Unleashed

"Meet me in my classroom"

Frances nodded, noticing a few glances were sent their way. High school girls, mainly, who probably had a crush on the infamous teacher. Yes, she understood the need to be away from this crowd. They separated, choosing different pathways. Frances' heels echoed in the deserted corridor, the darkness overwhelming as only emergency lights functioned. She nearly screamed when she stumbled upon a kissing couple on the second floor; they, in turn, were so startled that they scurried away like mice. With her heels and greater age, they might have taken her for a supervisor instead of a fellow student. A gentle smile quirked her lips; Mr Kristiansen might have unearthed a few of those just as well. No doubt the effect would be fearsome; that man had more presence than she, and possessed a strong build. Perfect for looming in corridors.

The young woman eventually removed her shoes; the floor was freezing, but didn't carry the sound of her steps anymore. She didn't hesitate to push the door that held so many fond memories; the classroom was bathed in moonrays, wisps of silver light that barely filtered through the icy clouds. And in the corner, sitting at his desk, was Tristan Krisiansen. The geography teacher that had shown, over time, so much more of the man than of the authority figure. Frances closed the door behind her then sat on a nearby table. Her poor toes, screaming bloody murder, decided her to slid her heels anew. The tiles were fu ... cold!

Mr Kristiansen watched her intently, making her self-conscious, yet delighted. To have his attention, fully, was a blessing. It didn't prevent the blush from creeping up her cheeks though, and she cleared her throat to shrug it off.

— "You wanted to talk to me, sir?"

His hand cupped the air as if to brush a fly away.

— "Ah, none of this 'sir' nonsense. I'm Tristan now"

Frances bit her lip to prevent from answering "all right, sir", wondering what was the reasoning behind this. She was well aware of the intensity of his gaze as he stood up, of the slight swaying in his gait when he took a few steps towards her. How much did he drink, really, before asking her to dance?

Yet, she didn't fear him, even when he approached. His tall frame, almost looming over her. His alpine cheekbones, sharply outlined in the moonlight.

— "I wanted to apologise for being too forward. And to thank you for humouring me."

Something plummeted in Frances' stomach. Hard. It almost sent her toppling to the ground such was its weight. Of course, what was she thinking? That he would start kissing her senseless and make mad love to her in the classroom? That he would divorce his wife, marry her instead to have babies and happily ever after? What did she expect, really, when she climbed those steps and followed him there, unknown to anyone but her heart? She hoped her friends were not looking for her ... gosh. How stupid could she be, really? She still didn't fear him though; her heart was already broken. What more harm could he possibly do?

The need to flee suddenly overwhelmed her and she stood, finding herself barely a foot away from him as tears started forming at the corner of her eyes.

— "I understand," she sighed. "I enjoyed dancing properly, for once, and I think that your forwardness has something to do with the alcohol, right?"

The bitterness in her words seemed to hit him hard as he flinched. Frances blinked, trying to detail his face. If he didn't care, why was his reaction so outwardly painful? Her brain and her logic told her one thing, while her body and intuition believed otherwise. It was so confusing!

— "I needed liquid courage," he muttered.

— "Whatever for? To go out and dance?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

What were they doing here, really? She, trying to support and understand a man that should have been a sturdy rock, not the other way around. But he seemed ... lost. Utterly, and completely lost.

The puzzling answer came in form of a great sigh as Tristan's gaze met hers, his stormy eyes set upon her face with an expression that made her legs tremble. He took one step forward, just one little step, and cupped her cheeks in his hands. Frances stopped breathing; she barely had time to open her mouth to protest, not even a tiny second for her brain to register how wonderful his hands felt upon her skin as his gaze dove into hers. Commanding, such heat swirling in their depth that her breath itched.

— "For that," he whispered.

He descended upon her like a fallen angel, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss, his hand burying in her hair. Her brain flatlined, hand grasping the lapel of his vest in a desperate attempt to keep upright. It wasn't gentle, neither tentative, nor any of those romantic kisses she'd fantasised about in the past months. But she'd be damned if it didn't feel good. His tongue swirled over her upper lip, alcohol and spices mingled in his breath until she parted them to grant him access. Then he was invading her mouth, his own taste seeping through as she sucked at his tongue, his fingers tugging at the loose strands that surrounded them like a fiery halo.

Frances moaned, a sound that caught in her throat as her body searched more contact. He stood strong against her, his arm snaking around her waist to hold her close. So passionate, like great fire consuming her from head to toe. Frances' fingers roamed his wide shoulders, his tight waist, his muscular arms as she surrendered to his will. His skin alive below her fingers as she tugged his shirt off the slacks and dove under the cotton garment. Her core ignited as his tall frame moved against her, caution thrown to the wind when his hands reached under her dress and travelled up her thighs. Closer, and closer still, his calloused skin caressing the swell of her buttocks before diving down again. He didn't dare going there but hell ... how she wanted him to!

Her whimpers filled the room, yet she couldn't detach her mouth from his. Like a starving woman granted her first bite, Frances refused to let go. If she did ... she might never taste him again. Her lips danced with such heat, her body so tightly strung, melting around his muscles. Locked in their passionate embrace, they both staggered against the wall. Frances' back hit the surface with an "oof". It didn't deter him; Tristan pinned her against the hard surface. His hips dug into hers, calling a lingering moan of pleasure to leave her throat as her head fell backwards. His lips just latched at her pulse point, then dove to her collarbone. Her hands roamed his skull, playing with the silky strands of his mid-long hair. How many times had she dreamt about it? So soft... just like she had imagined they would be.

She couldn't believe what was happening. Her whole body on fire, her core begging for more, reacting like a wanton girl ... she had dreamt of him so often, persuaded that those fantasies would never happen. She wasn't about to turn him down, even if he was drunk. Even if it wasn't her, he wanted specifically. The feeling of his body against hers, of his hips trapping her against the wall nearly set her off. His arms around her, his muscles against her chest, his mouth suckling, nibbling, kissing her into oblivion. No, she couldn't say no. So instead, she reached for his vest and threw it off his shoulders. Then, her little fingers dove to his slacks and unbuttoned them. He was too far gone to care as he let her pull at the waistband of his briefs, freeing him entirely.

Her own underwear was discarded in a frenzy, and as soon as her cotton panty touched the ground, his hand hoisted her legs up. He latched upon her lips once more – perhaps an attempt to stifle her moans – before his hard, throbbing member slid into her ... so easily. Frances cried out against his mouth; from pleasure and surprise alike. From completude of having him inside of her, his arms lifting her thighs, his strength supporting her while his virility filled her entirely. Her head swam in ecstasy; she couldn't remember feeling so light-headed, so utterly complete with another.

But then, they had been boys, merely twenty years of age. Meek. Here, filling her up with hard thrusts was a man. A man with passion, and experience. A strong man, who deployed his energy to bang her against the wall as he grunted against her mouth. Exhilarating...

A man that she loved, a man ignorant of her feelings as he fucked her in a drunken haze.

A man that would disappear from her life tomorrow...