Teach Me Tonight: Chapter Three

One glass of wine turns into more than either of them planned.

What starts as teasing slips into something real—heat and honesty tangled between words they shouldn’t be saying and a touch that feels inevitable. But just when control finally shatters, a knock at the door threatens to break more than the moment.

Chapter 3

Lena

Lessons in Control

The door clicks shut behind me, quieter than it should be. The air feels different now, warmer, heavier. He crosses back to the counter, refilling both glasses like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Still the same bottle?” I ask, watching the way his hand curves around the stem.

He nods. “Didn’t seem right to open another one. Feels like we should finish what we started.”

I lick my lips and reply, “That’s one way to put it.”

I take the glass from him, fingers brushing his. It’s casual on the surface—everything about this is—but the spark it sends down my arm says otherwise.

He leans against the counter again, and I can’t help noticing how different he looks in this light. His hair’s longer now, streaked with gray that catches gold in the light. There’s an ease about him now that wasn’t there before, the kind that comes from surviving life.

“So,” he says, swirling the wine, “you ever take your own advice and put yourself out there? You know, that thing called dating you swore you didn’t have time for at dinner?”

I snort softly into my glass. “You really paying that much attention?”

“You made it hard not to.”

I laugh, trying to make it sound casual. “Not really my subject area anymore.”

“Any of your students brave enough to try?”

“Please,” I say, shaking my head. “They think thirty is ancient.”

He grins. “Their loss, but for what it’s worth, you aren’t ancient by any stretch of the word.”

I try not to react to that. Try not to read too much into it—but my chest still tightens. “What about you?”

He shrugs, gaze flicking toward the window. “I went on a few dates. Nothing stuck. Guess I got used to doing things on my own.”

“Control issues?”

“Probably. Or maybe I just didn’t find the one I was looking for.”

The words land somewhere between teasing and confession.

I swirl my wine, pretending to think about it. “You were always good at taking control.”

“And you were always good at pretending not to like it.”

The heat that rushes through me is instant. It’s not what he says, it’s the quiet certainty behind it. I glance at him, finding his eyes already on me, dark and steady.

“I don’t remember that,” I lie.

He tips his head, smiling slightly. “You never had to say it.”

I look away, focusing on the way the candlelight plays off the wine. “You’ve gotten bold.”

“Or maybe I just stopped worrying it was wrong.”

My pulse stumbles. “And now?”

His voice drops, soft but certain. “Now it feels right.”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Feels more like a test.”

“Then I guess I’m the student again.”

I take another slow sip, letting the moment stretch. “And what exactly are you trying to learn?”

His eyes hold mine, steady and unreadable. “How much you’ll let me get away with.”

My breath catches. “Careful,” I say quietly. “You’re close to extra credit territory.”

He chuckles, stepping around the counter, glass still in hand. “Maybe that’s the point.”

I don’t move. Not when his footsteps stop a breath away. Not when I feel the heat of him, close enough that I could lean forward and erase what’s left of the space between us.

The scent of him—soap, wine, a trace of smoke from whatever he cooked earlier—wraps around me like static.

“I missed this,” he says, his voice softer now.

“What, tutoring sessions?”

He smiles. “The way you argue with everything I say.”

“Someone had to keep you humble.”

“Guess you failed.”

I laugh, but it’s shaky this time. “Guess I did.”

He reaches past me to set his glass on the counter, his arm brushing my shoulder as he does. The movement is small, deliberate, and it steals my breath more than any words could.

For a second, I forget the rules, the years, the reasons I should leave. All I know is the pulse in my throat and the warmth at my back.

The sound of the clock ticking fills the silence, steady and slow. His hand lingers near mine, fingers close enough that one wrong breath could close the distance.

He leans in slightly, voice dropping low enough to graze my skin. “You always this good at pretending you’re not dangerous?”

I tilt my chin up. “You always this good at pretending you don’t like it?”

His breath catches, the sound subtle but real.

Neither of us moves, but everything inside me does—the weight in my chest, the ache low in my stomach, the sharp awareness of how close he is.

If this is still a lesson, I’m not sure who’s teaching who anymore.

The silence that follows stretches thin, humming between us. His words settle somewhere deep, and when I finally look up, he’s much closer than I realized.

Inches. That’s all that separates us now.

The edge of the counter presses against my back, cool and grounding, but it doesn’t do much to stop the warmth creeping through me. His gaze drifts from my eyes to my mouth, and I can almost feel it, like a touch that hasn’t reached me yet.

“You really think you can still teach me something?” he asks, voice low enough that it vibrates through me instead of over the air.

The corner of my mouth curves. “Pretty sure I could.”

He leans in, slow, deliberate. “You always did like having control.”

“Someone had to keep you in line.”

His chuckle is quiet, dangerous. “You sure that’s what you’re doing now?”

My heart stumbles. “What do you think I’m doing?”

He takes another step forward. The air shifts. The faint smell of rosemary and wine and heat surrounds us, familiar and disarming all at once.

“I think,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re testing how much I can take.”

I swallow hard. “And?”

His breath brushes my cheek. “So far? Losing.”

The tension breaks like a live wire snapping—sudden and hot. His hand slides along the edge of the counter until his fingers graze my hip, not quite touching, but enough to make every nerve in my body stand at attention.

“You should probably stop,” I murmur, though my voice sounds nothing like I mean it.

“You don’t want me to.”

My pulse skips again, traitorous and loud. “You always this confident?”

“Only when I’m right.”

Then he moves.

His hand finds my jaw, tilting it up just enough that I have to look at him. The moment stretches—his breath mingling with mine, the sound of it louder than the hum of the refrigerator or the clock ticking in the other room.

Then his mouth finds mine. No hesitation, no space left between us.

It’s not tentative. It’s a pull, deep and unhurried, like he’s taking back every year between then and now. My hands find his shirt before I even think about it, clutching the fabric like I need something solid to hold onto.

He tastes like wine and something darker, something I shouldn’t want as much as I do.

When his tongue slides against mine, the noise I make isn’t polite. He swallows it, one hand braced on the counter beside me, the other sliding into my hair. The movement sends a shock straight through me—years of quiet restraint burning off in seconds.

I pull back just enough to breathe, lips brushing his as I speak. “You always this bad at following directions?”

The words come out unsteady, half breath, half challenge.

He smirks, breath rough. “You always this good at giving them?”

Before I can answer, he kisses me again—harder this time. My back presses harder into the counter’s edge. His body fits against mine, firm, warm, and too much in all the right ways. The faint scrape of his stubble against my skin makes me shiver.

He pulls away only far enough to look at me, eyes dark and steady. “Say stop, and I will.”

“I know.” My voice catches. “That’s the problem.”

He exhales a shaky laugh, forehead resting against mine. “You make it hard to remember what’s smart.”

“Maybe we both need a refresher.”

His thumb drags along my jaw, down my throat. “Careful, Lena.”

“Or what?”

He kisses me again—slower this time, deeper, until the world narrows to the feel of his mouth and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

It’s control and chaos all at once. For lack of a better word, he’s devouring me.

And when he finally breaks away, both of us breathing like we just ran a race, his next words barely make it past his lips.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’m not stopping at a kiss.”

I open my mouth to answer, but the sharp knock at the front door cuts through the moment like a slap of cold air.

We both freeze.

Another knock. Louder this time.

I glance toward the knocking sound, heart still racing. “Are you expecting someone?”

He shakes his head once, jaw tight. “No.”

The third knock comes harder, impatient.

He glances toward the hallway, jaw tightening. “Stay here.”

And before I can argue—or catch my breath—he’s already gone, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall, leaving me standing there, pulse still thrumming, lips still tingling, every thought in my head tangled between what just happened and what happens next?

Come back tomorrow for Chapter four

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: November 2025

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