Page 21 of See Me After Class

I'd show him.

He opened the door with a "Hello, Dessie," like I hadn'tjusthad his cock in my mouth. I resisted the impulse to roll my eyes at him.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course you can."

I crossed the threshold. It took me a minute to adjust my vision to the dim lighting in the room. Leon's room was clearly made to suit his preferences. In other words, it screamed, "The resident here is a complete megalomaniac."

It was state-of-the-art, dominated by a deep burgundy and cream color scheme. It screamed opulent warmth, the kind you can only manufacture if you have money, lots of it.

A large, plush armchair sat invitingly in one corner. It was positioned next to a mahogany bookshelf that almost rose to the ceiling. My eyes rested on well-thumbed copies of Dante'sDivina Commediaand Umberto Eco'sIl nome della Rosa.

Funny. I hadn't pegged Vincenzo for a reader. And a serious one.I frowned.

Nestled among the Italian books were English fiction pieces, all too familiar to me. I made a mental note of the frayed spines ofThe Great GatsbyandCasino Royale.

"It's so odd," I said, unable to stop myself from moving closer to the bookshelf.

"What is?" Leon poured me a glass of red wine and came to stand beside me. I took the glass from him and drank a sip. Sweet, a little too much for my taste. Just like him.

"This," I replied, tilting my glass slightly toward the bookshelf. "I didn't think you were a reader."

He chuckled. "I'm not. Those are just for show."

He's lying. He doesn't want me to know this part of him.

"If you say so."

I scanned the rest of the room, keeping my face as neutral as possible. On top of a sleek, black lacquered desk, there was an open diary bound in rich, navy blue leather. It was flanked by a vintage fountain pen, the gold nib glinting in the soft light from an Art Deco lamp.

The walls were rife with framed posters of singers. There was a vibrant vintage poster of Frank Sinatra mid-performance, his smile filling the whole room. Just a few feet away, Luciano Pavarotti appeared in full operatic throwdown, hitting a high note that looked like it could summon the Grim Reaper himself for a duet.

Look at them. He's practically placed the two next to each other so it looks like they're about to rip each other's throats out.

Leon's taste was expensive, that much was apparent. Also odd. The walls are adorned with large, ostentatious portraits of the surgeon himself, captured in various heroic poses.

I snorted.

"I assume that is a snort of appreciation," he said brightly as he saw me looking at one that looked like he was on a billboard ad.

You can assume what you want. I'm just here to get the job done.

I turned on him, my hands fixed on both sides of my hips. He pointed his index finger to the four-poster bed that pretty much took up the entire northern corner of the room.

"Do you want to hear a bedtime story, angel?"

Angel.I liked the way it sat on his tongue.

What's this? Are you getting soft?

I shook my head and undid the velvet band holding my robe in place. It fell in a heap to the floor.

"Once upon a time…"Leon murmured, his voice a soft rasp against my porcelain back. We were on his bed.

He paused, hovering above me—every muscle in his back taut with anticipation—and dropped a stream of butterfly kisses down my spine, barely touching my feverish skin. I shivered into the smoky rose linen pillows and arched my neck to further expose my throat to the touch of his lips.

"Leon?" I whispered, forgetting all thoughts of revenge in the moment.

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