Chapter 52
**Sara**
I shifted, intending to climb off Tom's lap, but his arms tightened around me, holding me in place. My heart raced as I realized just how close we were.
"Um, Tom? What are you doing?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Just making sure you don't fall, of course. Safety first."
"Oh please, I can sit on a couch without injuring myself."
"Can you, though? You seem a bit... unsteady." His hands slid down to my hips, gripping them firmly.
I squirmed, which only made things worse - or better, depending on how you looked at it. "Tom," I warned, but it sounded more like a breathy moan.
"Yes?" he asked innocently, as if he wasn't fully aware of the effect he was having on me.
I swallowed hard, trying to regain some composure. "Yes, what?"
"You said my name," Tom replied, his voice low and teasing. "I thought you might have a question for me."
"Yeah, I've got a question. When did you become so insufferable?"
His hands tightened on my hips, pulling me impossibly closer. "Oh, I've always been insufferable. You're just noticing it now."
"Lucky me," I muttered, but I couldn't quite keep the smile out of my voice.
Tom's fingers began tracing lazy patterns on my sides, sending shivers up my spine. "So, Sara," he said conversationally as if we were discussing the weather and not sitting in this compromising position. "What are you wearing under this lovely dress of yours?"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "I'm curious. What little secrets are you hiding beneath these clothes?"
"That's... that's none of your business," I stammered, my face burning.
"No? I think it became my business when you decided to plop yourself down on my lap."
"I didn't 'plop' myself anywhere. You pulled me here, remember?"
"Details, details," he waved off my protest. "Come on, indulge me. What've you got on under there? Something lacy? Silk, maybe?"
"If you must know," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, "I'm wearing a potato sack and granny panties."
Tom burst out laughing. "Oh really? That sounds terribly uncomfortable."
"It is. It's like crazy. But it's the latest fashion, you know. All the cool kids are doing it."
"Ah, I see. And here I thought you might be wearing lace," Tom said with a smirk. "Such a shame to waste that lovely figure on burlap and granny panties."
"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" I sighed, shaking my head. "I swear, you're like a dog with a bone when it comes to my innerwear. Can't we talk about something else for once? The weather, perhaps? Or the fascinating world of paint drying?"
"Not a chance," he said, his hands still roaming my sides. "So, will you tell me the truth, or do I have to guess?"
"You wouldn't dare."
"Wouldn't I?" His hands slid up my ribcage, stopping just below my breasts. "Let's see... I'm thinking black. Lace, maybe? With a little bow, right... here." His thumb brushed the underside of my breast, making me gasp.
"Tom," I warned, my voice shaky.
"No? Not black? Hmm... How about white? Pure and innocent... on the outside, at least."
His hands were driving me crazy, touching me everywhere except where I really wanted them. I bit my lip to keep from moaning.
"Still no? Well, there's always the possibility of nothing at all..."
"It's blue!" I blurted out, unable to take his teasing anymore. "Okay? It's blue. Satin and lace. Happy now?"
"Ecstatic," he murmured. "But you know, I'm a visual learner. I might need to see it to fully appreciate it."
"A visual learner, huh?" I managed to say, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "I'm not sure that's in the curriculum, Professor."
"We're not in the classroom now. And I think we've moved well beyond the curriculum, don't you?"
I squirmed in his lap, acutely aware of his arousal pressing against me. "I don't know," I teased, trying to regain control. "Maybe you need to brush up on your anatomy lessons."
"Oh? And would you be willing to tutor me?" His fingertips just grazed the sides of my breasts.
I bit my lip to stifle a moan. "I thought you were the teacher here."
"Even teachers can learn new things," he murmured, lips dangerously close to my ear. "Speaking of which, what do you think about when you see me in class, Sara?"
The question caught me off guard. "W-what?"
"You heard me," he said, pulling back to look me in the eye. "What goes through that pretty head of yours when I'm up there lecturing?"
"I think about... corporate finance, of course."
"Really? Nothing else?"
"Sometimes I think about how atrocious your handwriting is on the whiteboard."
He laughed. "My handwriting is perfectly legible, thank you very much."
"If you say so," I teased. "I'm pretty sure half the class thinks you're writing in hieroglyphics."
"Cheeky," he growled playfully, giving my hip a light squeeze. "And here I thought my penmanship was one of my more attractive qualities."
"Oh, of course. Your chicken scratch is absolutely irresistible. I swoon every time you write an equation."
"Is that so?" Tom's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Perhaps I should start leaving love notes in your textbook. 'Roses are red, violets are blue, corporate finance is dull, but I fancy you.'"
I snorted, trying to ignore the warmth in my chest at the thought. "Careful. You might make all the other students jealous with your poetic prowess."
"Let them be jealous. I only have eyes for one student in particular."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And who might that be?"
"Well," he drawled, leaning in close, "she's brilliant, beautiful, and has a particular fondness for romance novels."
"Sounds like a handful."
"Oh, she is," Tom agreed. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."
A shiver ran down my spine, and I knew I needed to put some distance between us before things got out of hand. Reluctantly, I slid off his lap, immediately missing the warmth of his body against mine.
"So," I said, smoothing down my dress and trying to regain composure, "are you hungry? I could whip up something if you'd like."
Tom leaned back on the couch, looking far too comfortable. "I'm starving, actually. What did you have in mind?"
"Well, let's see what we've got to work with," I said, opening the grocery bags we'd brought earlier.
I started pulling out items, listing them off as I went. "We've got some chicken breast, spinach, cherry tomatoes, quinoa... Oh, and look at this sad little cucumber. I think it's seen better days."
Tom laughed, joining me in the kitchen. "Sounds like we can make a decent salad out of that. Here, let me help."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "You cook?"
"Don't sound so surprised," he said, feigning offense. "I'll have you know I'm quite handy in the kitchen."
"Uh-huh. And by 'handy,' do you mean you can successfully microwave a TV dinner without setting off the smoke alarm?"
"Haha. Very funny. Just you watch, Parker. I'm about to blow your mind with my culinary skills."
"Alright, Gordon Ramsay. Show me what you've got."
Tom started pulling out pots and pans, moving around my kitchen surprisingly. I leaned against the counter, watching him work.
"So, where'd you learn to cook?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"My mum," he replied, rinsing the quinoa. "She always said a man should know his way around a kitchen. Can't rely on takeout forever, you know."
"Smart woman," I nodded. "So, what are you making us, Chef Blackwood?"
"How does grilled chicken with quinoa and a spinach salad sound?"
"Fancy," I teased. "Are you sure you can handle all that?"
He shot me a look. "Just you wait and see."
I watched Tom seasoned the chicken with a blend of herbs, his movements confident and practiced. He set a pan on the stove to heat up while he started on the quinoa.
"Impressed yet?" he asked, catching me staring.
"I'll reserve judgment until I've tasted it," I replied, trying to hide my smile.
As Tom cooked, I set the table and poured each of us a glass of wine. The kitchen soon filled with delicious aromas, making my mouth water.
"Okay, I'll admit it," I inhaled deeply. "It smells amazing."
Tom grinned triumphantly. "Told you so."
Finally, he plated up our meals, presenting them with a flourish. "Voila! Grilled herb chicken with lemon quinoa, a spinach salad with cherry tomatoes, and that sad little cucumber you mentioned earlier."
I laughed, taking my plate. "It looks incredible, Tom. I'm impressed."
We sat down to eat, and I took my first bite. The flavors exploded in my mouth, and I couldn't help but let out a little moan of appreciation.
"Oh my god," I said, covering my mouth. "This is actually really good."
Tom looked smug. "You don't have to sound so surprised."
"Sorry, it's just... I didn't expect you to be such a good cook."
"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, Sara," he said, his voice low and teasing.
I felt my cheeks heat up and quickly took another bite to distract myself. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, occasionally commenting on the food or sipping our wine.
As we finished our meal, I felt a warm contentment settling over me. Despite the complicated nature of our relationship, being with Tom felt easy and natural. It was dangerous territory, but I couldn't bring myself to care.
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