The Plan

He took the textbook from the table, flipping it open to the chapter she had been struggling with. The pages crackled slightly as he pointed to the topic. "Alright, let's start with this section on quadratic equations," he said, his tone steady and authoritative. "These can be tricky if you don't approach them correctly."

Stella nodded, feeling the familiar flutter of anxiety mixed with excitement. "I've been having a hard time with these. I just can't seem to get the hang of them," she admitted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Simon's dark eyes met hers, an intense gaze that sent a shiver down her spine. "It's all about the method," he replied, his voice low and confident. "Once you understand how to break them down, they're not as daunting."

As he explained the concepts, his finger traced the key points on the page with a fluidity that made her wonder if he had a natural talent for teaching. "You see this part?" he said, leaning in closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping her. "You need to isolate the variable first. Why don't you try solving this one?" He handed her a problem, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he watched her.

Stella took a deep breath, her pencil poised over the paper. "Okay, here goes nothing," she muttered, trying to suppress the fluttering in her stomach. As she began to work through the equation, she could feel Simon's eyes on her, focused and expectant.

After a few moments, she paused, biting her lip. "I think I'm stuck," she admitted, glancing up at him.

"Let's see what you've got," he said, leaning closer to peer at her work. The proximity was intoxicating, and she could smell the faint hint of his cologne—woodsy and warm yet dangerous.

"I'm not sure if I should be adding or subtracting here," she confessed, frustration creeping into her voice.

Simon smiled, and there was something almost teasing in his expression. "It's always good to check your signs. Remember, when in doubt, just ask yourself what the equation is telling you. What do you want to isolate?"

Stella felt a surge of confidence at Simon's encouragement, her heart beating a little faster as the realization of the solution came to her. "Right! I need to isolate x," she said, her voice tinged with acknowledgement.

Simon leaned back, his dark eyes never leaving her. "Exactly," he murmured, his tone soft but commanding, as if he were holding back something much more potent. "Now, try it again. You're getting the hang of this."

She nodded, diving back into the problem, her pencil flying across the page. As the numbers and equations swirled in her mind, Stella could feel the air around them shift. The tension that had always lingered between them was no longer just intellectual—it was something else. Something electric. She could feel his gaze on her, intense and unwavering, like a force she couldn't ignore.

Glancing up, she caught his eyes again, and for a moment, everything else—the library, the textbooks, the students passing by—seemed to fade into the background. All she could focus on was the way his eyes held hers, dark and brooding, and the subtle curve of his lips, as if he were hiding something just beneath the surface.

"You really make this easier," she said softly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. It was true—his presence, while intense, gave her a strange sense of comfort. The way he taught her, the way he guided her through each step, made her feel like she could conquer anything.

Simon didn't smile back. Instead, his gaze darkened, and he reached for another problem from her book. "Now, do this one," he said, his voice low and steady, though there was an edge to it she couldn't quite place.

As she worked through the new equation, she could feel Simon's eyes lingering on her, but it wasn't just an idle glance. His focus was sharper, more intense, like he was studying her every movement. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze on her skin.

Stella was acutely aware of her own appearance. She had chosen the black spaghetti-strap crop top that morning without a second thought, but now she could feel how the fabric clung to her body, how it revealed the gentle curve of her collarbone and left her shoulders bare. Her messy bun left her neck exposed, the soft strands of hair framing her face but not hiding the delicate skin of her throat.

Simon's gaze seemed to grow heavier, and she couldn't help but shift in her seat, a strange warmth blooming beneath his scrutiny. She looked up again, but this time, the look in his eyes was different—darker, more primal. His eyes flickered down to her neck, lingering on the exposed skin as if something inside him was stirring.

He wanted her. Not just to teach her, not just to be near her. He wanted more.

His mind raced, every instinct within him screaming to taste her, to feel the pulse of her blood beneath his fangs. It was maddening—the way her scent filled the air, the way her skin looked so soft, so vulnerable. He could feel the hunger rising, the desire to sink his teeth into her neck, to claim her in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine.

But he held back, his fists clenching beneath the table as he fought the urge. He wanted her, yes. In every way possible. But not yet. Not here. Not when she was so unaware of the fire she was playing with.

Stella, still focused on her work, didn't notice the shift in Simon's demeanor until it was too late. She glanced up, feeling his gaze on her, the weight of his eyes more than just casual. The air between them thickened, charged with an energy that was both unsettling and magnetic.

"Done," she whispered, pushing the notebook slightly away as if to create some distance. But the moment her eyes met his, she froze. Simon wasn't looking at the work anymore—he was looking at her, the intensity in his stare unlike anything she'd seen before. His usually calm, dark eyes had a predatory gleam, and the space between them felt smaller with each second that passed.

Before she could react, Simon stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. He circled around the table, never breaking eye contact, his footsteps soundless yet echoing in her chest. Stella's breath hitched as he approached, her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage.

Without a word, he reached for her hair, pulling the messy bun free with a swift, almost possessive motion. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders in loose waves, and she gasped softly, both surprised and unsettled by the sudden gesture. Simon's fingers brushed against her neck as he let the strands fall, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Simon…" Her voice was barely a whisper, caught between confusion and something else—something darker, more dangerous. She should move, say something, anything, but the intensity of his gaze rooted her to the spot.

He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, his lips hovering so close she could almost feel them. "You have no idea," he murmured, his voice a low, dark whisper that sent a tremor through her. "How much you affect me."

Her pulse quickened, her mind racing. The air between them crackled with a tension she couldn't define. His proximity was intoxicating, overwhelming, and her body reacted before her mind could catch up—she leaned into him, as if drawn by a magnetic force she couldn't resist.

Simon's fingers grazed her collarbone, lingering just long enough to make her skin tingle under his touch. His hand drifted lower, just brushing the exposed skin above the neckline of her crop top, teasing, testing the boundary of restraint. Stella's breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, the space between them now charged with something electric, dangerous.

"You drive me insane," he admitted, his voice rough with the weight of restrained desire. His hand hovered at the curve of her neck, and for a split second, she thought he might kiss her—or do something else entirely.

The line between fear and desire blurred as Simon's hand slid down her back, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Her body responded to him in ways she couldn't control, the sheer intensity of his presence overwhelming her senses. She could feel the pulse of his hunger beneath the surface, a need that felt as raw and primal as it was seductive.

Stella's mind screamed at her to pull away, but her body defied that logic, drawn deeper into the moment, into him. His lips brushed the side of her neck, feather-light, as if savoring the tension before making his next move. And in that moment, time seemed to stop.

Meanwhile,

"Are they ready?" asked the woman, looking at the man.

"Yes, tonight, Stella Adams will be in our hold, and we can start the ritual" said the man, and the woman smirked.

"What about the voodoo doll?" asked the woman.

"Already placed," said the man.

And Stella had no idea what the night held for her.