eleanor 💌

best band in the world btw

timelapse

You’d been a middle school English teacher for about a year now, settling in down the hall from Mrs Martha James and Mr Scott Adams, who were both lovely. It was by chance that you bumped into Dr Ryland Grace. During your first week, Noah’s dad came in with his lunchbox, interrupting your little tea break in the staff room. “I’m so sorry, Miss (L/n), we were late to school as it is”, he said.

You gave him a reassuring smile and took it off him, “No problem, I’ll go give it to him now” Noah’s dad nodded and thanked you before walking back down the hallway and out past the office. You sighed to yourself. “Right, Noah, where are you?”

After searching through all your schedules and calendars, physical ones and the online ones, you couldn’t find Noah’s schedule anywhere. Hence, you poked your head into Mrs James' classes, “hi, sorry”, you said, ducking as you walked in. The kids were doing some silent reading, but all looked up at you with curious eyes. You leaned over Mrs James' desk “You don’t happen to know where Noah S. might be right now? Lunchbox delivery”

Mrs James was newly pregnant. You’d actually become good friends in the week you’d been here. She was about your age, but had a high school sweetheart, which was why she was married. She typed away on her laptop and then turned it to show you the screen. “He should be with Dr Grace. Do you know where his classroom is?” She pointed at the screen showing you. This new system confused you; your old school used something else entirely. You thought for a moment, Dr Grace? You’ve never come across him, not even in the staff room. Mrs James stood, “Kids”, she clapped. “Five more minutes of reading and then we can continue, Miss Taylor, watch them for me”, she nodded to her teaching assistant, who winked back. “Come”, she smiled.

You followed Mrs James down a few halls while she told you about Dr Grace, he’d been here a while, turns up early on a bike and leaves late, doesn’t really come to the staff room unless he’s out of sugar for his coffee, apparently the teachers think he’s either married or single, single because no ring but this is the behaviour of a married male teacher. But she gushed about him, “Oh, the kids love him! And apparently some of the ta’s, but I don’t see it? Maybe because I’m married”, she trailed off.

In the science wing, she stopped and pointed, “Second door on the left” She smiled and turned, heels clicking down the hallway. You stood still; it wasn’t like you to be nervous, but you could hear a male voice faintly through the walls. You looked over Noah’s lunchbox, stickers of Transformers littered on it. You took a deep breath and drifted towards the door; two knocks, and you opened it.

Some kids perked up, “Miss (L/n)!” They whispered. You shhh’ed them. Dr Grace was standing at the front of the class, showing a diagram of some plant cells, which was covered in projector lights, not doing you much justice.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt, Dr Grace. I have Noah’s lunchbox; his father brought it in” You smiled towards Noah, a sweet kid; he jumped up.

“Wait!”

A small green sack flew towards Noah, and he caught it surprisingly well. Dr Grace moved out from the projector lights, giving you a proper look at him. Oh, you see what these teaching assistants are on about. Dirty blonde, short stubble, glasses hanging from his ear, resting on his chin and beautiful blue eyes. He was wearing a grey suit, a duck egg blue shirt, and a red tie. He was leaning back on a table, looking right back at you.

“Noah, roughly how long does it take for the sun's light to reach Earth?”

“8 hours?” The kid said.

Dr Grace's head dropped. He chuckled, “No, toss it back, get your lunchbox” Noah tossed the sack back and left his chair with a squeak. He thanked you for his lunch box.

“Miss (L/n)”

You brought your attention back to Dr Grace, who was motioning to him, throwing you the sack. You opened your hands, and he gently tossed it to you. The kids were watching eagerly.

“Which Apollo moon mission was the first to carry a lunar rover?”

He smiled so endearingly. It’s been years since even the thought of being attracted to someone crossed your mind. You were so focused on school and teaching. Well, if you’re going to do this, may as well try to impress him. You secretly hope he is actually single and not secretly married.

“Uh, Apollo 15”, tossing back the sack, it hit in the square in the chest with an ‘oof’. With that, you winked at him and quickly waltzed out the door.

He stood there for a while, smiling to himself. He hadn’t met the new teacher, but he heard of her. Mrs James caught him in the hallway once when he was opening his classroom “Oh, Dr Grace, you really must say hello, she’s such a pretty thing” She was right.

“Wow, Miss (L/n) is smart”, whispered the kids.

Which brings you to now. You’re sitting in your car outside your apartment, double-checking that it is World Book Day. The weather is dreadful, you’ve never seen rain like this, it’s almost hailing. Your book, tucked neatly in your tote bag, is The Princess and the Pea. Dr Grace had kindly lent you his green sack as the pea. You are dressed in blue check pyjama pants, a pink princess dress with milkmaid sleeves and a tiara. You would’ve worn the dress on its own, but it’s a school. And what’s more fun than wearing pyjamas?

Oh, Dr Grace. He’s going to be soaking. You tap your steering wheel thoughtfully. You fish your phone out of your tote bag and find his contact. “Dr Grace 🧪”, he’d labelled himself as. The only message history was general questions about school days off and teachers' meetings.

“Fuck it”

You pressed call. You sat, listening to the pounding rain, as your phone rang. You wondered if this was a message from a higher-up. Don’t go to school as a princess, no other teachers will be dressed up! It whispered.

“Uh, hello?” A voice came through the phone, you jumped, and I put it to your ear.

“Oh, Dr Grace! It’s (Y/n) I was just wonde-“

“Ryland”, he said.

“I’m sorry?” God had you offended him? Was calling him like this a bit unprofessional? Did you scare him off?

“I asked you to call me Ryland, and you still call me Dr Grace”, he mused.

“Right, sorry.” You tapped your foot on the accelerator pedal of your car, hearing her hum. “Look, it’s pouring down, and I’m just down the road from you. I was wondering if you wanted me to pick you up for work?” It was bold for sure.

“No, no! I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way,” he said.

Slightly deflated, you thought for a second. “Can I bribe you with coffee?”

“Deal.” He said quickly. You giggled, telling him you’d be there in 5.

Pulling up on what you think is the right road, you set your car into park and start moving your tote bag into the back seat. It was still hammering it down. Fuck. You just realised what you’d done. You were dressed as a princess, with a pea. See, when you asked Ryland for the green sack, you didn’t specify what for. You groaned and hit your forehead on the wheel. He’s so going to laugh at you.

The car door opening made you jump. And in slid Dr Grace. Who was dressed differently? He put his book bag in the footwell of your car, and you both stared at each other. He was wearing smart olive-green pants, a pale green shirt, a knitted olive jumper, and a green headband with eyes on it.

“You’re a princess?” He chuckled.

You blushed deeply and rolled your eyes. “Well, it’s better than… whatever you are!” You laughed.

He scoffed and pretended to look offended. “I’ll have you know I am a frog!”

You both laughed. “From what book?”

You watched as he reached into the footwell, rummaging through his bag for his book. He pulled it out and handed it to you. It was a book version of Disney’s The Princess and the Frog. “See, I am the frog”, he said, pointing to it.

You blushed even deeper now, peering up at him through your eyelashes. He knotted his eyebrows together in confusion, and then you watched, seeing the cogs in his brain turning. A deep flush settled on his cheeks, and you think he got it.

You were the princess. And he is the frog.

The turnout at school was better than you expected. Kids in comic book character outfits, and most teachers were dressed up this year. Before the kids settled in, you rushed in to see Mrs James. She was dressed as a tiger, a very pregnant one. Her favourite book was The Tiger That Came To Tea.

“You set me up!” You whisper-yell. She was sitting at her desk, nibbling on some toast. She was nearly crying from laughing so much.

“You’ve seen him then”, she said once calmed down, wiping her eyes.

“Seen him! Martha, I gave him a ride to school!” She belted out laughing, and now you were holding your head in your hands.

She rubbed her belly as she took in some breaths to help her stop laughing. “Listen, it’s time you did something about those longing looks”, you tutted and rolled your eyes. “I’ve seen it! He never used to come to the staff room, but now there he is! Cuddled up next to you,” She wasn’t lying.

You two often shared a sandwich or some toast during morning break, and you felt comfortable with him. He was always close, knees touching or shoulders touching. You’d always told yourself it was because the staff room was small, he didn’t have anywhere else to sit! But then he started bringing you coffee, in front of everyone, asking how many sugars, making it right in the staff room in your favourite mug, and bringing it to you with a soft smile.

The rest of the day went quickly. Kids usually can’t settle on a day like this, so teachers do small, fun tasks instead of actual work. The bell rang for the end of the day, and the room turned into a tornado of young fairies and superheroes running out the door.

“Knock knock.” Ryland was leaning in the doorway of your classroom. Halfway through the day, you realised that since picking him up, he didn’t have his bike to get home. So you could only offer to take him home.

“Ribbit”, you playfully said back. You slung your tote bag over your shoulder and faced him. He looked different. There was a look in his eye. Mischievous. More sure of himself, almost.

The ride back was filled with general work talk, how Mrs James was getting along with her pregnancy, what kids are causing you grief, etc. The rain had cleared up, but because it was winter, the sun was slowly setting.

“Listen about today”, Ryland started. Oh no, he was going to have this dreadful talk with you about how you’ve gone too far and embarrassed him, he’s married, of course, and you shouldn’t have overstepped that boundary-

“I’m sorry, " you cut him off. Focusing on parking. After you parked, you unbuckled your seatbelt and looked at him. “I understand today may have crossed a professional boundary, I may have voiced a silly schoolgirl crush to Mrs James about you and totally embarrassed myself-“

“No, (Y/n)-”

“Mrs James played along and maybe pushed too far-“

“(Y/n) stop.” He took your hands in his, causing you to fall silent. You met his eyes, and he looked bashful. “I may have asked Mrs James to set this up.” Your jaw dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “How could I not, you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever met, and since working with you I’ve just….come to like you a lot more than friends.”

He whispered the last part. You were blushing deeply. This man, whom nearly every teacher’s assistant has had a crush on, has gravitated towards you. “Well”, you started. “I may or may not have a little crush on you” you blushed and looked away.

He chuckled. “Well, that’s good to know.” He squeezed your hand.

You both sat there a while. Holding hands and sharing looks. There was a slight patter of rain now, the sunset turning the sky completely orange, casting a golden light onto Ryland's face. “Can I ask you something?” He spoke.

You nodded. “Since I’m a frog”, he sat up now, pointing to himself. “And you’re a princess”, you nodded again. “I was wondering if you would be so kind as to turn me into a prince?”

You blinked. A prince? You studied his face to get any clues as to what he was talking about, and it was only when a deep flush settled on his face that it clicked. Of course. His book. In The Princess and the Frog, she has to kiss him for him to become a prince.

You leaned in towards him, your hand freeing from him and reaching towards his knitted jumper. Ryland watched with his mouth slightly open as your fingers curled around his jumper and pulled him closer.

Your lips ghosted his, and then you planted a soft kiss. It started softly at first. A small peck. Your eyes fluttered closed when you felt his hand settle on your jaw, deepening the kiss. Your hand reached up and settled on the back of his neck, feeling his soft hair. You tested the waters by opening your mouth a bit more, letting his tongue in. It was slow and sloppy. He made a noise, you barely caught it, and he pulled you away.

He was a vision. His eyes were blown, deep pink settled in his cheeks, and your lipstick smudged all around his mouth. His forearm was awkwardly pressed into his lap, and you realise what the noise was about. “I need to take you on a date.” He spoke. “I can’t be doing that before I date you, " he looked out the window now, shaking his head and laughing.

You giggled and started using your thumb to wipe off the lipstick around his face “Doing what?”

“You got me a bit excited there.” His voice was now gravely.

Your heart fluttered. You didn’t dare meet his eyes; you knew exactly what he meant. It was strange hearing it from him. This charming gentleman, who flirted with you through corny science jokes, had a hard-on. And you liked it. More than you expect. He leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Let me take you on a date. A proper one”

“Okay, handsome, when?” You met his blue orbs with a smile. And it was his turn to blush now.

“I’ll FaceTime you later, and we can set a date?” It was more of a question; he was rummaging around in the footwell now, grabbing his books and bag. You nodded, feeling excited but slightly sad he was going.

He stepped out of the car, and you watched him wave as he walked up the steps to his apartment. You sat there with your foot on the brake, feeling like a little girl again. Before you could pull off, you saw a blur of green running around the back of the car. Ryland was standing at your window, asking you to roll it down.

You slid down the window and spoke, “What are you do-“

Before you could finish, he cupped your face with his hands and brought his lips to yours. Sparkles flew as he sloppily kissed you, hands running through your hair. You savoured him as if you couldn’t get enough.

Clara’s got her hands clasped together to enhance this begging she’s doing. This definitely wasn’t what you expected when you told her you might not go to parent-teacher conference. You grimace and lean over the kitchen island, a way to get on her eye level where she’s sitting on the other side of it.

“Are you sure? I thought we could have a girls’ day out. It’s our only day off together until Thanksgiving break, y’know.”

She waves your comment away. Even adds a scoff to it. You throw a brow up, because how couldn’t you? Kid’s really developing an attitude. Probably got it from you, though, so it’s not like you can complain.

“Don’t worry about it. We can do that stuff over the weekend. I really want you to go this time!”

“Did you want me to beat up your Algebra teacher or something?”

“I mean, I won’t complain if you do that,” she grumbles. She really doesn’t like that guy. Maybe you should beat him up just for giving her so much grief about her grade. She tried really hard. That guy just has a stick up his ass or something.

“But I want you to meet Dr. Grace. He’s my favorite teacher this year, and I think you’ll like him a lot.”

You press your mouth into a thin line when she says that, but your contemplative look doesn’t last long. It twists and turns, the corners of your lips tilting upward just a bit. She’s never asked you to go to one of these for a specific teacher.

“Really?”

“Yes! He’s super cool!”

“Do you have a crush on him or something?” you tease. Her entire body tenses up when she cringes at your joke. It makes you laugh.

“Oh, God, ew! No!”

“I’m just kidding!” you insist through your laughter. She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. Rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Definitely got her attitude from you.

“Dr. Grace makes science make sense. Not a lot of my science teachers have been good at that.”

You hum after your laughter dies down. Your smile lingers. A couple seconds later, you extend your pinky.

“Fine. I’ll go just to meet Dr. Grace, but you owe me a girls’ day out this Saturday.”

Clara practically starts vibrating with excitement from how you agreed. She throws her pinky out to you and hooks it with yours, grinning so hard you’re worried her face will get stuck like that.

“Yes, I swear! Thanks, Mom!”

Now, here you are, lost in this big ass school, searching for the science wing so you can find the elusive Dr. Grace that your kid’s obsessed with. Before you left this morning, she promoted him to the best teacher she’s ever had. That piqued your interest. She’s usually obsessed with her History teachers.

Is she obsessed with him because he’s weird? Very likely. She’s usually interested in the eclectic teachers. What if he’s some kind of crazy? A psychopath with a teaching certificate? One of those insane wackos who jump on desks and flail around and somehow manage to get incredible test scores?

You let your thoughts run wild as you round the corner and enter the science wing you’ve been looking for for the last 5 minutes. Who fucking knows what you’re about to walk into. Clara’s got a sneaky sense of humor, which means she could totally be setting you up to meet a teacher she knows you’ll hate.

While you’re hesitantly walking down the wing, your eyes fall on each little blue nameplate outside each door. A number and a name on each one, and yet none of them have the name you’re looking for. Clara should have just came with you to show you to the classroom, but you were nice enough to let her sleep in.

So much for your kindness.

If it wasn’t for the final nameplate that said DR. R. GRACE right at the end of the hallway, you’d have left. Classroom number 220. Why the hell is 220 on the first floor? Who designs a school like this?

You peek through one of the big windows embedded in the classroom wall, and shock replaces your irks about the layout of the building. When you see the person sitting at the desk within the classroom, you’re taken aback. Surely, this man isn’t Clara’s teacher.

He’s bent over his desk and scratching red pen marks on the paper in front of him, but you can still see a decent amount of his face. He looks so young for a doctor. Maybe he’s a little older than you, but his messy blonde hair and overall bright facial expression make him look like a picture of youth.

His glasses slip down his nose and force him to push them up, giving you a good look at his arm. At his toned forearm. At his surprisingly large bicep. At the way that his t-shirt is practically strangling that surprisingly large bicep. At the dorky graphic on the t-shirt that you can’t see clear enough from here; one that you can tell is some kind of science joke.

When he straightens at his desk to stretch a little, you get a glimpse at that shirt. Black. Relatively tight. Features a white graphic of ramp with a ball at the bottom of it. Says “I HAD POTENTIAL” at the top of it.

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself. You even laugh. Clara’s teacher isn’t this super cute guy with that insanely cheesy t-shirt on. This is some sort of teaching assistant, or…a student teacher, maybe?

But she never mentioned a student teacher or a teaching assistant. Perhaps this is a teacher who lost his way. Or some random guy that snuck in and is cosplaying as a teacher. Concerning for school safety? Yes. More believable than this really attractive man being Clara’s teacher? Also yes.

This is the last door in the hallway. Clara’s teacher’s name is on this classroom’s nameplate. This has to be Dr. Grace.

Yet, when you very timidly take a few steps into the classroom, just beyond the doorway, and pause in it, you find yourself knocking and asking, “Would you happen to know where Dr. Grace is?”

The guy who definitely isn’t Dr. Grace perks up from behind his desk. Snaps out of the little grading trance he was in. He smiles at you, and it’s a beautiful smile. Soft and lacking teeth because it’s just a gentle upward curve of the corner of his lips, but still comforting and gorgeous nonetheless. The corners of his eyes crinkle a little. Their bright blue color is striking, to say the least.

Oh, Christ…are you ogling him? Stop it!

“Yeah,” he answers. His voice is as polite and casual as the smile on his face. “You’re looking at him.”

Okay. This guy who definitely is Dr. Grace perks up a little more. The way he’s keeping his eyes on you isn’t making this any easier on your heart.

“Oh,” you squeak out. Much higher pitched than you wanted it to be. How humiliating.

He stands up, now, and even from your spot at the door, you can tell he’s taller than you. A decent amount taller than you. He rounds his desk and starts toward you. You, on the other hand, can’t move your fucking feet at all. You’re still stuck just a couple steps into the classroom.

“Nice to meet you,” he says while sticking his hand out for you to shake. He got here so quickly. Didn’t give you enough time to recalibrate, or to do a system reset, or to come back down into your body. You clear your throat enough to find your voice again, though, just a few seconds after you take his hand and shake it.

“Nice to meet you, too,” you mumble. You’re reeling over the firmness of his grip while you let out an awkward laugh.

“I wasn’t expecting you to look like this,” you blurt out. Fuck. Why did you say that? And why did he throw his eyebrows up like that when you said it?

“No?” he asks. Crosses his arms over his chest and smiles at you. If God was on your side right now, he’d make Dr. Grace stop finding ways to flex his biceps in front of you.

“What were you expecting?”

“I…well, I thought you’d look like,” you pause and awkwardly laugh again. Really making a good first impression with this one, huh?

“I don’t know. I thought you’d look like Bill Nye, or—or a mad scientist, or something.”

“Bill Nye or a mad scientist,” he repeats.

He laughs. A little wheezy, a little higher pitched than you expected. Just makes him even more attractive, which in turn ends up making you more flustered. Your face floods with an embarrassed heat that’s so hot you could probably melt steel with your skin alone. You look down at the floor between you and force out a chuckle.

“I can’t tell if that means your kid really likes me or really hates me.”

You look back up at him. There’s an incredibly defeated, embarrassed little smile on your face. This is potentially the most humiliated you’ve ever been in your entire life. Can’t get much lower than this, right? Somehow, that thought grants you the ability to speak.

“I’m sorry. Can we restart? I’ll walk out, come back in, and we’ll pretend I never said that,” you softly mumble. It’s a little surprising that you were able to compose yourself enough to say that coherently. Dr. Grace’s brow pinches together. Is that sympathy? Is he trying to not laugh at you? Who knows.

But he nods. Then he smiles at you, devoid of sympathy and full of what you’re pretty sure is genuine kindness.

“Sure. You want me to reset? Go back to my desk?”

“Yeah. Let’s just time travel to…a couple minutes ago?”

“Deal.”

He claps his hands and calls out, “Action!”

Then he skitters back to his desk. A light but quick jog that has you laughing pretty hard as you walk yourself out of his classroom.

When you’re in the hall, in a spot he can’t see you, you shake your hands at your sides. You let out a soft, anxious sigh and run your fingers through your hair. Self soothing, but also a way to tame any potential fly aways. You even jump a few times. Anything to shake the jitters off.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “You can do this. You can talk to him without embarrassing yourself.”

With your jitters mostly shaken off and your self-pep talk not doing much for you, you walk into the classroom again. Dr. Grace is sitting at his desk as if your first introduction never even happened. Same position and everything.

You start the scene by clearing your throat.

“Hi."

He looks up at you with that same gentle smile he flashed you the first time he saw you. Nods his head at you.

“Hi, stranger I’ve definitely never met before.”

“I’m looking for Dr. Grace?” you ask through a giggle. Your question sounded so dorky because of the grin stretching your face. Maybe you're a student instead of a parent.

“You found him!” he excitedly responds, both of his index fingers pointing at himself and eyes widened behind his lenses. “Because that’s me!”

Your giggles turn into a full laugh. Between his stilted use of the word “stranger” and the enthusiastic way he’s currently standing up behind his desk and rounding it to meet you, you were done for. He juts one of his hands out toward you and, for the second time today, you find yourself reeling from Dr. Grace’s palm being pressed against yours.

“Very nice to meet you, Miss.”

When he releases your hand, he gestures toward an empty chair sitting right next to the one he was occupying. “You can have a seat over here if you’d like.”

A typical parent-teacher conference usually maintains some distance. It’s rehearsed, in a way. A performance of good teacher and good parent. It’s got a formulaic parent question about how your kid’s doing and a formulaic positive teacher answer that every parent wants to hear. And it happens over their desk with at least five feet between parent and teacher.

Not this one, though. Dr. Grace is breaking that formula and improvising that performance.

You blink a few times, but you round that desk and follow him. You both sit down at the same time, and he turns his chair toward you to continue giving you his full attention. He leans back a little. Leaves his arms uncrossed, now, because he wants to remain open to you. Although, the smile on his face and the interest in his eyes was enough to tell you that he’s an open book.

It’s nice to break that formula. It’s nicer to improvise.

“I didn’t catch your name earlier,” he mutters. There’s a little apologetic lilt in his voice. A sheepish quality to it that’s quite heartwarming.

“Because we’ve never met before, so how would you have caught it?” you counter while you point back and forth between him and yourself. He snaps his fingers, then gently smacks his own forehead.

“That’s true,” he confesses.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

You give it to him. He smiles. Repeats it with some sort of reverence and leans into you just a pinch.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you, Dr. Grace.”

Have you ever sounded so timid in your entire life? Probably not. But it’s hard not to be when he refuses to break eye contact with you while he’s complimenting you so sincerely.

“You don’t have to call me that. Most of the kids just call me Mr. Grace,” he mumbles. Basically blows off his fancy title that definitely took him years to achieve.

“But you’re not 13, so…please call me Ryland.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I really like that. It’s unique.”

He scoffs. “You think mine’s unique? You should hear my brother’s.”

He waves off that murmured comment and laughs at himself.

“That’s a story for another day, though,” he says, “because I’m pretty sure you’re here to see me instead of hear about my brother.”

What a rambler. A really, really attractive rambler. Is the rambling only bearable because he’s so cute?

Maybe.

“You’d be right,” you respond, muddled a bit by the smile you can’t wipe off of your face.

“I figured. So, who do you belong to?” he asks while he picks up a packet from his desk. It’s full of names. Some kind of roll sheet, you guess. Only a few have been checked off. Maybe that’s why he’s so excited about how you’re here. Another parent to perform for.

You know he’s asking that question about Clara. If he wasn’t her teacher, you’d have made some kind of feisty quip. Something like:

“Are you asking me about my kid or my relationship status?”

Shit. Did you say that out loud?

Ryland’s eyes widen. His face flushes pink and he laughs really, really hard while he tears his gaze off of you. Even though he clearly wants to keep looking at you, he’s seemingly unable to; he opts for gluing his eyes to his hands as they clutch that roll sheet like grim death.

Nice to know you’re not the only one getting flustered here—and, boy, are you flustered. You’re so tensed up that you’re starting to worry about the way your muscles are squeezing your own bones. You’re so embarrassed that you could throw up.

He glances up at you from behind those cute glasses and shoots you a crooked smile. A fleeting glance that makes you feel good about yourself. He still wants to look at you despite the way that you humiliated the shit out of yourself so badly that you might have to excommunicate.

“I was asking about your kid.”

“I’m so sorry. Just a stupid joke,” you mumble. You clear your throat and shake your head to try and rid yourself of the terrible thoughts in it. Then you point at the roll sheet in his hands. You found Clara’s name the moment he clutched that paper.

It called out to you. That kid’s your everything even though she’s just unknowingly tossed you into the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I belong to that one,” you say, trying your very hardest to get this conversation back on the right track.

Ryland perks up. His smile from earlier grows. It’s not crooked anymore, but it’s still just as genuine as it was when he tossed it your way.

“Oh, you’re Clara’s mom!” he exclaims. “She’s great! Super bright. Takes a little while to get her out of her shell and speak up, but she’s a perfect addition to third period because of it. I never have to get on her case.”

Your face might split in half if you grin any harder.

“Yeah, that sounds like my girl,” you proudly confirm. “Can you believe she never stops talking back at home?”

“I can, actually. All the good ones are like that,” Ryland says through a chuckle. He checks her name off then passes you the roll and a pen. While you’re in the process of signing in the little blank next to Clara’s name, things take a tiny turn for the worse.

“You and Dad did an incredible job.”

Ouch. At least you’re not the only one saying the wrong shit today.

You must have visibly winced when he said it, because he looks like he wants to die now. You didn’t think it was possible for a person to look this mortified. He’s pushing the boundaries of just how red a person’s face can get. He drops his mouth open, likely so he can apologize, but you hold one hand up between you to stop him before he can get a single syllable out.

“Don’t worry about it. I know he’s on here,” you mumble while you gesture toward the roll sheet. A wistful little sigh falls from your lips, then an awkward giggle. One you force out to make things not so tense. He still has the ghastly appearance of, “man, I wish I could throw myself into oncoming traffic right now" plastered on his face.

So you reach out and lay your free hand over his. Give it a gentle pat and squeeze before you pull away and let it settle in your own lap. His fingers twitch. For a second, they appear to have been chasing after yours.

Maybe. A lot of things are weird right now. That was probably just in your head.

“At least now you know not to call him if you ever need anything,” you continue. A bit of a joke, albeit too realistic. Pulls on a taut, aching string in your heart—that same one that always gets pulled when you have to think of that idiot. You’re not sure if it’ll ever snap and relieve you of that pain.

You’re in the process of handing the roll sheet back to him when Ryland finally says something.

“Can we restart one more time?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to bite back a grin when you look up at him again. His face isn’t as red, but there’s some pink lingering over the bridge of his nose and bleeding into his cheeks. You’re not sure it’ll go away after that massive fuck up, but…at least it’s cute on him.

“Should we go a couple minutes back again?”

“That—Yeah, maybe,” he stumbles over himself, grimacing a little before he finishes, “just as long as we can forget what I just said.”

You pinch your eyebrows together and let out a confused huff.

“What do you mean?”

He’s confused, now, too. Laughs to himself as he begins, “When I said that you and—”

You decide to cut him off with a little clap and a whispered, “Action!”

Then you straighten in your chair.

“You’re losing it, I think.” You gently tap your temple a couple times while you laugh, too. “Because all I remember is you saying my kid’s pretty good in your class.”

Then it clicks for him. You can see it. The sparkle in his eyes and the way he has to suck in a deep breath so he doesn’t blow the next interaction you have. He decides on simply shooting you a thumbs up.

He settles back into that casual routine you had both been nurturing. The tension in his shoulders—his broad shoulders—melts away. He looks almost relaxed as he drops his hands into his lap. When he rubs his palms up and down his thighs for whatever reason someone would do that for, you have to force yourself to not think about the veins on the back of his hands. And how soft his hands look. And how big his hands are.

You're not really doing a great job at it.

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip and you force your eyes to meet his when he speaks up.

"Clara really is a great kid."

"She'd die if she knew I told you this," you begin before you lean forward just a little. Enough to get closer to him. To get a hint of that woodsy cologne he's wearing and fuck yourself up pretty badly. Can't help but wonder if that scent would transfer onto your skin if you got close enough to him.

Jesus. What the hell is going on with you today? Best to continue your actual conversation before you melt into a puddle.

"But she begged me to come to this because she wanted me to meet you. She said you were her favorite teacher ever."

Ryland smiles. Then he laughs. You like how much he does both of those things.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously!" you exclaim. He clutches his heart. Quite dramatic. Quite hilarious. Man, he's interesting. One of the most interesting men you've ever met.

"No way!"

Through a giggle, you tell him, "Yes way! She likes you a lot, actually."

He huffs. "I find that hard to believe. She's got such a good History teacher this year."

"Oh, yeah? You wanna bet?" you question, smirk on your face and a twinge of mischief hidden in your tone.

"Word for word, she told me that 'Dr. Grace makes science make sense.' So…on behalf of her, thanks for that. You're making my kid's life a lot easier."

There's a twinkle in both of his eyes, now. You might even say they're misty. Your heart aches; this was fun until you stoked the fire of his tender-hearted ways. It might just be a hallucination, but you're pretty sure his bottom lip trembled a little for a second there before he cooked up a response for you. Makes you want to reach out and give the poor guy a hug.

"That's so sweet. Means a lot," is that response he cooked up, accompanied by a hint of a cracking voice that makes him clear his throat. You nod and try not to stare at him when he brings one hand up to his face and rubs a lash line. To lighten the situation a bit, you lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest.

"She also said she thought I'd like you."

He blinks a few times and snaps up to look at you again, quick and surprised by your sudden pivot. Throws an eyebrow up. A corner of his lips quirks up to match it.

"Yeah?" he asks. His fingers toy with a loose thread on his jeans while he keeps his eyes on you. Clearly, he's got no idea what to do with those pretty hands of his.

You can think of a few things. But maybe you shouldn't right now.

"Was she right?"

You punch out a hum; might as well let him steep in the suspense of waiting on your answer.

Your gaze, exhibiting some sort of mind of its own, sweep up and down his face and body. Over his widened, seemingly hopeful eyes. His pronounced jaw and the stubble dusting over it. The broad expanse of his shoulders, the tightness of his shirt around his arms and the way it hugs his torso just right.

Then you see a flash of his smile in your mind, and you replay that tiny wheeze hidden behind his laugh when you first walked in, and you think about the genuine kindness that's always hidden in his voice no matter how silly he's trying to be.

"Yeah. I think she was."

Ryland's response? A very relieved sigh and a very dramatic loosening of his shoulders. He even hangs his head for a moment to breathe out a laugh. You hadn't noticed he was tensed up. Too busy thinking about the prominence of his nose. Can you be blamed for that, though? It's really nice.

"That's good to hear."

"Do you usually want your students' parents to like you this badly?"

He blushes. Bright pink, all over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and creeping down to his neck and up to his ears.

"Well, I—"

He gets cut off by someone rapping at his classroom door. When he sits up and snaps his head toward the door to look at the person waiting there for him, you realize just how close you actually were to each other. You practically could have crawled into his lap without him noticing.

"Hi! We're just finishing up here, so I'll, uh—I'll be with you in a moment!" he calls out. His voice cracks a little when he raises it. You bite back a snicker while you lean back in your chair. The person who you presume is a parent nods and backs out of the classroom. It leaves a slightly awkward air sitting between you and Ryland, but it's oddly comfortable.

"I guess that's my cue to go."

You didn't mean to sound as sad as you did. It's like all the wind has been taken from your sails. If you could spend all day with him, you'd do it in a heartbeat. Why the hell did that parent have to show up?

You reluctantly stand from your spot. Ryland shoots up to follow you. His chest bumps against yours, causing him to roughly pull back and frantically apologize beneath his breath. He almost falls backward, so you lunge forward and grab onto his hand to keep it from happening. His fingers intertwine with yours and he steadies himself when he presses his free hand down onto the flat surface of his desk.

He doesn't let your hand go, though. He's still apologizing for bumping into you, but he's giving your hand a squeeze at the same time. Firm yet gentle. The most comfortable grip you've ever felt, maybe.

Safe to say you're frozen. Eyes wide, breath caught in your chest, face burning like he's set it on fire. You've got no idea where to move and where to go because, if you were being honest, you'd say you wanted this the entire time you've been in here. How on Earth has he managed to wrap you around his finger so quickly?

He releases your hand right and mutters another apology. An unnecessary one. If anything, he should be apologizing for letting you go. For taking the welcoming firmness of his grip away from you.

"It was really great to meet you," he softly coos. You return his sweet little comment with a tiny head nod and a bright smile, then you round his desk and start for the classroom door. He follows you, because…well, of course he does. Did you honestly expect anything else?

"You're good company, Dr. Grace," you tease. A tiny, mischievous lilt added to the title you know he doesn't care for. Something that makes him roll his eyes. You saw that smirk on his face, though.

"And I'm really glad that you're my kid's teacher."

"Ah, well," he pauses and waves off your comment. "She's great. I'm happy to be her teacher."

He clears his throat to stop you just before you walk out the door. A frantic comment follows.

"But if she ever needs a tutor or something, don't be a stranger. Reach out!"

You spin on your heel and send him a sympathetic little smile.

"I don't know. She's got a pretty good grade in here. I don't think she needs a tutor."

He deflates almost immediately. A frown's on his lips while he rubs the back of his neck. Then a little bit of hope flickers in his eyes, and he cheekily adds, "Well, I'm good at other subjects too."

You laugh.

"I'm sure you are."

He sighs. Perches his hands on his hips and presses his lips into a thin line. It's a cute way to feign disappointment.

"But," you begin, heat welling beneath your cheeks and playfulness laced in your tone, "science was my worst subject in school. Maybe you could tutor me instead?"

"Yes!" he frantically replies. A little louder than you were expecting. A little quicker, too. Almost a garbled yelp because of the smile on his face. You're a little surprised he isn't jumping for joy.

He clears his throat again. His face burns bright red again. Then, in the most embarrassingly fake non-chalant way possible, he tells you, "Yes. I can definitely be your tutor."

It was assignments’ deadline week for most. It was a Monday. And on top of all that, it was storming out. The rain was on and off, but the thunder and lightning was constant. 

You weren’t even scheduled to work that night but when one of your colleagues couldn’t make it because of the horrible weather, the boss called you and asked you to please fill in for them. It was convenient. You were closer after all, since you lived at the dorms nearby. Plus you were ahead with all your assignments so you were free. Besides, the extra money wouldn’t hurt. 

You looked around the pub as you mindlessly wiped the counter down for the fifth time. The floor was mostly empty. There were no students in sight. Only a couple of people scattered about, some in the booths, most of them still with their first pint of beer and their phones in their hands. Some people read, others were engaged in hushed conversations. 

You sighed. Guess it was gonna be yet another boring, stormy night. 

But just as you turned around to look for something to do, maybe even rearrange the glasses for no reason, you heard the little bell above the entrance ring twice. Signaling that someone new had walked in. 

You turned around and found Dr. Grace walking right at you. 

Truly, you thought, what a man. 

Tall, well-dressed even though in a slightly dorky manner with the sweater and the powder blue shirt, and casual jeans. You’d never seen him in casual clothes before. And those glasses on that gorgeous face. How was this man just walking around single? You knew he was single because some of the girls you were friends with wouldn’t stop talking about it. 

And you didn’t blame them. Gods, if you had him as one of your professors, you would get nothing done in his class. 

You blinked and Dr. Grace had taken a seat at the counter, and he let out a heavy sigh. He hadn’t made eye contact with you yet. He just took a seat on one of the old leather stools and kept his head down. 

You waited for a moment or two. Waited for him to look up and order something but he didn’t. He just sat there. You had no other option but to approach him first. 

“Hi, Dr. Grace.” You spoke, giving him a small smile the moment he finally lifted his head up and looked at you. Wow. He had really pretty eyes. “What can I get you?” 

“Oh god.” He groaned dramatically. “You’re not one of my students, are you? If you are, you should be at home completing my assignments.” He did that thing where he looked at you from above the frame of his glasses. Such a teacher thing to do. But he made it look attractive. 

You laughed. Fuck. He was adorable on top of all that they said he was. “Unfortunately, I’m not. Physics and math stuff aren’t my thing. Same university, however I’m studying English Lit.” You let him know. 

“Ah.” He nodded, “Well, I came here to escape my students.” He smiled fondly while talking. “Their emails mostly. You know how it is, all of them suddenly have horrible things happening to them and they all need deadline extensions.” 

You chuckled, then carried on admiring the man in front of you while he began talking about some drama which occurred in his department earlier that day. Honestly, you barely paid any attention to what he was saying. He was just so god damn gorgeous. 

He looked a little tired, maybe even a little sleep deprived and yet so, so handsome. You got it now, now having seen him from up close, why some of his students were almost obsessed with him. Rightfully so. 

Dr. Ryland Grace… with his nerdy glasses, his messy and fluffy but perfect hair, those clear blue eyes. Not to mention the intellect. He was smart. While explaining the department drama he went off on multiple short tangents – explaining contexts or anecdotes – but he was so concise with it that it felt like you could listen to him talk forever. 

So he didn’t come here for drinks, you concluded. He just needed to get away and clear his head. Plus, he had mentioned somewhere in there that he had driven here. So yeah. Definitely no alcohol. 

“Well, then. What should I get you? We have lots of non-alcoholic drinks. Zero percent beers, ginger beers, alcohol free ciders,” You listed some more. 

But Dr. Grace just shook his head and said, “Actually I have this headache, I should just get some iced water.” 

You smiled and nodded. “Coming right up!” 

A minute later, when you placed his glass in front of him, it took you by surprise when he casually said, “Oh. Thank you, sweetheart.” 

There it was. A shiver dancing down your spine upon hearing that word. He’d whispered it. But that voice of his did something to you. 

You quickly cleared your throat and looked for something else to say. You found yourself saying, “Are those foxes? On your sweater?” You leaned against the counter, like you always did when making small talks with your favorite regulars. 

Dr. Grace let out an unexpected chuckle. “Yeah.” He admitted rather sheepishly, “I… I like foxes.” 

Huh. Cute. 

But then the smile disappeared from his face and he sighed again. For a moment, he threw his head back and groaned, “I hate work on some days.” He said it in that tired, whispery, raspy voice again. 

And that should not have been as hot as you found it. Fuck. He was gorgeous even from this angle as he threw his head back and let out a slow exhale. Your mind went straight to the gutter. And you began imagining filthy, filthy things. 

You’d never been so attracted to someone’s throat before. Was that even a thing? 

“You know those days,” He lowered his head back to normal and spoke, “Those days where nothing goes the way you want it to. Where everything feels wrong? Oh god. I think I’m having a midlife crisis.” He said, placing his elbows on the wooden counter and cupping his face in his hands. The action made him look so boyish, it drove you insane. 

You couldn’t just stare at the gorgeous, desolated man in front of you. So you said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Dr. Grace. But you know, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve always heard that you are a great professor. You’re brilliant, and kind. And funny, and smart,” He began cracking a little smile at the sound of this. “So,” You continued, “Whatever it is, midlife crisis or not, you of all people will figure it out and get yourself out of this mess.” 

Dr. Grace gave you a genuine smile. “Thank you, sweetheart. It feels good to hear that.” 

You didn’t let the nickname affect you as much this time. You were afraid of what you might do if you thought about it for too long. So you found a way out of the conversation. “No problem. I gotta go do some stuff in the back, we’re short staffed today. But do let me know if you need anything else.” 

— 

Dr. Grace didn’t linger for long. It was getting near closing time as well. So one moment he was sitting at the counter, scrolling on his phone and the next, he was gone. 

You went ahead with your regular routine and closed the pub. The weather was still bad, damp and cold. But at least it wasn’t raining as you began walking to your dorm. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep warm. Damn it. You should’ve worn something warmer instead of your skirt and tights. 

As you were about to curse yourself some more regarding your choice of clothing on a night like this one, you noticed a car approaching. Slowing to a stop, until it caught up to you. You stopped walking as the window rolled down, and you could see Dr. Grace in the driver’s seat. 

“Come on.” He said gently, “I’ll drop you. It’s gonna start raining soon.” 

Ah, fuck. He really was fucking hot. Even in the knitted sweater with wolves on it. 

“Oh.” You tried not to immediately jump into his car. “Dr. Grace, it’s a short walk.” You said, almost shivering, your voice unsteady due to the cold. 

“Oh get in.” He must have noticed because he insisted. “It’s too cold out for you to walk back to the dorms, sweetheart. Come on, I’ll drop you.” 

You would be lying if you said that the nickname plus caring demeanor combo wasn’t driving you absolutely insane. Why did he have to be so kind? So soft spoken and gentle? And to make things worse, he had a nice car. The interior was sleek and clean, and it was nice and warm, and it smelled good. 

It smelled like him. 

The moment you strapped your seatbelt, it started raining like hell outside. And you turned to find Dr. Grace with a triumphant smirk on his face. “Told you it was gonna rain.” 

You smiled. “I should’ve known better than to argue with a scientist.” 

He laughed. 

—

The drive was, of course, short. But he never once stopped talking. Making you laugh with his funny little anecdotes, or his horrible jokes. Really, he was a nerd. 

A hot one. 

By the time he pulled into the parking area of your dorm, the rain had gotten heavier. Even the thunder was much louder than before. 

“Thank you for the ride, Dr. Grace. Looks like I’m gonna have to make a run for it.” You looked ahead, through the windshield. Yeah, no. Your building wasn’t too far but with the heavy rain, you’d be drenched by the time you made it there. 

“Or,” Dr. Grace spoke up quickly. “You could wait. You’re gonna catch a cold with the rain this bad.” 

You debated. The windows were getting foggy, and the inside of his car was so warm. Plus, with the streetlights allowing some light in, he looked so handsome. You never wanted to leave. You eventually would, but… maybe you could stay a while? 

“Right.” You agreed. “I’ll just wait a few minutes, I suppose.” 

He smiled and the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment or two. Then you asked, “Is your headache okay?” 

“Oh,” He explained, “I think I just needed to get out of the house, you know? I’ve been working more than usual recently. I probably just needed a break. Plus these kids, I mean no offense, but…” He groaned in annoyance. 

You chuckled as you looked at his side profile. Gods, he was perfect. “Well, I’m glad you feel better.” 

He turned to look at you with a lay smile. His glasses caught the light and you couldn’t help but think how well they suited him. 

“I guess your cucumber and mint infused fancy water helped too.” He said, “And maybe I was just being dramatic about everything, you know?” He added quickly, “And before you make a smart little comment, yes, scientists are allowed and can be very, very dramatic.” 

“Oh I can tell.” You laughed again, unable to look away from his gorgeous eyes. He was dangerous. Did no one tell him he couldn’t just be going around looking at girls like that? 

He was quiet. And so were you. The rain was getting louder. The thunderstorm, incessant. His breathing deepened. As did yours. 

You didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was you. Maybe him. Or maybe both of you leaned in at the same time. But in the blink of an eye, his mouth was inches away from yours. And you were about to close the distance but Dr. Grace pulled away first. 

He didn’t move too far away from you. Just a few inches away as he muttered to himself. “Oh my god.” He groaned quietly. He was still close enough that his warm breath tickled your skin. “I don’t know what I–,” He looked deep into your eyes and said nothing for a moment. Then said, “I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t.” 

You reached out and touched his face gently. His stubble was rough against your palm but his skin was so warm. He was so warm. The heat was almost radiating off him. 

“It’s okay, Dr. Grace.” You whispered, leaning in slowly. “No one has to know. Besides, it’s just a kiss.” 

You closed the distance between your mouth and his lips, kissing him gently. His lips parted instantly. And fuck… his lips were so soft. You caught the little, almost desperate gasp he let out when you pulled away. 

“See?” You said, “Just a kiss. Nothing wrong with it.” 

He was quiet. And a heartbeat later he was kissing you. Properly. His hand grabbed your face tenderly, pulling you into him as he turned his head and deepened the kiss, surprising you with his enthusiasm. And skill, honestly. He was such a good, slow kisser. It felt like you were melting right under his touch. 

His hand held you by the chin, keeping you in place as he kissed you deeply, passionately. Sighing and groaning softly against your mouth like he’s been starving for this very moment. “Fuck…” He whimpered quietly against your lips, and the sound of it made your stomach flip.

“Come here, I need you closer.” He leaned back into his seat, pulling you onto his lap. 

And you shifted smoothly over the console, straddling his denim-covered thighs as you lowered yourself down on his lap. Your arms went around his neck. You couldn’t stop touching the soft fabric of his silly sweater. 

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you snug against him. He gave you a faint, nervous smile. “We’re being really bad.” He whispered, rubbing the tip of his nose with yours. “Aren’t we?” 

“I told you, no one had to know. It’ll be our little secret.” You whispered, smiling down at him as he slowly trailed his hands downwards till they rested at the curve of your butt. You could feel his warmth on your skin even through the material of your skirt, and it made your heart race even more.

He leaned back, his head against the head rest as he watched you. He was silent for a moment. He just watched as you rubbed your hands all over his shoulders and chest. Then he asked, “Can I kiss you again, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, already leaning in for another kiss. It was short and sweet. 

And when you pulled away, he said, “You taste amazing. Like peppermint.” 

You chuckled at the comment. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He smirked. Looking devilishly handsome. “Does the rest of you taste as good?”

You couldn’t help the surprised gasp which left your mouth at the sound of that. Both of you laughed. “Dr. Grace.” You teased. “Who knew you had such a way with words?” 

He grabbed your chin again, keeping your eyes on his as he said, “It’s Ryland, baby. Not ‘Dr. Grace’. You’re on my lap, I think you can call me by my first name now.” 

You giggled. Then said his name, as if testing to see how it would sound. “Ryland.” 

“Good.” He looked down at his lap, watched how your skirt had ridden up, exposing a lot more of your thighs than expected. “Come on, then. I’m waiting.” He said, leaning in to kiss along your jaw, and down your neck. “I want a taste, baby.” 

You frowned, wondering about the mechanics. This position made it hard for him to– oh. 

The realisation of what he meant hit you once he grabbed your hand and casually shoved your middle and ring finger into his mouth, wetting them first, then said, “Now, sweetheart. Don’t keep me waiting.” 

Your heart raced a little faster. Fuck, why was the sight of your fingers in his mouth so hot. And why did he have to pull them out so slowly? He was killing you. 

But you did as he asked, and Ryland looked almost hypnotised as he watched shamelessly. He watched how you slid your skirt further up, and slid your tights down – with some help from him – and how you pushed your underwear aside and gently traced slow circles around your throbbing clit with your fingers, gathering your wetness on your fingertips. You let out a gasp as you touched yourself, keeping your eyes on his face. 

His pretty, pink lips parted as he breathed deeper and deeper. The bulge in his jeans growing more and more prominent each second. Fuck. He was so hot. 

You were so busy staring at him that you’d forgotten about his demand from earlier. So he was quick to remind you. “In my mouth, baby. Come on.” 

Ryland didn’t hesitate before taking your two fingers into his mouth the moment you pressed them to his lips, wrapping his lips and tongue around them and sucking them gently into his warm mouth. 

You whimpered when he held your stare as he moaned at your taste. 

“So fucking good.” He reluctantly released your fingers, still holding your stare as he reached in between you two to touch himself through his jeans. It was such a small gesture, just him fully grabbing his cock and releasing some of the pressure. 

But it had you almost drooling already. And judging by the way you were grinding your hips on his thigh, he could tell you were on the edge by just watching him as well. 

He smirked and asked, “One more time, baby. Please.” He begged. “I just need one more taste. Just one more, and then we can fuck, okay?” 

This time, you nodded and obeyed right away. You reached down and purposely brushed your knuckles against his bulge as you pushed two of your fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out of you a couple of times, gently, before lifting your hand up to his mouth again. 

He took your fingers into his mouth again, only this time he grabbed your hips and lifted you off his lap for a moment, sucking on your fingers as he undid his belt and zipper as fast as he could, pulled your underwear to the side, aligned his cock to your hole before gently lowering you down on him. 

You both moaned and groaned as you slid down his thick cock, your fingers in his mouth and his stare burning on your face as he thrust up into you. 

You let out a whimper at the sudden movement. Your fingers slipped out of his mouth.

“Fuck!” Ryland tensed up. “I’m sorry, baby. Do you need a moment?” 

“No.” You whined. It was all too much, but fuck, you did not regret it one bit. 

You held onto his shoulders as you rode his cock. Or tried your best. He was… a lot to take in at once. 

Given the lack of room for proper movement, and both of your desperation combined, you couldn’t bother taking your shirt off completely, you just lifted it up to your chin, bra and all, baring your breasts to him. 

The chill in the air made your nipples hard, but so did Ryland’s ravenous stare. His mouth was onto you in no time. “Fuck, baby. Are you trying to kill me?” He whispered, before leaning in and taking one of them in his warm mouth. His hands at your hips slowed you down for a moment, as he focused on having his mouth wrapped around one of your tits. “Fuck me,” He cursed. “You’re perfect.” 

Your back arched, giggling and gasping as he teased you with his tongue and teeth, tasted you like he’s been dying to do this whole time. You found your hips moving against his, grinding against him.

“Ryland…” You gasped, laughing as he sucked hungrily on your skin, moving up to your collar bones, down to your breasts and back up. 

Ryland let out a gasp when you tugged on his hair. Huh. So he liked his hair pulled? You did it again. And he gasped again. 

So you did it again, enjoying the desperate whimpers he let out. 

And again. 

He finally caught on to what you were doing, so he pulled away and looked up at you. “Having fun?” 

You smiled, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss. “Maybe.” You whispered, inching closer to him, grounding your hips against his, slowing down for now, just enjoying the feeling of his hard cock inside you as you made out hungrily. His glasses got in the way but neither of you cared at the moment. 

You playfully bit his lip, making him whimper in pain before he chuckled against your mouth. “Okay, okay. I see you’re getting impatient.” He whispered against your skin as his hand slipped under your skirt, his thumb caressing your inner thigh. His fingers crawled upward until he found your clit, teasing it as he said, “Fuck yourself on my cock.” He gave you a lazy smile, eyes hooded with lust behind his glasses. “Go on, baby. Make it good for me.” 

Fuck. That cocky tone of his? Lethal. 

You moaned as you slid up and down his thick cock again, his stare burning on your face as he thrust up into you, all the way in this time. “Fuck,” He swore, then leaned in to give you a wet, messy kiss. His thumb still rubbing your clit in slow, agonisingly good circles. 

“Ryland…” You whined as he grabbed your hips and guided you up and down his cock, stretching you out in the process. “You feel so good.” You felt him fill you up nicely each time, the pressure in between your legs getting hotter and hotter. 

Ryland threw his head back, grunting at how good you felt. He let out a strained moan, almost another whimper as he thrust up into you over and over again, while also bringing you down on his cock each time with enough force to make your tits bounce. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “Look at you. Just look at you.” He gasped. “Fucking perfect, huh? Such a perfect girl for me.” 

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open, to look into his eyes, and the feral look in them only made you clench harder around him. You bit your lip to hold back your moans as he thrust his hips up harder into you. 

You knew you wouldn’t last too long. And he knew it too, judging by the way you tightened around him each time he thrust into you. 

“You’re gonna come for me, baby?” He asked, “You’re gonna come all over my cock, huh?” 

You answered after a loud whimper, “Yes… please, can I come?” 

He cupped your cheek with his other hand, and traced your mouth with his thumb, “Go on, baby. Come all over my cock. Come for me…” 

“Fuck….” Your walls clenched violently around his cock. You came hard, whimpering and crying for him and gasping for breath. 

Ryland pulled out just in time, and came right after you, his warm load spilling all over your thighs, your skirt, his jeans, and your tights, as he wrapped his arms around you and held you. Shoving his face into the crook of your neck to catch his breath. 

Your head rested on his shoulder, your damp skin against his soft sweater, as you tried to calm your racing heart. 

“Look at me, sweetheart.” Ryland murmured after a minute, cupping your face in both of his hands as he examined your face. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded and gave him a satiated, lazy smile. “All good, Dr. Grace.” You whispered, feeling his cock against your thigh. 

“Oh?” He smirked, playfully smacking your bare, exposed thigh. “Back to being ‘Dr. Grace’ now, am I?” 

You chuckled and said, “We made a mess in your car.” You hid your face into the crook of his neck. “But hey, thanks for the ride again.”