Page 17 of Lessons in Touch

“Please keep your eyes on mine, Rose.”

She obeys me and clasps her hands behind her. Without speaking, she locks her eyes onto mine. I can feel the intimacy between us now, all alone in here, with no one to see us.

“Good. You’re doing well, Rose.”

She blushes, but continues, and recites the speech with growing confidence. I circle her slowly and watch her every move.

“Emphasize the 1923 merger,” I say, pausing behind her. “It’s the cornerstone of their empire.”

She nods and repeats the phrase, using a much sharper delivery now. The tension between us is growing. Each command I give her is drawing us closer. And I know that her obedience is a silent agreement that leaves me shaken.

After a few more phrases, I pause beside her because I notice her wrist twisting nervously. I reach out, and my fingers brush her skin to adjust her stance. The contact is brief but electric, and her body tenses under my touch.

“You like being told what to do,” I tell her. This is a statement, not a question. I want to test the boundary.

She doesn’t deny it, but does look down just for a second before answering me.

“I want to get this right,” she says, and her words are steady despite the tremor in her hands. I step back to give her space to continue. But every part of me wants to stay close, to feel her warmth again.

“Please repeat the final paragraph.”

She recites it out loud, with a nearly flawless delivery now.

“Perfect, Rose. You’re learning quickly.”

My praise is sincere, and her smile, almost unnoticeable but radiant, makes me feel proud of her. I want to see that smile again, to be the one who draws it out.

“I’m finished. What’s next, Professor?” she asks me.

For just a moment, we stand together on the stage, like two actors with no more lines to say.

I stop in front of her, closer now, my fingers itching to touch her. A lock of her hair has fallen across her cheek. I brush it back with deliberate care and enjoy the feeling of my fingers caressing her skin.

“Do you trust me?” I whisper, and the question carries more weight than I wanted.

“Yes,” she says.

But I notice that she is still trembling slightly like she did a moment ago when she was reading the speech.

“Why aren’t you more confident, Rose? You’re a great student, your essay was written well, and you have a degree from King’s College. What stops you from acting accordingly?”

“I don’t feel like I belong here,” she admits. “Wolfswood… Devereaux… It’s all so overwhelming. All other students seem so confident, so entitled.”

Her vulnerability makes me feel bad. I want to erase her doubts, make her see the strength I see in her.

“You’re not just anything, though. You’re Rose Devereaux, the heir to an empire. But more than that, you’re more than capable. This place doesn’t define you. You define it. Stand tall and claim your place with confidence. You belong here just like the rest of the students.”

“Thank you. I would really like to believe that.”

“You will. And I can help you with that. Here, let’s work on your composure. Confidence starts with control of your body and your breath.”

I move behind her, and my hands are hovering near her shoulders.

“May I?”

She nods, and I rest my hands lightly on her shoulders. I can feel the warmth of her body through her sweater.

“I need you to relax your upper body. This is the part that most people look at,” I say, and gently press to ease her tension. Her body softens under my touch, and my pulse quickens. The contact between us is electrifying.