16. I Only Have Eyes for You

16

I ONLY HAVE EYES FOR YOU

DAISY

He's watching me now. Just like I've watched him for so long.

We're reversing the roles. Switching sides. It's an important development for our relationship. Let him experience the taste of obsession. It's sweet, and at times sour. Sometimes bitter and salty.

I fucked up when I kissed him in the car. I don't know what came over me. I was on the right track; I was preparing to have him right where I wanted him. Then the little girl inside me took over my body and ruined it all. A momentary lapse of reason. I forgot the goal, just because his lips were calling out to me.

I should've bided my time.

But I'm fixing it as we speak. I've been acting cold to him for almost three weeks now, and that's how it needs to be.

Because I'm in his head.

I couldn't see him well in the darkness of the forest, but I knew he was there. The tall outline of his body was unmistakable. He was watching me get fucked, and I can only imagine what went through his mind when he did so.

He thought I was just an innocent creature that needed protection, not corruption. I've now shown him that I'm anything but.

I knew he would keep an eye on me when he saw me with those guys on campus, which is why I planned it out up to the minute. I knew when he would walk through the halls of the university on the way to his car and I forced myself into his path at exactly the right time.

I let that college kid squeeze my ass when all I really should have done was punch him in his fucking face.

Lester's eyes currently burn into the back of my head as I use a mallet and a pointed chisel to carve into a large block of marble. The heat of his gaze on me gives me butterflies, and it's hard to remain cold when I'm on fire. A delicate dance of push and pull swirls between us. Hot and cold.

The hours fly by as I lose myself in my sculpture―a woman born out of my imagination with stunning eyes and curly hair. The shapes and technique are impeccable, and I'm sure Mr. Gilbert will agree.

A voice pulls me out of my concentration. "Daisy? Can I speak to you after class?"

I look behind me, tilting my chin upward to meet eyes with Jace.

He's been a pain in the asshole over the last few weeks. Too eager, following me around like a little puppy with stars in his eyes.

"What's up, Jace?" I ask casually, putting my tools down onto the table. "It's time for lunch anyway. We can walk together."

Grabbing my bag, I head out of the classroom without sparing Lester a single glance. Jace follows me, and as soon as we're out of the room, he grabs my wrist to make me slow down. I look at where his hand is connected to my skin, offended. I don't like that he's touching me.

"How can you be so fucking casual about what happened between us?" he snaps, his lip curling up into a snarl.

All I can do is sigh. "Because you're making more of it than it was. We fucked once . We had a fun time. That's it."

"That's it? Really?"

I cock an eyebrow, tearing my wrist out of his grasp and crossing my arms with a nice dollop of attitude. "Yes. Don't tell me you have feelings for me or some shit, because I don't want to hear it."

"What if I do? We have a connection, Daisy. I believe it can turn into something more. If you just give me a chance."

Fuck me between the fucking tits. People always act like women are the emotional ones. But I can't even tell you how many times I've found myself in a situation where I just wanted to get my guts rearranged and the guy couldn't just leave it for what it was. Why do they always want more? Greedy bastards is what they are.

"I don't feel anything for you, Jace. Can you please drop it and move on?"

"Why are you acting this way?" I can tell that that he's biting the inside of his cheek.

"Because I've tried the nice way. You won't hear it. Nothing is going to happen between us. There are more than enough girls on campus you can have your pick from. So pick one of them."

I resume my walk, speeding up the pace until I'm sure he's no longer following me.

My day ends with an irritated groan because I was still contently in work mode, carving my sculpture. The school day has finished, and we all need to pack up our stuff.

Before I can leave, I'm stopped in my tracks by an all too familiar voice. One I've been pretending does nothing for me.

"Miss Burton." Professionalism is threaded into those words, but I don't miss the slight bit of worry in it.

I look over my shoulder, clutching the strap of my bag tightly in my hand. "Yeah?"

"I think we're due for a conversation."

I turn and tip up my chin to meet his serious expression. "Alright." I step closer. "Then talk."

"I would like to apologize for what transpired between us. I wasn't clear with you, and boundaries were crossed because I let them."

I cock an eyebrow. "It took you three weeks to come up with that?"

"I realize I've hurt your feelings. And for that, I am sorry."

"Well, thanks," I answer casually. "Is that all?"

He moves a hand over his face, sighing deeply as if he's unsure of what to do with himself―or me. Bold words slip past his lips as if they've been dying to escape, and I watch the exact moment of regret resister on his face. "I know you stole my cardigan."

Crossing my arms over each other, I lean back on the heel of my foot. "And how would you know that?" He doesn't respond, and the corner of my mouth tips up with amusement. "Before you accuse me of anything, you better be sure. How do you know, Professor?"

"You know how I fucking know." The timbre of his voice is rough and smoky, with a nice amount of threat in it.

"I don't know anything. So tell me." I take a bold step forward, and he takes an instinctual step back. I'm happy that I'm wearing high-platform heels today. It adds to my confidence and ability to make him feel the trouble he's in.

My hum is a throaty, dangerous promise. Because we both know, and all that needs to happen is for him to admit it. "Were you watching me, Professor?"

He balls his fists right beside his hips, as if it takes every single shred of strength to keep himself together. I affect him this much. Seems like I'm close to accomplishing my mission, yet the true ending is still so far out of reach.

I step even closer, and I don't miss the way he looks over my shoulder at the door to make sure no one is watching us. He almost makes it too easy, the way he keeps moving farther away from me until the backs of his thighs bump against his desk.

"There's no point in lying anymore, Mr. Gilbert. I saw you and you saw me. Did you like the show?"

"You need to stop this behavior, Miss Burton."

I let out a laugh, the sound a sinister taunt. "I'm not the one who is behaving in an unruly manner here. I was just having a nice night out, getting my holes filled up with stranger-cock. Then suddenly, two glimmering eyes were watching me from the darkness."

"Your foul fucking mouth―"

I shush him by placing my finger against his lips. "Did you like the show? Or did you wish it was you instead?" Tipping my head down, I get a thorough view of the outline of his cock through his pants. I huff a pleasantly entertained breath, then let my bag slip off my shoulders, dropping it onto the floor. "Seems like your dick is doing the talking for you."

I move my thumb over his lips, molding and rubbing in the way he taught me to touch my clay sculptures. An inferno of precarious promises spark in his dark irises, until he has had enough. Out of nowhere, my wrist is yanked away from his face, the limb moved onto my back, the motion faster than my eyes can keep up with.

" Fuck ," I gasp when I'm pushed onto the table, my stomach hitting the wooden top, my ass automatically sticking up in the air. My eyes bulge in shock, because despite me taunting him, I didn't expect this. I didn't think he would snap this badly.

"What is your fucking endgame, Daisy? Do you want to destroy my career?"

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to talk to me. I've left you alone. I thought that was what you wanted." I scoff. "And how would that benefit me? Losing my favorite teacher? That'd be stupid. I still have so much to learn from you."

"Then what do you want?" His grip tightens, and I yelp. My stomach is flooded with sparks and butterflies and the whole fucking shebang. My pussy contracts, and I swear that I will squirt all over the desk if he keeps holding me like this.

He keeps me immobile as he hovers over me, his hot breath tickling my ear.

"Do you touch all of your students like this?" I taunt, the smirk on my face so evil it hurts my damn cheeks.

"I could suspend you for inappropriate behavior," he threatens.

"I dare you." I laugh. "Which one of us is behaving inappropriately right now, Professor? You're the one holding me down as if you're ready to fuck me."

He pushes me harder onto the desk, my tits flattening. His throbbing boner pokes against my ass, and I can't help a moan from slipping free. "Do it. You know you want to. You know you want to find out what I feel like."

That's the final drop in the overflowing glass, and he lets me go instantly. Both panting, he takes a few steps back and I stay flat on the desk for a few beats longer.

"Why did you take my cardigan?" he asks, and I turn to meet his frustrated glare.

"Because it seemed soft. And it smelled nice." I take a second to catch my breath, then shoot back, "Why did you follow me?"

He swallows, rubbing his fingers over his eyebrows. "I thought you were in danger. I was afraid you were going to get raped or hurt."

" Ha ! In danger? Me ?" I cackle manically, straightening my back. "I'm not your responsibility." A taunting smirk takes over my face, and I coo, " Aww , Professor. Does this mean you care about me? Or do you just get off on being the hero?"

He ignores my questions, along with my knowing grin. "Why did you let those boys touch you? You're worth more than that."

My mouth parts slightly. "Wow. You're not one of those men who value women by the number of men they've been with, are you? That's sexist and gross. You've lived through the 60s, Mr. Gilbert. Sexual liberation. Act like it." I roll my eyes. "God forbid women have hobbies."

"You're not a woman," he argues. "You're a girl. A teenager."

"Keep telling yourself that. Whatever you need to make yourself feel better. My mother was already married at my age. So get a grip, Professor." I grab my bag from the ground and swing the strap over my shoulder. Sparing him one last glance, I walk out the door. "Catch you on the flipside."