Chapter 5: How Many Fingers

~Nicole~

“So… history,” I said, trying to sound professional and not like my panties were currently glued to me from pure tension.

Landon didn’t say a word.

Just watched me from across the table, lounging like this was his fucking throne and I was some amusement for the day.

I flipped open the textbook.

“Chapter twelve,” I muttered. “European revolution.”

He smirked.

“Was that the one where everybody lost their heads?”

I looked up.

His eyes were already on my mouth.

I cleared my throat. “Literally and politically, yes. Robespierre…”

He cut in.

“Sounds hot.”

I blinked. “What?”

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk.“Power-hungry. Bloody. Sharp.”

His gaze dipped again.“Bet he’d have fun with you.”

“Excuse me?!”

Landon grinned, tongue lazily pressing into the corner of his cheek. “You’re into control. Pretend all you want…you like it when someone pushes.”

“I do not…”

“You do,” he said. “You’re sitting across from the guy who said he’d pin you to a desk and lick soda off your skin. And what did you do?”

I swallowed hard.

“You showed up.”

My thighs clenched. “I’m only here because I was forced to..”

“Yeah?” He leaned in. Slow. So damn slow.

“What’s your excuse for wearing that tight little top again? Or is that just your rebellion kink showing?”

I glared at him.

He chuckled low. “Keep talking, Miss History,” he said. “Let’s see if you can teach with my foot brushing up your leg.”

“What?”

Then I felt it.

His boot.

Sliding against my ankle. Up.

My voice caught.

“I’ll give you a quiz,” he said smoothly.

“Let’s start with one question.”

He lifted his hand and lazily tapped the edge of the desk.

“One: how many fingers were you imagining when I said I’d taste you?”

My jaw dropped.

He smiled wider. Darker.

“I’m a visual learner, Nicole. So don’t be shy.”

I stood up fast, But my legs shook just enough for him to notice.

His eyes tracked the tremble, lips curving like he’d won something.

“You hate me,” he murmured, “But you’re soaked.”

I didn’t deny it.

Couldn’t.

Because every inch of me was throbbing with proof.

I could still feel the ghost of his boot on my leg, still see the way his fingers had tapped the desk like he already knew what my body would beg for.

God.

Why did it have to be him?

Why couldn’t I have walked into that stupid fresher’s party last night and spilled wine on someone boring?

Someone forgettable?

Not Landon-freaking-sin-in-a-hoodie.

Because now I know.. He wasn’t just being gross.

He was reminding me that this started the second I drenched him in red wine and he looked at me like a meal he intended to devour.

And today?

He was serving revenge cold and filthy.

I gritted my teeth, grabbing the edge of the desk to keep myself from shaking again.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered.

“And you’re wet,” he shot back, voice low and lethal.

I glared at him. “You think you’re charming?”

“I think I could get you on your knees with one sentence,” he said, leaning in, smirk dripping.

I snapped the book shut.

“If you want to pass this class, you better shut up and listen.”

He tilted his head, eyes dragging over me slowly, deliberately.

“See, I think you’re getting this backwards, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re the one who needs me.”

I opened my mouth.

He stood.

One hand on the edge of the desk, the other sliding into his pocket.

“You think they’ll keep you here if I say you suck at tutoring?” he asked. “You think that scholarship holds up if you can’t handle one cocky asshole with a pencil and a smirk?”

He stepped closer.

I didn’t move.

His voice dropped lower.

“You can’t afford to hate me, Nicole.”

I swallowed.

He wasn’t wrong.

I needed this. I needed to stay in this school.

And he knew it.

But that didn’t stop my glare. Or the tremble in my legs. Or the fact that my whole body was betraying me just standing this close to him.

I shoved the textbook at his chest.

“Chapter twelve,” I said through clenched teeth. “Start reading.”

He caught it. Barely glanced at it.

“Make me.”

I stepped closer.

Big mistake.

Because the second I did, he leaned down, just enough to let his breath kiss my cheek.

“You gonna punish me, Miss Winter?”

My whole body clenched.

He grinned.

“Thought so.”

His lips brushed my ear.

“You gonna flinch every time I touch you?” he murmured.

“Or are you gonna finally admit you like it?”

I clenched my fists.

“Touch me again,” I said, voice barely above a whisper, “and I’ll break your fingers.”

He froze.

Then smiled.. “Break them,” he whispered, “but you’ll still dream about them.”

And then he backed off.

Just enough to breathe again.

He grabbed the book from the desk.

Cracked it open.

“Chapter twelve,” he said, voice casual now.

Like he hadn’t just dragged me to the edge and left me dangling.

“Better teach quick, sweetheart,” he added, licking his bottom lip.

“Before I decide class is over and recess is me between your legs.”

My knees nearly buckled.

Recess between my legs?

Who the hell even says things like that and means it?

Landon, apparently.

I sat down..

He flipped a page.

Didn’t say anything.

Just sat there, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles, watching me like I was his next guilty pleasure.

Which, apparently, I already was.

I swallowed, flipped open my notebook.

"Robespierre," I said, proud my voice only wobbled once. "He was part of the Jacobins. Took control during the Reign of Terror. Executed thousands.”

Landon raised an eyebrow.

I pressed on. “He was later executed himself. Guillotined.”

He smirked. “So you're telling me, even the guy who played God lost his head over something?”

I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t…”

“I get it,” he cut in. “You’re into dangerous men with power issues.”

I snapped my gaze up to him.

“Are you seriously comparing yourself to a French revolutionary?”

He leaned forward again, voice dropping.

“I’m just saying... if I ever had you under me, sweetheart, I wouldn’t lose anything.”

My mouth parted. My entire body went rigid.

Then his boot brushed up my calf again.

Soft.

Like he hadn’t just shattered my composure thirty seconds ago.

“Landon,” I warned, barely a whisper.

“Yes, Miss Winter?”

His voice was innocent.

His eyes were not.

“I’m trying to teach,” I said tightly.

“Teach away.” He spread his arms, leaning back. “I’m listening. Very... closely.”

God.

I needed air. Space.

Instead, I dropped my pen.

It rolled.

Of course, toward his side of the table.

He reached down, slow and smug.

Picked it up with two fingers.

Held it out to me.

But when I went to take it, he didn’t let go.

He just stared at me…our fingers pressed together…until I forgot what air was.

Then, finally, he released it.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

“I’m not,” I hissed.

He tilted his head. “Guess I haven’t tried hard enough.”

“I’m not scared of you,” I said.

“No,” he agreed. “But you’re hungry. And I’m the first thing on the menu you can’t admit you want.”

I shot up from the chair so fast it nearly fell backward.

“I’m done tutoring.”

He smirked like he expected that.

But didn’t care.

“Same time tomorrow, Miss Winter,” he called as I stormed toward the door.

“Next chapter’s all about uprisings. Should be fun.”

I didn’t respond.

“Don’t be late tomorrow, Miss Winter,” he called after me. “I’ve got something to show you. Something… thick.”