Alexis stood outside his apartment door, his heart pounding an erratic rhythm in his chest. He'd invited Julia over, under the pretense of a study session, but they both knew it was more than that. He'd seen the look in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks when he'd suggested it. She wanted this as much as he did.
His apartment was a reflection of him, filled with books and art, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and beeswax candles. He'd set out a couple of books on the table by the window, a plate of cookies, a pot of coffee. He'd tried to make it look casual, but his hands had trembled as he'd arranged the cushions on the sofa.
A soft knock at the door made him jump. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before he opened it. Julia stood there, her dark hair scooped up into a messy bun, her glasses perched on her nose, a stack of books clutched to her chest. She looked nervous, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted.
"Come in," he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. She stepped in, her gaze flicking around the room, taking it all in. He could see the curiosity in her eyes, the appreciation. She was a fellow lover of literature, of art, and that made her all the more enticing.
"Thank you for having me, Dr. languages," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Alexis closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, watching her. She was a vision, a dream, and he wanted to reach out, to touch her, to make her real.
"Please, call me Alexis," he reminded her, pushing off from the door. She nodded, her eyes darting to the table by the window. "Shall we get started?" she asked, her voice a little stronger now.
They sat down, their knees brushing under the table. Alexis felt the jolt of contact, felt the heat of her knee against his. He reached for a book, flipping it open to a markedpage. "I thought we could discuss this passage from 'Middlemarch' today," he said, his voice steady despite the butterflies in his stomach.
Julia leaned in, her hair falling forward, obscuring her face. Alexis could see the curve of her neck, the soft skin of her shoulder. He wanted to touch her, to run his fingers through her hair, to feel her softness. He gripped the book tighter, anchoring himself to reality.
They discussed the passage, their voices blending, their thoughts tangling. Alexis found himself fascinated by her insights, captivated by her passion. She was more than just a student, more than just a crush. She was intelligent, she was witty, she was... everything.
As they delved deeper into the text, Alexis felt a tension building. It was there in the way she bit her lower lip, in the way her breath hitched when he looked at her, in the way her knee pressed against his. He could feel it in himself too, a need, a desire that was growing harder to control.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers as he pointed to a line in the book. She looked up, her eyes meeting his, her lips parted. He saw the desire reflected in her eyes, a mirror to his own. He felt a surge of need, a wave that threatened to drown him.
"Alexis," she whispered, her voice filled with a longing that undid him. He leaned in, their lips inches apart. He could feel her breath, could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. He wanted to kiss her, to claim her, to make her his.
But he held back. He remembered the boundaries, the rules. He remembered he was her professor, that she was his student. He remembering everything except his name.
Instead, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. He felt a surge of power, of tenderness. He wanted to protect her, to cherish her, to make her his.
"It's late," he said, his voice low, his eyes never leaving hers. She opened her eyes, her gaze filled with confusion, with desire. "But," he continued, his thumb brushing against her lower lip, "I want you to know that I... I want this. I want you."
She leaned into his touch, her breath hitching. "Then take it," she whispered, her voice filled with courage, with desire. "Take me."
Alexis felt a groan rise in his throat, a need so intense it was painful. But he held back. Instead, he leaned in, pressing a chaste, lingering kiss on her lips. It was a promise, a tease, a torture. It was a step forward, but also a step back.
Because despite the desire raging inside him, despite the need consuming him, he knew they had to take this slow. They had to maintain some semblance of control, some semblance of decency. Because they were dancing on the edge of a precipice, and one wrong move could send them tumbling down. And as he pulled away, his heart pounding, his body aching, Alexis knew. This was only the beginning