Page 5 of His Taste Of Christmas

“Candy canes.” I grin.

He brushes his thumb across his bottom lip slowly, and my eyes can’t help but track every small movement he makes. I wonder what his lips feel like. I glance up and his eyes are fixed on me before he chuckles and gives a slow nod. “I wasn’t expecting candy canes, but I get it; they are delicious.”

With a smug grin, I direct my gaze at Mace. According to her, they taste awful and resemble toothpaste.

Mimicking her earlier words, I deadpan, “Mace has a strong hatred for candy canes.” Once more, Mr Hayes chuckles and then grabs onto the handles of his trolley.

“I enjoyed seeing you both, but I have to go.” He smiles and the moment of feeling normal around him washes away quickly, the wave of awkwardness drowning me again. I give him a shy finger wave and a closed-mouth smile.

“Bye, Mr Hayes.”

“Bye, Carter,” Mace shouts louder than she needs to be. “I hope you have a wonderful, jolly Christmas.” Spinning on her heels, she giggles while turning her attention to more decorations. I lower my chin and start to walk away, but then there is the gentle touch of fingers on my sleeve, grazing my arm. My head pops up and my eyes land on Mr Hayes. His fingers move to dance over the sliver of skin exposed on my wrist.

“I forgot to ask,” he says quietly, his eyes bouncing between mine. “What is the name of your parents' pub?”

My breathing falters. Oh God. Don’t tell me he is going to turn up one day. One side of me doesn’t want him to, but then there’s a part of me that would do just about anything to see him again.

“Uh … it’s called The Black Rose.”

“The Black Rose.” His whispered words remain suspended in the air as his breath gently caresses my cheeks. I’m not sure when, but he seems to have got closer to me. I remain in place. My gaze fixed on him. The scent of his aftershave is socaptivating, I would willingly bathe in it.Is it considered creepy if I move closer and take a quick sniff of him? No, yes, that would be weird. Stop.

“Pretty name.” His gaze sweeps across my face, and his attention takes my breath away. I think I've completely forgotten the art of breathing. We stand in silence, our eyes locked in a heated stare that stretches on for what feels like a never-ending minute. I'm startled by a distant crash, causing me to break the connection. He steps away from me, and I dramatically release the breath I had been holding in my throat. Once again, he clutches his shopping cart, a small smile appearing as he murmurs, “See you around, Angel.” Without looking back, he walks away, leaving me stunned.

What the fuck just happened? Did I create all of that in my mind? Was that the start of my fantasies taking over my brain with how he looked at me?

Chapter four

Carter

Even after I've walked away, her sweet lingering scent remains for at least five minutes. There's no denying that Angel O'Sullivan has matured over the past two years. Teachers claim they don’t have favourite students, but that’s bullshit. Angel was always mine. In the early years of her schooling, she was much more talkative with me. Her refreshing honesty and unique perspective on life intrigued me. I used to look forward to her creative writing tests. Her stories were captivating, even to me. I would get lost in them, and that was coming from a thirteen-year-old girl. She would create these worlds that would take you on a ride. Without fail, she was my star student every single year.

There was a significant transformation in her when she entered her last year of school. Boys tend to remain immature, but girls seem to become entirely different individuals by Year Eleven. It was a different kind of experience for Angel. Of course it was, because there's no one quite like Angel.

Rather than focusing on make-up and boys, she became silent. I'm not sure what caused it, but she started speaking less. To me, at least.

Every time I got close to her, she became restless or timid. It wasn’t like her at all. I expressed my concerns to her Head of Year, and she told me, “She has a crush on you.” Initially, I brushed it off, but gradually, I started noticing her strange behaviour. Whenever I glanced at her, she would abruptly turn her head as if she’d been looking at me. Her cheeks turned pink whenever we spoke, and she avoided me as much as she could.

Suddenly, Angel appeared in a different light. My eyes couldn’t stray from the curves that seemed to emerge overnight. Her long, slender legs were more prominent thanks to the shorter skirt she wore—an unintentional torture. Every glance my way felt electric, her mere presence igniting a storm of conflicting emotions within me. My mouth would go like a desert as she would flip her hair to one side, revealing her delicate, slender neck. She had this thing where she would run her pen up and down the side of her neck whenever she was deep in concentration, and I hated how much I wished it were my lips instead. By now, I realised I had an attraction to Angel, and I was relieved to have only six months left before she finished her exams and left school, so I started distancing myself from her.

She was sixteen, for fuck’s sake.

I was thirty-eight.

Was it legal? Yes, only just, but in every way, it was sickening; I was her teacher; she was twenty-two years younger than me.

She was my student, for crying out loud.

There were so many things wrong. Professionally, the girl always intrigued me, but my interest became all-consuming. My dreams were plagued by her night after night. I hated myself when I would wake up and be hard as a rock, and the only way to relieve myself was to fist myself to images of her. I hated theway my dick would strain my work pants when I would get just a whiff of her perfume when she walked by my desk. The way my eyes would gravitate to her lips every time she spoke, wishing I could feel how smooth they were against mine.

Her departure from school brought a sense of relief, as if I could finally breathe. Yet that feeling of relief quickly morphed into a longing. Longing to see her again, longing to speak with her. I missed her. I missed the stolen glances, her garnet-green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. I missed her so much that I was soon drowning in want and need.

I knew I couldn’t have her, so I watched her from afar for the last two years, and it helped. Something in me eased by the sight of her. Even if the only way was through her social media posts. Then she was tagged in a picture with a boy. This was the first time I had seen Angel with a boy, and I didn’t like it one bit. My obsession grew into something intense at that point. I have never felt anger and jealousy as much as I did when I saw his arm hanging over her shoulder and both of them smiling broadly at the camera. I told myself it was to be expected, but all of a sudden looking at pictures of her on socials wasn’t enough to satisfy my cravings for her. It felt like a switch flipped inside me when I saw her with a boy.

I wanted more.

Ineededmore.

So, I set things in motion—strategies for getting closer to her. I had a strong desire to see her in the flesh, but this newfound feeling was completely consuming, and I had an overwhelming hunger to touch and be with her all the time.

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