The older woman took a sip from her wine, looking over at you as you ranted on about what was on TV. You held the wine bottle in your hand for a reason; she was wanting to see you get drunk.

You and Marianne have been a thing for a while now. A secret thing. And you were her thing. She adored you, although she rarely showed it.

This relationship was a secret for a reason. Not only was she your teacher, but she was a fair bit older than you too. Plus, you both were women, and at this time, two women being together was as unheard of as it was exciting.

—

Later in the night, Marianne keeps the glass of wine to her lips as she hides her smile. The smooth liquid was doing far more to you than it was to her. She watched as you subconsciously leaned into her side, your eyes hazy, and your words slurred into jumbled thoughts and mumbles. She had to hide how much she was enjoying you like this, how much warmer she grew with endearment.

“My dear, look at me,” she ordered softly, her voice as smooth as her accent.