CHAPTER III

"Knowledge passing into feeling"

(Middlemarch, George Eliot)

Looking once

looking twice

looking away

pretending not to care.

You don't see me until the moment I think

I'm safe

That's when the danger comes in

and I'm dead because you're mine

He looked back.

Wendy had started to realize she was thinking a little too much about her professor Hook lately. And, for Heaven's sake, he was her professor. What right had her thoughts to be filled with him all the time? Surely, this would lead to nothing good.

First of all, distracting. Distracting wasn't compatible with success. And she went to university looking for success, after all. Nothing else.

Secondly, keeping a respectable distance with superiors. She knew it was the way the world went; people had to respect their own social boundaries. In that case, he was simply here to teach her – to teach the class. Nothing else.

Thus, one day, she decided she should ignore him – just the way he did ignore her. If she stopped looking at him so much, he would fill her thoughts less and less, she reflected. She would therefore regain control of the situation. She couldn't stand being consumed by her wish to see him, to be around him, every day of the week. It was not acceptable – by oh so many standards. She wouldn't look at him again…

But it didn't prevent her to keep on thinking about him from time to time. Especially when she was laying in bed at night.

Whenever she had needs, whenever she felt her body craved for release, her imagination took off. Before, she went for many fantasies – a famous actor, a singer, a character in a book. It all started a year after she left the neighbourhood of her childhood. She was now 14, and had started to experiment many things with her body. At first, alone; when she grew older, with a few boys. Many, just as inexperienced as her, didn't leave a lasting memory she would be fond of. But at least, she was now fully aware of what she could do – and what she wanted.

And, unfortunately, the only thing she wanted – it was clear to her now – was a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes boring into hers as her body tensed; as the slowly built tautness would come up, and up, until she couldn't catch her breath. What she wanted was hands, sliding over her body, caressing her hair; fingers running through her strands, gripping them, ever more harder, as she cried for release. The soft and absent-minded brushing of his shoulder against hers, along the corridor in the day, would lit up her thoughts in the night. Her knees weakened, and, reenacting that touch in her mind, again and again, she slipped with tantalizing anticipation her hand lower and lower. Thinking of his touch. Thinking of what he could do more.

Yes, Hook had become the main character of her reveries. All she did was telling herself stories before going to sleep. She had many now; all following the same pattern. Like the one where, after class, he would come and see her; he would lock the door, and she would anxiously breathe faster, realizing something was going on. He would make her senseless with his avid caresses; but she would render him powerless while slowly slipping onto her knees, making her way to that ever-growing form well concealed under those clothes.

Or the one where she would get detention – he would keep her after class to clean the room. But when she would clumsily splash water onto her white shirt, he wouldn't be able to focus any longer onto his tasks. Later, said tasks would be thrown on the floor while his desk would have gotten another use.

She kept on going on like this for a few weeks. She delighted in the simple and free lustiness of her mellow daydreams. She didn't do any harm, she told herself as the last waves of pleasure ran along her vivid body. As long as she did well in class and never imagined there could be something more, something real – no, that would be impossible, forbidden and most of all, inconceivable – it was all right. So she soon tried not to think about it – like it could ever become something real – too much. She was young, she had needs – it just seemed that her professor simply corresponded to the physical criteria she had set on men. He was blank – she could project absolutely anything on him.

But one day, he glanced back.

She was hurrying her way up the corridor, headed straight into the direction to her classroom. It was only a few steps away from another class – and she knew all too well that this classroom behind her belonged to her literature professor. He could be there. And she was determined to avoid him, to get rid of this powerful obsession that grew a little too much to her taste. So Wendy fastened her pace, keeping her eyes on the ground, slightly upset about it all. Every step she took led her further away from Hook's classroom, and she thought she had won another little victory – over herself, over her obsession. But she had to raise her chin and look up when she almost bumped into someone, with a pace almost as fast as hers, and had to avoid him slightly.

That someone looked at her; and in a single second, a handful of expressions crossed the young girl's face. Surprise and shock, at first, for she most definitely wasn't expecting him here; then, anger, because once again she lost one of these little every-day victories. And it all mixed into something she couldn't conceal – pleasure. Pleasure to see him. Her cheeks, already flushed with annoyance, took another hint of red, while her eyes said much more.

And likewise, the eyes of her professor said much more than anything else he could have put down in words.

Something went alight into Wendy's mind and body. Thunder had struck and it pinned her down for an eternal second. Because she knew.

She knew nothing would be the same: she recognized the look her professor gave her the second her eyes met his. And what she read in them terrified her.

Nothing would be the same. Because Lust was there, gleaming, hidden within the beguiling forget-me-not blue.

He was hers and she knew it.

He passed next to her, too close, carrying his way down the corridor. It all happened in a few heartbeats. But Wendy's life changed when she felt the burning desire running through her body – and through his.

She was always watching him, and he knew.

A month and a half had passed since he had had an explanation with Wendy about her past as a little and frustrating troublemaker. She kept her word and had done exactly what he had asked: she kept a low profile, and worked as hard as any university student could. He didn't expect any less from her.

As for him, he took up his own part of the bargain: he treated her just like he did any other student, that is to say – by completely ignoring her. Soon, she became part of the every-day scenery; a young student, lost among others. She had good grades, she listened in class, and that was it.

Oh, but he could see that she looked at him a little more intensely every day. He was already aware that most of his female students didn't peer at him because of his thoroughgoing speech about Aristotle's catharsis. But that Wendy would start looking at him this way, too? That was most unexpected.

Yet, strangely enough, not unwelcome.

He knew about the school's rules – he was a professional, after all. Thinking about a student in a way other than for teaching was surely not allowed. But he had spend many years in this establishment – he knew well about the other professor's whereabouts. Mr. Cecco, the Italian professor, certainly forgot all about the rules whenever he fancied one of his students. Mrs. Bell, a beautiful woman teaching physics, finally gave in to one of her student's advances after 3 long years. Therefore, who could blame Hook, should he simply appreciate Wendy's beauty? He wouldn't go any further than the teasing glances. He didn't need more. Hook simply wanted to make her feel awful, to make her feel terrible, for the feelings she quite obviously held for him. What a slow and soft revenge for the past years. And the best thing was – she brought it all on herself.

So he allowed the game to continue. He kept on playing, acting like Wendy didn't exist – but he surely did notice her presence. He couldn't wait for the day where he could finally tell her that he knew she came a little before the lesson started just to see him outside of the classroom. To tell her he knew she stayed a little while longer to remain near him, should it be a second more. To tell her he could feel her eyes burning behind him as she watched him pass by. And it all delighted him.

But Hook could not resist forever to such relentless attacks. He had to watch her too – to meet her glance, at last. He couldn't be teased forever. Those eyes called him, desperately; after a month of this game, he could only oblige and look back at her.

On a Thursday like any other, Wendy was getting to her next class in a hurry. She kept her eyes to the ground, seemingly bothered. He was peering at her under hooded eyes, making his way down the corridor, wondering what could fluster the young thing. And suddenly, she looked up at him.

He saw it all: the slight blush, the lips softly parted. The confusion. The desire.

What was supposed to remain a game had just become something more.

Hook understood he truly wanted her. He needed to possess her, fully. He craved to hear her scream his name.

And she carried down her way, just like he did his.

That was the only exchange which would take place for an extended period of time.

You know the saying: "Here be dragons…" And by dragons, please do understand smut. Well, some to begin with. Much more to come – you have been warned.