Angel Eyes

“Kiss me like you never kissed anyone else, “ she said, as if that wouldn’t terrify me.

Everything about this girl terrified me. Her beauty. Her poise. Her intelligence. Her wit.

Most of all the affect she had on me.

Me, a 39 year old man reduced to feeling like a stuttering teenager in her presence.

And her youth! Christ her youth!

Her long, dark eyelashes fluttered against her creamy cheeks, cobalt eyes glancing up at me from under her fringe, doe eyed. She knew the power she held. She enjoyed it.

“Josie, you know I can’t do that,” I replied, trying to sound more certain than I felt.

Tilting her head to the side, she shifted her weight on the desk, uncrossing and crossing her legs. Those impossibly long legs. The honey coloured skin between her knee socks and where her kilt ended mid-thigh was almost impossible to drag my eyes away from.

“I know you like me. I’ve seen you looking,” her full lips curled up at the edges as she pressed her palms down onto the desk, pushing her chest out, arching her back. The buttons on her blouse strained against the swell of her breasts. She tossed her long chocolate hair over one shoulder.

Clearing my throat I stood and crossed my arms over my chest, “I think you should leave. If you don’t have a valid query about the assignment then I must get on with work.”

“Mr. Richards… Ben…” she whispered and her eyes travelled south to my crotch where I was mortified to feel myself hardening under her gaze. Willing my erection to subside I held my ground, “Josie, this is completely inappropriate, you know that. Please leave my classroom.”

Sighing, her cherry painted lips pouting, she slid off the desk, allowing her kilt to ride up as she did so, granting me a glimpse of pale pink knickers, she stood before me, closer than necessary.

“You know you want to… I know it and you know it. In two months I’ll be leaving here. You’re only a substitute for Miss. Johnson’s maternity leave. There’s no reason it can’t happen.”

Her lips were pressed against mine before I knew it was happening. The warmth of her breath against my cheek, her scent of vanilla, her soft mouth opening, feeling her tongue touch my lips.

Grabbing her shoulders, I pushed her away, “Leave! Now!”

With a satisfied smile, catlike, she turned and slowly left the room, making sure to swing her hips as she walked. Her hand resting on the door handle, she turned her head back to me, “Goodnight Mr. Richards,” her face and voice pure innocence, before she closed the door with a definite click.

That girl will be my undoing.

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