Student from Hell

Shark-Ch.11

CASSIUS'S POINT OF VIEW

The ride to the Club was not spent in silence. Martin talked the whole way, almost hyperventilating at how excited he is about this.

Passing by a really really long line, and a few angry ‘wait in line’ from a few people, we stop in front of two huge bodyguards that look at us expectantly.

Martin looks at me a little intimidated and takes a few steps closer to me, looking for protection and making me smile, and I hand the black card to one of the animals that guard the doors, who takes it and looks at it on both sides as if he could see if it’s fake or not, then looks at us with a fake smile, then he pulls aside for us to pass.

“Have a pleasant evening.” The other bodyguard said with a hoarse voice and the same smile that his colleague sports, and everyone can tell that he also would prefer to kill a puppy than smile, and that makes me wonder just who my student is. Because it must be someone important if these two beasts smile and opened the door as if we were royalty just because we had a card that he gave us.

The loud beat of the music interrupts my strings of thoughts as we enter the enormous club, which is far more interesting than I thought.

There are metal cages with dancers, and every cage has a different design, one more intriguing than the other, and they are hanging by the ceiling in random places, even over the big oval bars that are illuminated by LEDs all around, including the high chairs, and two dancers, a guy, and a woman, both gorgeous, are on each side of the DJ, whose booth is suspended in the middle of the ceiling.

The booth is like nothing I’ve ever seen, it’s more than gorgeous. I would come here only to look at the damn booth.

To describe it... it’s on top of a huge aquarium that has a f*****g shark inside, and the edges of the booth look like water, and it has some effect that looks like it’s splashing around.

Now I understand why one needs to make a reservation months before.

This is out of this world!

I’m not surprised when we’re guided up the stairs where the huge V.I.P. area is, and to a lounge of our own, which also makes my jaw fall on the floor. Two white and black leather couches are situated next to the edge from where we can see almost the entire club, including the incredible booth with the awesome shark, and in between the two couches is an interesting, huge glass table that most probably cost more than my 3 months rent, and we also have a small dancefloor.

“I think that this VIP Lounge is bigger than my apartment,” Martin yelled in my ear, even though the music here is not very loud. Yes, man has to talk louder if they are further apart, but, considering that his mouth is almost glued to my ear, I could hear him just fine even if he would’ve whispered.

“Martin, you don’t have to yell. I hear you just fine.” He dismisses my comment with a wave of his hand, and before I get to say something, he takes the Champagne, -that after the bottle alone, which is... a damn work of art, I know that it’s really expensive-, he opens it, then pours us two flutes.

“Look, there are golden foils in the champagne!” Martin exclaims in awe as he looks between the beautiful bottle and the flute, and indeed, there are golden foils in the damn champagne, fact that confirms my suspicions and the champagne is really f*****g expensive.

And after he drank two flutes, he got up and started dancing.

I’m not a champagne kind of guy, I like strong, smooth drinks, but this champagne looks tempting.

I take a sip and almost moan at the taste and feel of the bubbles that feel like crystalline pearls on my palate and tongue, and explode in rich flavors, a mixed taste of erotic wood, and ripe fruit interlaced with the fragrance of white flowers, coating my mouth and my taste buds.

It’s exquisite, just like the man who--- Nope!

I take a bigger sip, this time not to savor the delicious liquid, even though it’s impossible at how good it tastes, but that’s not the reason, I drink it to calm my nerves a bit.

I lean back on the sofa to make myself more comfortable and look around. Not for him. I don’t care if he’s here. At all. No. I really don’t.

Anyway... every V.I.P. Lounge is full, there are at least 20 persons per lounge, only we are just the two of us.

We could play hide and seek.

And there’s only one empty Lounge in front of us. There are drinks on the table, but no one is there.

I don’t know why, but I could bet my life on the fact that it’s Satan’s lounge.

But as I said: I do not care!

“Good evening, I’m Hera and I will be your waitress tonight. What can I get you?” A girl dressed in a sexy black skirt that it’s not slutty, -but gets any straight man and lesbian’s attention-, and a white shirt and black tie, stops the battle that was taking place inside my foggy head.

“Hello. I would like a double Jack Daniels on the rocks.” I said that instead of asking her if she’s a model, and try not to look around again, then focus on how she taps something on a small device, most probably my order, smiles, nods then turns and goes, only to be stopped by a very smiling Martin.

I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw the poor girl massaging her ear after she took his order.

I hope we won’t do a lot of talking because I just might get deaf.

Martin signals for me to go and dance, but I shake my head and quickly avert my gaze, not giving him time to give me the puppy eyes, because there’s no way I’ll join him, and it’s not because I can’t dance, I’m quite good at it, but not with Martin. He looks like he’s having a seizure.

As I predicted, shortly after our drinks came, the lounge in front of us was occupied by none other than... yep, you got it f*****g right! Satan!

I quickly avert my gaze, refusing to let him see the God damn smile that despite my mind’s orders, covered my face, which thanks to the insufferable waves of heat that flooded my body, is most probably red.

Fuck!

“Look who’s there!” Martin’s loud and high voice brought me back, interrupting my incoming inner battle, pointing his finger toward none other than Satan, but I refuse to look in his direction.

I take my whiskey glass and take a big gulp. I need it.

“Martin, for the umpteenth time, stop yelling! And I don’t think it’s necessary to point fingers. I saw him already.” I said exasperated because I don’t need a headache. I have it bad with my nerves as it is.

“Ok, but please tell me why?” The pleading in his eyes is quite sweet, and I see his point, I mean, it’s impossible not to see it because it’s big as f**k at about 6 ft 3 or so, made of muscles, with a shaved flawless face and perfectly straight pearly teeth, and a sinful smirk, point. So, yeah, I get it.

My eyes betray me and look in his direction just in time to witness the most simple but also the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in the 27 years since I’m on this God-forsaken planet.

He is leaning back on the sofa, spreading one arm across the headboard and one holding a glass of what seems to be whiskey, then he places his ankle on his knee, takes a sip of whiskey, then turns his head, and instantly locks eyes with mine, smirking knowingly, silently bragging that he knows that I’ve been watching him, that I eye f****d him, that I got f*****g hard just by watching that damn simple action and that my d**k twitched and leaked when he licked those f*****g lips after he drank the whiskey, driving me beyond insane.

You have to keep your damn dirty mind under control, Cassius! You’re not a damn child abuser!

Damn him and damn my body that’s betraying me when he’s around!

“It’s complicated.” I avert my gaze and look at Martin because... well, there are many reasons. And every one of them is... *unholy* is an understatement.

“I’m sure I can handle it, Cassius.” His voice is even and small, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s also drooling over Satan, or because he listened when I told him not to yell anymore, I, for one, would bet on the former, but I’m grateful either way.

“You’re quite persistent,” I replied, and I can’t help but chuckle at our position. I’m looking at Martin while I talk to him, and he’s looking at Satan.

“Come on... my life is boring!” He complained in a whiny voice while he finally turns and looks at me pleadingly.

“That’s what my best friend says as well, and honestly, my life was boring as Hell before Satan, and I miss my boring life!” At least I hope I miss it. Right now I’m not sure of anything.

“There’s no way you miss a boring life!” He scoffs at how unbelievable my statement was, and I have to admit that it’s not so plausible.

“Ok, I’ll be honest but only for two minutes, then I’ll retract everything.” I decided to talk, and he starts laughing, making me chuckle.

I look at Satan and drool over him, more accurately, I’m drooling because of the way he gestures, so masculine but also smooth, like a f*****g s*x angel.

I can see only his profile as his head is turned to the guy that was also at the restaurant, and as if he sensed that I’m looking, he looks at me, giving me that frustrating knowing look and an arrogant smirk, telling me that he caught me red-handed again.

Really?

I roll my eyes and avert my gaze fast, and continue my conversation, trying to ignore the waves of heat that flush my body knowing that he’s still looking at me. Because he is looking. I feel it. I always feel it... feel him...

Not now, Cassius. Not ever.

“I don’t really miss it, because I might experience things that I never did before. And honestly, nobody wanted me that bad, or even if they did, I refused them and they would leave me alone after the second or third attempt. But him... God, he’s impossible. It’s like I’m talking to the walls.” And there’s this stubborn smile that doesn’t want to go away.

God, he makes me feel all kinds of forbidden things, and I... f**k, I like it.

“Well, I’d say that it’s a good thing,” Martin replied, and the smile on my face faded as I remembered the reasons why I can’t even think about him.

“What’s with the sad face?”

“It’s wrong, Martin. It’s so damn wrong on so many levels...” I trailed off, hoping that the frustration won’t be too visible on my face and in my voice, or at least the amount of it, because frustration means that I’m angry that I can’t have him. That I want him more than I ever wanted anything, but I can’t... and I refuse to admit that. I’m not ready. I want to remain ignorant and lie to myself for a little tiny bit longer, and if I’m lucky until these feelings and needs will go away.

“What do you mean?” He insists, and as the whiskey starts warming my body, making me more cooperative, I decided to talk to him and tell him at least a few details. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be able to help me and help me forget about Satan. Maybe he’ll give me some advice. A good one, not like Mia.

“For starters, it’s the age difference!” I start and plead with him to agree with me, and he looks at sexy Satan, then at me with an utterly confused look, and back at Satan.

“You’re 27 and he’s what? 23-25? I don’t see where’s the big deal.” He sounds and looks shocked and confused as to why I think that 2-3 years is a big difference, and I can’t help but laugh nervously, making him look at me more confused.

“Yeah... I wish. He’s 18. IF he’s 18. Maybe he’s 17, for f***s sake!” Martin’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide as he looks at Satan through narrowed eyes, trying to see him better, then he looks back at me with a look of shock on his face.

“You’re kidding.” He stated in an utterly shocked voice.

“No, I’m not,” He looks at him again, squinting his eyes harder, placing his elbows on his legs, and leaning forward, making it so f*****g obvious that he’s staring at Satan that even his friend laughed and nudged Satan to look at Martin, but Martin doesn’t care or notices because he doesn’t look away.

“He’s drinking alcohol. I mean, there’s no way that he’s drinking tea.” He’s still staring at him, and by now even I have to laugh.

“I see that. But who would ask for an I.D.? As you said, he doesn’t look like 18.” I continue explaining, and he finally turns to me, tilts his head like a small puppy, then nods as if he thinks that as well.

“And he definitely doesn’t act like 18.” Martin continued my thoughts, and I sigh hard and curse my eyes for landing back on him.

He’s laughing with the guy, who places his hand on his shoulder and keeps it there... Are they... NO! I’M NOT GONNA GO THERE!

“I know, believe me. I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that he is 18. If he is.” I sigh in defeat, but Martin’s lips turn into a mischievous smile that tells me that he won’t be better than Mia.

“Maybe I’m a little deranged, but I don’t see a problem. Age is just a number. And it’s what? 9 years between you two? My sister is married to a guy that’s 20 years older than her, and they have a wonderful daughter and a really good relationship.” He sounds convincing, and maybe I would agree if he wouldn’t be my damn student!!!!!

“It’s not that simple, Martin. I can’t. I just can’t!” The frustration makes itself known in my voice, then I run a hand over my face, and Martin chuckles, very entertained by my struggles and pain.

“Ok, you said that there are more reasons. One is the age difference, which we discussed. Others?” He insists, and a part of me wants to just blur it, take it off of my heart, and who knows, maybe the fact that I should be Satan’s role model, not his f**k buddy, will make Martin see the situation differently and help me. Besides, right now I’m not doing anything wrong, so he can’t do anything as in reporting me.

“He’s... my student. High-school student.” I said sheepishly and smile innocently, or as innocently as I can, but the smile is gone and a look of horror takes over as Martin’s face transforms into one of a demon that’s up to no good.

He’s also broken.

“s*x in a classroom... that reminds me of my calculus teacher. God, he was gorgeous.” He said in a dreamy voice and closes his eyes as if he’s reminiscing.

“And you...? And in high school?” He shakes his head, disappointing me.

You hoped that he did it also, and not being the only one, it will help you sleep better at night if--

Holy f**k, Nooooo!

“Not high school. It was college, it was my second year, so I was 19. And I don’t really know how old my teacher was, but I’m sure he was over 30. But believe me... nothing compares with teacher-student s*x! You HAVE to try it! ” Ok, I must admit that I was wrong! He’s more broken than Mia!

I start laughing, but it’s not a genuine one, it’s a nervous one. Very nervous, and afraid. Afraid that if more people will tell me this I’ll see it as a normal thing as well, and I don’t want that, and I won’t let myself be convinced that doing anything, except teaching him English, with him is right, because it’s not. This is wrong, and they should tell me how illegal and immoral this is, not stir my imagination!

“You’re even more broken than my best friend. You two would be just perfect together.” I accused, then lean back on the couch, let my head fall back, close my eyes, and try to erase what Martin said, and also take a break from the conversation that Satan and I had through our eyes all this time.

Dirty little s**t!

I refuse to look at him again. No matter what others say, and no matter what I want, it’s illegal and imm--

“Can I have a dance, gorgeous?” The voice that haunts me brings me back from my internal fight, and I bite my inner cheek hard to suppress the smile that’s about to form on my face, and... DON’T BE SO DAMN ENTHUSIASTIC, CASSIUS!

I look at him and shake my head in a negative answer, keeping a serious and annoyed, but fake expression.

I surely hope as f**k that it works and he’ll just leave. Or take a seat in my lap and straddle me while I kiss him senseless, take his d**k out an...

The former, Cassius! Don’t be a f*****g perv!

A/N. If you like the story, please follow. And if you want to read it in full, and 9 other stories, including the sequel, you can go on my Pa treon. w ww. pa treon. co m/Francesca2 (All written together.)