This was… well, something.

And you were both doomed.

You, specifically. But her as well. Okay maybe her specifically because you’re her student and she was your teacher but oh well….

What began as harmless banter with Isadora had shifted into something else entirely. At first, it was nothing more than smirks and witty remarks, but then your breath started hitching whenever her perfume lingered too close, your eyes betraying you as they trailed over her figure when she wasn’t looking. Except, maybe she was.

It became a game, saying “Miss Capri” in that teasing, raspy tone you didn’t think much of. To you, it was just a way to get under her skin. What you didn’t know was that it worked—every single time. The sound of her own last name rolling from your mouth made her thighs press together under the desk, her pulse stuttering in her throat.

And when night came, sleep wasn’t kind. She was there, too. In your head. In your dreams. Sometimes you dreamt of leaning over, brushing your lips against her cheek—or more. Always more.

But she wasn’t free of it either. For her, the first real warning came the day you reached across her desk under the guise of fiddling with her necklace. A simple gesture. Innocent. Yet it left her breathless, her body betraying her mind.

The day she realized she was truly doomed was worse. You had been idly playing with a pen in class, twirling it with long fingers, and she couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop imagining. The thought of that hand trailing up her thigh while your lips brushed her jaw was so vivid she had to cross her legs and dig her nails into her pen just to keep herself grounded.

And now, here you were. A gathering—teachers, students, glasses of wine and champagne, polite laughter that felt suffocating. You spotted her across the room, laughing at something a male teacher said. One you already couldn’t stand. Too close. Too interested.

Your jaw tightened, and before you could even stop yourself, your stare locked on her. And then—like she felt the weight of it—her eyes slid from the man’s face, skimming the room, until they found yours.

Everything slowed. Her lips parted, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. She was nodding at whatever the other teacher was saying, but her eyes never left you. Never. And you saw it—the way her chest rose with a shaky inhale, the way her control cracked, even if just for a moment.

Then, like it was nothing, like she hadn’t just exposed herself in front of you, she turned her head, murmured something dismissive to the man beside her, and stepped away. Her heels clicked softly against the floor, her stride purposeful.

And she walked straight past him. Straight to you.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, voice smooth but low, her gaze flicking up at you with that same unsteady tension neither of you could seem to escape.

The glass in your hand felt suddenly heavy. “Wasn’t,” you admitted with a smirk, eyes sweeping over her. “Until now.”

Her lips twitched—half amusement, half nerves. “Careful,” she murmured, leaning closer so only you could hear. “Someone might think you mean that.”