By Reading This, You Are Stating That You Are 18 Years Of Age. If You Are Under The Age Of 18, It Is Necessary To Exit This Site.
Pride and Passion
A rather sharp left turn was forced upon her until Jenna enter a secluded nook, and she took the moment of privacy to gather her breathing as she stared down the nameplate settled on the center of the door.
Professor F. Knight
Her knuckles had barely finished wrapping across the wood before a muffled call for her to enter sent her moving forward into the room. Her advisor sat behind a cherry wood desk that was lovingly framed, on all three walls surrounding him, with ceiling-to-floor bookshelves. In any other circumstance upon seeing a handsome man surrounded by books he admired in his place of work, willing and eager to discuss literature with her in regards to her future, Jenna might have declared herself in love. Instead, upon seeing the flat eyes of Frederick ‘Freddy’ Knight, her dreadful neighbor who she had been unforgivably rude to and the beholder of the eyes which had haunted her dreams each evening since her arrival in Derbyshire, Jenna felt herself reciting the most unladylike of curses.
“I had no idea-”
“Yes,” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment and she wondered if he was more annoyed by the situation or her cursing, “please shut the door, Miss Stone.” Without much thought she turned and obeyed, a slew of curses circling through her otherwise blank mind.
“Have a seat.” He gestured, without looking up from the papers on his desk, to the chair across from him and she obeyed, remaining silent. What was there really to say?
“You look shocked by this turn of events, so there is no further reason to convince me you had no clue who I was: I believe you. I feel as if I should reassure you that if I had ever known you were a student here I would have never…” Freddy sat still in his seat, hands gripping his arm rests, but his eyes moved as if he was attempting to urge her into understanding, but she did not.
“Wouldn’t have what? Been so rude?”
“No,” Though his eyebrows did raise at this and he tilted his head to her as if in warning, “no, I meant I would have never consorted with you off of school grounds. As it is-”
“You can’t cancel on Wednesday.” Folded hands covered the bottom halves of his eyes, giving him a bumpy horizon line that extended beyond comprehension. If curses ran through her head, she wondered what was racing through his own.
“Why ever not?” The resignation in his voice hinted that he would fight a battle he already knew he would lose.
“It wouldn’t be fair to Harry.”
“Oh yes, I’m quite aware how concerned are with him.” The smirk at the corner of his lips nearly had her jumping from her seat to leave the room, instead she clutched her hands firmly in her lap.
“You’re mistaken! I’m merely concerned with propriety and politeness—and common courtesy. But I’m more than aware that you are not.” Rather than dropping away and paling as she expected, his smirk grew from the corner of his mouth to a full-fledged grin. If she’d ever known hatred before it was washed away by that moment of white rage that liquefied her veins and coiled her muscles.
“Out of propriety, politeness, and—what was it?—common courtesy, I will not cancel Wednesday’s dinner.” Dark eyebrows furrowed then as Freddy leaned forward across his desk, palms flat and leaving condensation humming outlines around his long fingers, “I’m sure it pains you as much as myself, however, that I must add it will be a completely professional evening on both of our behalves.” The sarcasm could have been spread across toast it dripped so lavishly from his tongue.
“I know I will certainly mourn the loss of you as a social acquaintance.” It took a great deal of self-control not to lean back and cross her arms in an act that would seal her fate as a petty schoolgirl, instead she allowed herself that last stab of sarcasm with the thought of moving forward with the professionalism and strength she would clearly need to survive the semester.
“Not as much as I will celebrate gaining you as a student, I’m sure.” The sardonic smile he sent her curled something deep within the pit of her stomach that could no longer be identified as rage or worry, but something so lascivious and wanton she fretted over recognizing the sensation on a conscious level—but it was there, deep and hot and urging her to cross her legs and lean forward, closer to his long hands and deep eyes. He followed the movement with those same steel eyes that she so hated after having seen the water colors he was hiding.
“If you mean to punish me, Professor Knight, I suggest that you get it out of the way before you begin advising me. I don’t believe they can occur simultaneously.”
A long pause sat thick between them, so filled with a tension that gooseflesh rose over her legs. His gaze was sketching her face again and she stared back, unsure where all of their anger towards each other came from and resigning to the fact that they were two sides of the same coin: he the bitterness of old age and she the light brought on by virtue. It was a biased reading, she was sure, but no less valid. With a slap of his palms upon the desk, he shook his head and returned to his perfected posture, and turned toward the computer,
“As appealing as punishing you sounds, let’s just get on with this.”
“Right, good.” The smirk returned at her agreement, but she only saw it in profile and instead was forced to focus on the delicate chocolate curl that wrapped itself around his pale ear and the way his green sweater rustled around the freckles on the back of his neck.
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