I come around to the front, my entire face turns warm. A sinful grin spreads on his lips that reminds me of last night. And what I saw when he came out of that deep floor tub … a long, juicy, dangling cock.

God. I didn’t even see his dick at the club. It had all happened so fast. One moment, we were kissing, and the next, I was bent over the counter being fucked in the pussy. I loved how it felt, and I knew he was big.

I just didn’t know he was that big.

Fuck.

I look away and sigh. Why can’t I get these images out of my mind?

He’s the prince, for God’s sake. He’s unattainable. And an ass, judging by the way he dismisses girls as though they’re disposable. Plus, he ditched me at the club without any explanation whatsoever. He could’ve said he had important business to attend to. Or lied. Whatever. Anything would’ve been better than how he just vanished.

“So … you’re an expat then?” he suddenly asks, probably trying to break the ice.

I roll up the tape and place it on the table. “I’m just here temporarily for business purposes.”

“Right …” He licks his lips as I hold up a few patches of fabric I brought to see which one matches his skin.

“So do you dress royalty often?”

“No. This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” I reply.

His frown intensifies. “That’d be a shame.”

“Why?” I ask, then shove the fabric that looks good into his hand. “Hold this, please.”

“Because you’d probably make a lot of royalty happy with your designs.”

I pause as his words repeat in my head. Did he just give me a compliment?

“Your drawings are very good,” he adds.

“Thanks,” I say, grabbing more fabrics to pair with it.

“I mean it,” he says.

I pause again and take a deep breath. “Okay, what’s this about?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. I’m just saying the truth.”

I raise a brow. “Right. Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to make me feel good?”

He flinches. “Would that make things all right between us?”

I step back and place both fabrics on the table. My lips part, but I find it hard to form the words I need. What in God’s name does he want me to say to that? So instead of replying, I grab my sketchbook and start sketching his figure so I can work on some designs. At least those aren’t ambiguous.

“Is that normal in your country?” he asks.

“What?” I ask, quickly penciling him down.

“Not answering a question a prince asks you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to get angry, but boy, does this guy piss me off.

“Where I come from, there are no princes. Or kings, for that matter.”

“USA, right?” he asks. “President then.”

“He’s still a person, just like I am. I don’t have to answer him when I don’t want to.”

“Interesting …” He mulls it over for a few seconds as I continue drawing. “So you really aren’t afraid to speak your mind around here?”

I cock my head. “No. Unless it can get me thrown into jail, then yes.” I cross my legs as his eyes dip down and go over my body as though he wants to ravish it. “Is that what you’re aiming for? Please, let me know now, so I can get out of here in time.”

He smiles. “No, of course not. I would never,” he says. “Besides, you’re way too cute for jail.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t try to woo me; it won’t work.”

“Who says I am?” He cheekily raises his brow, but then follows it with a wink, embarrassing me even more.

“This is strictly business,” I say, pointing at my work.

“Of course, it is …”

Why do I get the sense he’s not being serious at all right now?

I sigh. “Look, if you wanna do this another time, we—”

“No, no. Now is good. Now is perfect. I like this.” He glances at me awkwardly. “Should I stay still?”

“Yes, please. I’m trying to finish the drawing.”

“What comes after that?”

“I buy fabrics. I create the clothes. I give them to Mrs. Adallah.”

He looks taken aback. “Wait. Are you telling me this is the only time I’m seeing you?”

“According to the terms laid out in this contract, yes.” I point at the document on the desk.

“I didn’t agree to that,” he says, losing posture to read the fine print. “I’ll have to speak with Mrs. Adallah about this.”

I lean back and stare at him, confused. “Why?”

“Because I want to see you again, of course.” He grins. “Why else?”