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Forbidden Pleasure: Daddy's Favorite Student . Novel Cover

Forbidden Pleasure: Daddy's Favorite Student .

After a painful breakup, Elizabeth spends a reckless night with her long-time crush, Sebastian Gray, thinking they would never meet again. A year later, her world shatters when she discovers Sebastian is her mother’s new fiancé. The tension only worsens during her senior year when she realizes he is also her professor. Despite her efforts to stay away, his lingering touches and constant presence make it impossible for her to resist him.
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Chapter 6

Elizabeth's pov

Was it me or were his classes on my program list more frequent?.

It had been a hectic temptation with Sebastian being my professor. And it was harder when Mom called every two days and I would hear him in the kitchen, cooking for her, while he would be here, throwing subtle glances my way.

My interactions with him were often, which made it hard for me.

So as the last sets of students left the classroom, I came to a resolve to nib this bud for good.

"We need to talk," I said again, quieter this time, as the door clicked shut behind the last student.

Sebastian turned slowly from where he stood by the window, arms folding as he leaned back against the desk. His gaze settled on me.

I didn't stop walking until I was a safe few feet away, then exhaled. "I'm here to make something very clear."

He waited.

"I need things between us to be strictly platonic. Nothing more. Nothing suggestive. No looks, no subtle comments, no moments in empty hallways." My voice was firmer than I expected. "If you don't keep it platonic, I will ignore you with everything I have. I mean it."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I haven't touched you. I haven't even looked at you."

I narrowed my eyes. "You've looked."

His smile deepened, but he raised both hands in surrender. "Maybe once. Or twice. Accidentally."

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the door.

"Elizabeth."

I paused.

"If it's just about the classroom, I'll back off. But if it's something else, if it's something more, what exactly is the main problem?"

I closed my eyes, fingers tightening around my bag strap.

"My mom," I said finally. "It feels wrong doing this to her. She is happy. Or at least she thinks she is. And you're her husband. I can't....i won't, be part of something that makes me look like the villain."

Silence stretched between us. And then he spoke.

"She's not my wife. Not in the way you're thinking."

I turned slowly.

He straightened, arms unfolding. "It's a marriage of agreement. Not love. Not affection. Not even intimacy."

I stared at him, confused. "What?"

He nodded once. "May owes my family. A large sum. A mistake from years ago, something that could've destroyed her reputation if it got out. My parents made a choice, one I wasn't even part of, at first. I was getting older. She needed protection. They brokered a deal."

I felt my throat dry. "A deal?"

"She agreed to the marriage to cancel the debt," he said simply. "It wasn't romantic. It was calculated. We share a name and a roof when necessary. But I've never touched her. Not once."

I didn't know what to say. The walls I had built around myself started to splinter. Slowly.

"So if you're carrying guilt for something that doesn't exist," he continued, stepping closer, "you can put it down now."

"You're saying it's not real."

"I'm saying.......it's nothing compared to what is real between us."

My heartbeat echoed in my ears.

"Think about it," he said. "And if you still want distance after that......I'll give it."

I awkwardly thumped the strap of my bag pack. Did I even know what I wanted?

____

I tried to get a taxi, it was raining cats and dogs. I had checked the weather forecast earlier and they had informed me of a slight drizzle.

Slight drizzle indeed, I rolled my eyes as the rain soaked me thoroughly. I was desperately trying to flag down a cab to head back to my apartment.

"Fuck,"

I fucked my phone back into my pocket, zero service, zero chances of ordering Uber. I couldn't even talk to the shelter anyway and my books were probably soaked all through.

Not even an umbrella.

Heavens, why did it have to be me?

Just as I was about to fall to the curb on my knees in frustration. A luxury car pulled up.

Jennifer,

By her side was Ethan.

Just perfect.

Jennifer's window rolled down. Her hair was still dry, makeup still flawless, her lips curved in that vicious smile she wore like perfume.

"Need a ride?" she asked sweetly.

Next to her, Ethan leaned toward the window, arm draped over the seat. "You look like a drowned rat, Liz."

I didn't answer. My bag was heavy with water, my clothes clinging to my skin like second thoughts. I was cold. Wet. And standing there in the street, humiliated under the blinking street lamp.

"You good?" Jennifer asked again, fake concern dripping from her voice.

I nodded stiffly. "I'm fine."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, rolling the window up.

The car began to inch forward, the tires splashing water as it moved.

But before it could fully pull away, another car stopped just behind it. It was black and amazingly sleek.

The back door opened.

"Elizabeth."

Sebastian.

I blinked, caught between shock and relief, but too stubborn to admit either.

"You'll catch hypothermia," he said simply, like it was the most practical observation in the world.

"I'm fine," I mumbled.

"Your lips are blue."

I didn't argue.

The other car ahead of us paused for a second, Jennifer watching in the mirror, Ethan's face barely turning, then it sped off, tires screeching just enough to show their spite.

I slid into the back seat without another word. The door closed behind me with a soft click. Warmth swallowed me instantly.

He handed me a towel.

"You always keep towels in your car?" I asked flatly, wiping my soaked face.

"I had a feeling."

"I'll take you home," he said.

I gave him my address, eyes fixed out the window. The city lights blurred behind the water sliding across the glass.

We drove in silence. But as we neared my apartment, he spoke again.

"You didn't ask how I knew where you were."

I glanced at him.

"You always walk this route after your last class," he said simply. "And you forgot your umbrella on Monday."

I stared at him, unsure of how I felt about that.

"It's not an obsession," he added. "It's an observation. You matter enough to me...to be noticed."

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