I rested my chin on my hand and let my eyes rake over his body, slowly. I drank him in, everything from his messy dark blond hair, past his straight nose and strong jaw, down over his broad shoulders. My gaze locked on his chest as I tried desperately to imagine the skin that was hidden under his blue t-shirt. He moved his arm, gesturing towards the chalk board, making the muscles flex in his forearm. When he stood up, I mentally swooned as he bent over to pick up something from his desk. His bum looked incredible in his jeans; they sat in just the right place so that when he stretched to pick up his book, his shirt rode up exposing a strip of his boxers and the words Calvin Klein stitched into the waistband.
I both hated and loved dress down Fridays. I loved them because we wouldn’t have to wear the stupid school uniform that they insisted that even us sixth formers wear. But I hated dress down Fridays because my psychology teacher, Mr Stone, looked so damn sexy that I couldn’t get anything done. He was new this year and was devilishly handsome - though not all girls though so. I guess his personality was what gave him the edge over guys my age. Mr Stone was adorable, so helpful and patient. He’d been giving me extra study lessons after school for the last few weeks, helping me with extracurricular projects for my university applications, and I had fallen for him big time. Though I would never say anything because, let’s face it, a student and teacher relationship is just plain wrong, not to mention illegal.