Page 34 of Lessons in Sin

Settling into him, I pull the covers close and right before I drift off into my dreams, I swear I hear a soft, half-asleep whisper.

‘I love you.’

Chapter 21

Tristan was more carefree here than I’d ever seen him. It wasn’t that he was unapproachable in his seminars - he really wasn’t - but there was an air about him, something that screamed fuck with me, and I’ll fuck with you. He was tough on his students, but for the best reasons and yet here … there was none of that hardness in him.

There was just Tristan, smiling, grinning Tristan. The kind of Tristan I only get to see after his lessons when we’re secluded away in his apartment.

I sip at my eggnog, grinning behind the rim of the mug as Tristan gets up with a sigh, microphone in hand.

‘Okay let’s get this over with.’

Isabel bounds over, squishing herself next to me. ‘I’ll love you forever for making this happen.’ She rests her head on my shoulder pulling her tongue at Tristan as he glares at her.

Tristan’s entire family seem to thrive off affectionate touch - its rather startling considering my dearest mother and father would only ever hug me to maintain the perfect family facade. Nevertheless, I’ve found myself sinking into their hugs, feeling more at home here than I ever did at my own home.

The tune to Hips don’t lie by Shakira starts playing and Tristan’s face slips further into a scowl.

Barking out a laugh, I shout to him. ‘Come on, shake those hips baby.’

He sighs and starts to mumble along to the lyrics.

Isabel boos. ‘No half assing it! Otherwise, we’ll load up another song.’

Tristan, blushing, actually blushing, starts to sing louder. He rolls his eyes again, and it’s as if something possesses him because he goes from awkwardly singing to full on belting the words, shaking his hips in a badly preformed imitation of Shakira.

Tears drip from my lids, laughter shaking my shoulders. And then I’m up dragging Isabel with me, shaking my hips like Shakira.

Tristan rests his hand on my waist as I dance. I turn and look up at him. ‘Didn’t think I’d leave you on your own, did you?’

‘Well … I was starting to doubt you’d come to my rescue.’ He bends down, and to Isabel’s horror and grace’s delight, he gives me a sloppy kiss on the lips.

‘Get a room guys!’ Isabel pulls a face.

I stick my tongue out at her. ‘Maybe we will.’

Grace chuckles, clapping her hands together. ‘And on that note, how about Yule log!’

‘I’ll come help you.’ I say, jumping up but Tristan stops me with a hand on my shoulder, the warmth sinking into my skin beneath my shirt.

‘No, you sit. I’ll help.’

They disappear around the door, and while Isabel fiddles with the karaoke machine, I go in search of the downstairs toilet.

Finding it, I slip inside just as my phone buzzes. Pulling out my phone, I sit on the toilet and suddenly I feel sick.

The message is from an unknown number, the letters like a stick and print from a magazine with their ominous text.

Unknown: Professor’s life ruined because of slut student. Catchy, isn’t it?

And attached to the message is a video. falling from the toilet, I throw up, a mix of eggnog and gravy pooling in the toilet bowl.

The video is a minute long sex tape from that day in Tristan’s office, our faces clear in the pixilated image. Both our eyes are closed, surrendered to the pleasure, giving whoever took this video the perfect chance to film from the window.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’

Another text comes through, this one more taunting

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