Teach Me Tonight: Chapter Four

Things were supposed to slow down once the door closed. Instead, everything between us snaps open.

One kiss becomes a challenge.

One touch becomes a dare. And the man who used to watch me from a careful distance is suddenly the one calling the shots.

He’s patient. He’s commanding.

And the way he handles me feels like he’s been waiting years for this exact moment.

But it’s not just physical.

It’s the way he looks at me like he’s learning every inch of me— and the way I have absolutely no intention of stopping him.

Tonight isn’t about the past. Tonight is about control… and who’s willing to give it up.

Chapter 4

Lena

The Lesson

By the time Evan comes back, my heartbeat has barely started to slow.

I hear the low murmur of his voice at the door, something polite and short. Then the soft click of it shutting again. Footsteps.

I stay where he left me, pressed against the counter, arms braced behind me like I need the support. I probably do.

He steps back into the kitchen, jaw a little tight, eyes a lot darker. “Wrong house. Teenagers. Thought they had the right address for a party.”

My lungs remember how to work, barely, as air rushed back into them. “Kids these days.”

His gaze drags over me like he is picking up exactly where he left off. “Yeah. No respect for timing.”

My laugh comes out thin. “We were kind of in the middle of something.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “We were.”

The space between us is only a few steps, but it feels like a decision. I could grab my purse, make a joke, pretend this was a near miss and nothing more. Go home.

I do not move.

But he does.

Evan crosses the room slowly, like he is giving me time to change my mind. I won’t. My fingers curl tighter on the counter instead.

When he reaches me, he stops close enough that I can feel his body heat, close enough that I have to tilt my head just a little to keep eye contact.

“Still want that extra credit?” he asks.

My pulse stutters. “Thought I was the one handing it out.”

His mouth curves, that slow, dangerous smile that started all of this. “Maybe it is my turn. Even if you are the teacher,” he says, voice low and sure, “I think there are a few things you could learn from me.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. 

“Even teachers have lessons left to learn, Lena.”

He lifts his hand, pushing a strand of hair back from my face, fingers brushing the side of my neck. “You used to make me nervous. Did you know that?”

My breath catches. “I did not.”

“You did,” he says, thumb stroking lightly along my jaw. “You sitting at my kitchen table, focused, bossing Mia around, looking at those problems like they were nothing.” He shifts closer. “You had all the control. I just stood there and tried not to think about how wrong it would be to want you.”

Heat slams through me. “And now?”

His eyes hold mine like he is done pretending. “Now here you are, in my kitchen, and nothing about this feels wrong.”

My chest squeezes tight. ‘Bad idea. Really good bad idea.’

“Evan,” I whisper.

He dips his head, lips hovering just above mine. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

I don’t. I lean in first.

The kiss hits like we never actually stopped. His mouth finds mine, hot and sure, and whatever distance that was left between us disappears. His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me there, not rough, but firm enough that I feel every ounce of intention behind it.

I clutch his shirt, fingers fisting in the fabric, pulling him closer. His chest is solid against mine, his body pinning me gently to the counter.

He groans, low and quiet, when I open for him. The sound shoots straight through me. His tongue slides against mine, slow at first, then with more pressure like he is learning every inch of me.

Pulling back slightly, “You always this bad at following directions?” I manage against his mouth, breathless.

He smiles into the kiss, lips brushing mine. “Guess the student caught up.”

The words go off inside me like a spark.

I drag him closer, nothing subtle about it, my hips shifting against his. The unmistakable hardness against my hip I feel is definite, very real, and sends a hot rush of satisfaction through me.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, thumb rubbing along my lower lip. “You have no idea, do you?”

“About what?”

“How much I learned watching you,” he says, voice low. “How focused you are. How stubborn. How you bite your lip when you are trying not to react.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “Makes a man think about what you would do if you stopped holding back.”

My whole body flushes. My lip betrays me and catches between my teeth.

His eyes darken completely. “Just like that.”

He kisses me again, deeper this time, one hand sliding down my side, over my hip, anchoring me where he wants me. The other stays at my neck, thumb tracing small, grounding circles that only make the rest of me feel more unsteady.

The edge of the counter isn’t enough to ground me. I want more.

“Evan,” I breathe, breaking away for air. “Maybe we should not…”

He rests his forehead against mine, breath fanning my lips. “We can stop.”

I hate how much I do not want that.

I look up at him, heart pounding. “I did not say that.”

Something shifts in his expression, like that was the last piece he needed.

He steps back just enough to hold out his hand. “Come.”

My fingers slide into his before I can overthink it. His palm is warm, grip sure and steady. He leads me down the hallway, lights dim, house quiet in that way that feels like it is holding its breath.

I’ve been in this house before, but never here. His room feels different—private in a way that makes my pulse skip. Soft light spills from the bedside lamp, casting everything in a warm glow.

He closes the door behind us, then turns back to me.

“You can still walk away,” he says, searching my face.

I shake my head, stepping closer until my chest brushes his. “I think we are a little past that.”

His hand comes up, fingers curling around the side of my neck, thumb resting under my jaw. “Last chance, Lena.”

Instead of answering, I rise onto my toes and kiss him. 

Hard.

And just like that any tension left, breaks.

He responds like he has been holding himself back for years. And maybe he has. His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips, pulling me fully against him. I can feel exactly how much he wants this, wants me, and something hungry snaps loose inside me.

My fingers push under the hem of his shirt, finding warm skin and muscle. He sucks in a breath when my nails skim along his stomach.

“Thought I was the one teaching here?” he asks, voice rough.

“Pretty sure I am at least co-instructing,” I say, even as I tug his shirt up.

He huffs out a laugh, helping me pull it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. My hands roam over his chest, over the solid lines of his shoulders, the trail of hair that leads lower. Down to that delicious V muscle at his hips.

“God,” I whisper, half to myself. “Did you just get hotter with age, or is that actually a thing?”

His mouth curves. “You are not exactly struggling.”

His fingers find the hem of my top, toying with it, waiting.

I nod. “Off.”

That’s all he needs. He peels it up slowly, knuckles brushing bare skin as he goes. The fabric leaves my body and suddenly the air feels even warmer, his gaze dragging over me in a way that makes my stomach swoop.

“Lena,” he says quietly, almost like a warning and a prayer all at once. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Pretty sure that’s my line,” I say, even as heat spreads under my skin.

He steps in again, hands at my waist, thumbs brushing the edge of my bra. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

‘I might,’ I think, feeling the hard press of him against my hip.

His mouth finds my neck, slow, reverent, like he is testing what I like and what makes me shiver. When he hits the spot just below my ear, my fingers tighten on his shoulders.

“Right there,” I breathe.

He smiles against my skin. “Lesson noted.”

He keeps going, kissing down my throat, across my collarbone, while his hands slide up my ribs. When his thumbs pass over the swell of my breasts, even through the thin fabric, my breath stutters.

“Evan,” I whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, fingers toying with the strap. “You want me to stop?”

“I absolutely do not.”

His eyes hold mine as he unhooks my bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away. The way he looks at me then, like he’s seeing something precious and not just something he wants, makes my chest ache in a whole new way.

“You… are beautiful,” he says, simple and sure.

His voice slides right through my defenses before I can stop it. I swallow, heat flushing my face. “You are biased.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Still true.”

Then he is bending his head, mouth closing around my nipple, and every thought in my head pretty much ceases to exist.

A gasp slips out before I can catch it. My hand flies to the back of his neck, holding him there, and he takes that as permission to keep going. His tongue flicks, his teeth tease lightly, just enough to send a sharp little bolt of pleasure down my spine. The hand that is not on my breast slides lower, over my stomach, to the button of my jeans.

He pauses, glancing up. “Yes?”

I nod, breathless. “Yes. God yes.”

He undoes them, slow, fingers brushing my skin every chance he gets. He pushes the denim down over my hips, taking my underwear with it, and suddenly I am bare in front of him, nothing left between us.

For a second, I almost flinch, old insecurities trying to claw their way in.

He sees it. Of course he does.

“Hey,” he says softly, straightening. His hand comes up, cupping my cheek. “Are you okay?”

I nod, forcing a breath out. “Yeah. Just… out of practice.”

His thumb strokes my skin. “Then I’ll take it from here.”

The knot in my chest loosens. I exhale, a shaky laugh slipping free. “Bossy.”

He smiles. “You knew that when you walked in.”

He guides me back until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I sink down, heart pounding, watching him as he shucks his own jeans, leaving his boxer briefs clinging to his hips and not doing much else.

I drag my gaze back up slowly. “Show-off.”

“You complaining?”

“Not even close.”

He climbs onto the bed with me, bracing himself over me, weight held back so I do not feel trapped, just surrounded. His mouth finds mine again, kissing me slow and deep, one hand sliding between my thighs.

The first touch of his fingers against me pulls a sound from my chest I do not recognize. He swallows that too, his lips never leaving mine as he learns me. Mapping what makes me gasp, what makes my hips jerk, what makes my whole body tighten.

“God, you are so wet for me,” he murmurs against my mouth, voice rough with desire. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

I manage a broken laugh. “I might have a clue.”

He smiles, then focuses, fingers working me like he is solving the most important problem he has ever been given. Pressure, rhythm, patience. Every time I start to chase it, he adjusts, holding me right on the edge.

“Evan,” I whine, the word dragged out of me. “Stop teasing.”

“Thought you liked it when I took control,” he says softly.

“Not like this.”

His mouth curves against my jaw. “Lesson in letting go, then.”

When he finally, finally gives me what I need, it hits fast and hard. My back arches, fingers digging into his shoulders, a sharp rush of pleasure tearing through me as I fall apart in his hands.

He holds me through it, murmuring quiet things I can’t make out, thumb brushing gentle circles as I come back to myself.

I blink up at him, chest heaving. “Okay,” I manage. “That was… that was unfair.”

“Pretty sure I warned you,” he says, voice hoarse.

I glance down between us, at the way he is straining against his briefs. “You look like you need help.”

He laughs quietly, the sound strained. “I am trying to be a gentleman. Ladies always come first. Pun intended.”

I slide my hand down, cupping him through the fabric, delighting in the way his eyes slam shut. “Or,” I say, “you can let me return the favor.”

His head tips back, jaw tight. “Lena.”

“You said you liked learning,” I remind him, fingers curling. “Let me teach you how much I want this too.”

When he looks at me again, there is nothing held back. No distance, no doubt. Just want and something that looks a lot like the start of something bigger.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice rough, “at this rate, I am never graduating.”

“Good,” I whisper, pulling him down into another kiss. “Because I’m not done teaching.”

Come back tomorrow for chapter five

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

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First Edition: November 2025

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