Falling For The Forbidden

by Hawkins, Jessica

  Her gaze shatters into rippling pools of brown. “Will he get you fired? Or press charges?”

  “I scared him enough to keep him silent for a while, but that fear will eventually sour and grow resentful. Then…I don’t know.”

  “I’ll go to the cops and explain what happened.”

  “No, you will not.” I hook an arm around her back, preparing for her to jerk away. “I promised his mother a spot for him at Leopold.”

  A frozen moment passes before she tenses against my hold. “How? Why?”

  “She gave me a career at Le Moyne in exchange for my connections. To get Prescott into Leopold.”

  “Connections? Leopold admits their students on talent alone.”

  “My mother holds a seat on the Board of Trustees. She’ll slide him through without a formal audition.”

  She studies my expression, curling her hand against her chest between us. “This affects my chances, doesn’t it?”

  “If I refer you, their recruiters will come. They’ll attend a school-wide performance and…”

  Her breath hiccups in her throat. “They’ll see Prescott play and potentially reject his application.”

  “And accept yours instead.” I comb a hand through her hair and rest my lips against her forehead. “You have more talent than anyone at Le Moyne, but if I ask my mother to sneak two applications through—”

  “No way.” She yanks her head back. “When I’m accepted into Leopold, it will be on merit and talent alone.”

  I cuddle her against me as pain pounds behind my breastbone. I can’t bear the thought of fucking her over. “I’ll make this right.”

  “How? You took that deal for a reason, right? Because of Shreveport?”

  “Yes, but I can get an out-of-state job.” I tilt her chin up and kiss her, smiling against her lips. “Or I can become a pirate.”

  After the shit with Prescott tonight, however, my resignation brings new complications for Ivory.

  She caresses my jaw. “The dean will just replace you with another deal. She hired you under wrongful terms and wiped Mrs. McCracken’s recommendations from my file, so clearly, she’s on a devil’s mission. Why does she want her son to go there so badly?”

  “It’s the best school with the wealthiest endowments. Prescott’s admittance is her shoe in to elevate Le Moyne’s power and status. Or who knows? Maybe she aspires to sit on the board there someday.”

  She nods, her face furrowed in contemplation. “If you quit, Prescott won’t have enough incentive to keep his mouth shut about me. After tonight, he can give his mother all the leverage she needs to get rid of me.”

  Exactly where my head is at. Just like that, I know with absolute certainty I won’t leave Le Moyne or Ivory. I’m smarter and meaner than Beverly Rivard, and I have a few months to decide the method and level of cruelty I’ll use to beat her.

  “I understand why you did it. Why you took that deal.” Ivory trails her fingers across my chest, watching the movement. “Even after what Joanne did, it’s hard to let go. To move away.”

  My breath catches at the accuracy of her statement. She’s right, but she doesn’t know the real problem, the one I’m working to resolve with Joanne. And my feelings for Joanne? Those have dulled enough that they no longer drive my actions.

  Ivory’s eyelids flutter heavily, her limbs slackening around me, as she mutters under her breath, “Everything is possible.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m going to Leopold.”

  Her stubbornness is inconvenient. And painfully admirable. Unfortunately, I have no idea what I’m going to do about it.

  I hate to postpone her sleep, but there’s one more thing I need to know. “Where is your brother’s friend?”

  Her eyes flash open, and her voice catches in her throat. “What?”

  “Did he disappear after he raped you? Or is he still around?”

  Her complexion turns bloodless in the dim light, her cheekbones pressing against her tightening skin.

  Everything inside me goes still, strangling my throat and thickening my voice. “Tell me.”

  She throws back the covers, rolls on top of me, and rests her forehead against mine. “No more punching tonight.”

  I grip her firm ass beneath the shirt and try to focus my energy on her body and not what’s been done to her body. “When was the last time he touched you?”

  She drops her knees to my sides, straddling me, as she holds my face in her hands. “He hasn’t raped me since August.”

  August? I jackknife to a sitting position, my vision blurred by red fog. “This past August, as in two months ago?”

  She clings to my chest, holding on to my head as she mashes her mouth against mine. The moment her tongue seeks entry, I kiss her back, angrily, possessively, tangling my hand in her hair and yanking her hips against mine.

  I bite her lip. “His name.”

  She rocks her pussy against my cock, thrusting her tongue and, goddammit, distracting me.

  I rip my mouth away. “His name.”

  She slumps, her whisper hollow. “Lorenzo Gandara.”

  Latino? The same motherfucker lurking around her house that night?

  “Does he ride an orange sportbike?”

  Her fingernails dig into the back of my neck. “How do you know that?”

  Ivory

  “Go to sleep.”

  That’s the only response Emeric gives to my endless questions about Lorenzo. Eventually, my worries dissolve beneath the weight of fatigue.

  I tuck close against the rigid wall of his chest, sheltered by the bulk of his arm around my back, and guarded by his vigilant gaze. I fall fast into sleep, lost in a great timeless space where forever isn’t long enough.

  I’ve never felt this weightless, like a strange airy sensation has replaced my bones and skin, and there’s nothing left but my breath. Soft, floaty breaths of ether. Each exhale forms a cloud that joins the others drifting around me in a vast blue sky.

  I’m dreaming. I try to hold onto the enchantment. It’s so safe and gentle here I don’t want to leave. Don’t wake up.

  I blink against flashes of sapphire haloed by lamp light.

  “Good morning.” Emeric’s blue eyes fill my horizon, so deep and majestic, glimmering with all the colors and stars of heaven.

  I stretch my arms over my head, delighting in the softness of his bed. “I’m dreaming.”

  He stands over me, biceps bunching as he plants his hands on the edge of the mattress. “Still dreaming?”

  “Well…I was in heaven.” I reach up and caress the day-old scruff on his jaw. “Until the devil showed up.”

  His lips crook up in a territorial grin, his complexion rosier than usual. His skin is damp beneath my fingers, his hair dark and drippy against his forehead.

  “You already showered?” I drag my focus from his face, down his wet t-shirt, and pause on the gym shorts. “Oh. You worked out. What time is it?”

  I shift to my side and find the clock on the nightstand. 5:15 AM. School doesn’t start for two hours.

  He straightens, rolling his shoulders. “How long do you need to get ready?”

  I sit up, the room wobbling around me as I recall the conversation we didn’t finish last night. “Depends. You haven’t told me how you know Lorenzo.”

  “He’s no longer your concern.” He turns toward the bathroom.

  “You can’t just go beat him up.” I slide off the bed and adjust the shirt over my thighs. “He’s an ex-Marine, a thug, maybe even a criminal. And you’re a—”

  He shoots me a scalding glare that shrivels the rest of my words in my throat. His fist opens and closes at his side, his lacerated knuckles glowing red. Okay, maybe he could get a few punches in, but…

  “It’s too risky.” I slump on the edge of the mattress, trembling against the idea of him fighting another one of my monsters.

  Lorenzo rarely comes to my house without Shane, so it would be them against my teacher. Nothing good would co
me from that.

  I meet his eyes. “The cops might get called. You could go to jail. Or worse, if you keep hitting stuff, you could break your hands and lose your ability to play piano.”

  He strides back to me, his expression marbleized with shadowy lines of intensity. “Despite what you’ve seen, I usually don’t confront problems with my fists.” He raises one of those fists and strokes it across my jaw. “I prefer subtle and deceptive planning. Lorenzo Gandara won’t see me coming.”

  Okaaay. So he’s going to…what? Go ninja on his ass?

  He returns to the bathroom, his voice rumbling over his shoulder. “I’m taking a shower. Then the bathroom is yours.”

  The door shuts behind him, followed by the hollow click of the lock.

  I flop back on the bed, the shirt lifting to my waist and exposing me to the cool air. I don’t know what he did with my panties. I don’t even care. He’s seen me naked and put his fingers inside me. Yet all he’s let me see is his bare chest.

  Why did he lock the door? What is he hiding? My pulse elevates as ridiculous theories fill my head. Is his dick malformed? Or maybe he doesn’t want me near it until the doctor checks me for diseases?

  My emotions overflow, but the sharpest feeling is the one deep in my core. Just thinking about him naked sends a quiver up my thighs and a jolt between my legs.

  Sensations that have never been there before surge like a fever. I feel so damn hot and needy. For my teacher.

  It’s wrong. Being here is wrong. Sliding my hand over my pussy feels wrong, too, but I do it anyway, stroking the way he stroked, dipping and circling exactly how he did it. My fingers are his fingers, caressing, giving, and building that wonderful energy inside me.

  Soon, my body takes over, my hand moving the way I want it to move, coaxing shivers across my skin and producing an unimaginable amount of wet heat beneath my touch.

  My legs fall open, and my head tips back, my neck stretching as I rub my clit and sink two fingers inside, out and up, down and back in.

  He’s right behind that door, lathering soap along his shaft, stroking it, caring for it. God bless it, I want to do that. I bet his nude body is a legendary sight to behold.

  The pressure inside me snaps, cutting my air as pleasure rolls over me in warm electric waves. I shudder and jerk, gasping with throaty groans. Holy hell, maybe I can do that again. After I catch my breath. How many of those can I have back-to-back?

  I glide my fingers into my slick opening. Maybe just one more before he—

  It’s too quiet. Is the shower off?

  The bathroom door swings open, and he steps out in a fog of steam.

  I yank my hand away and shove the shirt down.

  He grips the towel at his waist as his arctic eyes lock on mine.

  Neither of us breathes. Or moves.

  He knows.

  “You touched yourself.”

  My face heats to nuclear levels.

  He clutches the door frame, squeezing so hard the wood creaks. His eyes cloud with pain, harden with resolve, then he jerks backward and slams the door between us.

  I groan, embarrassed beyond belief.

  A thump hits the wood on the other side. The lock clicks, followed by the sound of the shower turning back on.

  What the hell just happened? What should I do? As soon as he comes out, I’ll have to face him.

  Dammit, I refuse to be ashamed about this.

  Darting across the room, I knock on the door. “Emeric?”

  “Five minutes!” His muffled shout sounds too close to be in the shower.

  “Are you mad?”

  “No, Ivory,” he grunts.

  “Then what?”

  He makes a deep growly noise. “Fuck, you’re killing me here.”

  I back away from the door and sit on the bed. He hasn’t tried to have sex with me, but all his kissing and touching and staring tells me he wants to. Given my unsavory sex life, I can guess why he won’t.

  One thing I can depend on, though, is his directness. So rather than making myself sick over assumptions, I wander toward the lunacy that’s in his closet.

  Clothes and shoes line a wall that’s three times longer than my height. The quality of the fabrics and seams is unlike anything I’ve ever touched. I open the built-in drawers along the side and find heaps of lace, satin, and oh my God, leather lingerie. The tags have been removed, but everything looks new and exactly my size. I mold the cups of a red lacy bra around my boobs. Perfect fit. How the hell does he know my bra size?

  Five minutes later, the bathroom door opens. I slip out of the closet, still wearing his t-shirt, and return to the bed to sit on the edge.

  His black hair is partially dry, and the earlier tension in his muscles is gone. My attention falls to the bulge beneath his towel. It’s not tenting. I bet he touched himself, but why behind a closed door with the shower running? Emeric Marceaux does not get embarrassed.

  He sits beside me on the bed, drops his bruised hand in my lap, and loops our fingers together. “To clarify my earlier reaction… I do not, in any way, object to you masturbating.”

  Just hearing him say that naughty word sparks a firestorm inside me. “That’s good, because I’m definitely doing it again.” I lift a daring brow. “Whether you approve or not.”

  “Killing me,” he mutters beneath his breath.

  “Why?” Why not just touch me instead?

  He pulls our laced hands between his spread knees and braces our elbows on the towel covering his thighs. “I love that you want to pleasure yourself.” He slides me a sexy grin. “I love it a little too much.”

  “I hear a but coming.”

  “But…” He flashes me another heart-racing smile. “I won’t show you how much I really love it until you’re ready.”

  “You won’t show me your erection, you mean?”

  He closes his eyes. “I’m not a gentle lover, Ivory.” He looks up, and his gaze lands on my lips. “I’m confident that, with time, you’ll discover you don’t want gentle. Until then, I’ll wait.”

  “Behind a locked door?”

  He nods.

  I nibble my lip. “With an erection?”

  The corner of his mouth bounces.

  I glance at the outline of his cock beneath the towel. “You made yourself come?”

  The potency of his stare riles my nerves as he rubs a hand over his jaw, rubbing, glaring hard, rubbing harder.

  I really shouldn’t poke the beast, but… Deep breath. Strong voice. “Next time you jerk off, I want to watch.”

  His inhale cuts off right before he launches. His chest collides with mine, hurdling me backward against the mattress. An oomph escapes my lips, but his mouth is there, devouring my voice, my air, and my sanity.

  The weight of his body sinks mine into the bedding, his strength contracting around me as his hand slides up my ribs, taking the shirt with it. My fingers latch onto his hair, curling through the damp strands as he kisses me with firm lips and a devastatingly urgent tongue.

  Held down by his size, my mouth controlled by his, I close my eyes and simply enjoy his feral affection. He catches my nipple and gives it a painful tug. When I gasp, he groans. I rock my hips, and he grinds his, pinning me to the bed and pressing his hard length against my core. A little more of that and his towel will fall off. Maybe I could help it along?

  I reach behind him and glide a hand down the flexing ridges of his back. When my fingers bump the towel, I slip beneath it and meet the rise of hard firm muscle. My God, how can a man’s ass be so irresistible? I want to feel it with both hands, but his body’s too long to get a good grasp. I stretch my arms, reaching—

  He grabs my throat and squeezes. The force of his grip shoves my chin up, and my hands lose precious inches on his backside.

  The angle of my mouth gives him deeper access, his tongue curling around mine and his wet exhales heating my face. “I’m a raging fucking animal around you.”

  I want to tell him to use me in whatever man
ner feeds his hunger, but as his fingers clench tighter around my throat, it’s too much. My lungs burn for oxygen, and black spots invade my vision. Panic rises, my jaw working against his. Not kissing. Fighting.

  I can’t breathe. My hands flail against his back, my body bucking to escape. Let go. Let go.

  The fist around my throat disappears, followed by his weight. I clutch my neck and wheeze for air as fear ices my veins and tears blur my eyes.

  He stands beside the bed, righting the towel over the hard, jutting length I’ve yet to see.

  Raking a hand through his hair, he glares down at me. “You’re not ready.”

  I let go of my aching throat and sit up, shaking against a full-body tremor. “Ready for what? Sex?”

  “For me!” He strides to the dresser and pulls out checkered socks and black briefs. “Keep that in mind the next time you ask to watch me jack off.”

  My stomach sinks. “I don’t understand. Why did you strangle me? To scare me?”

  If so, it worked. My heart is still pounding.

  “To show you.” He crosses the room, stops at the foot of the bed, and scowls at his erection beneath the towel. Then his gaze bores into mine. “I get off on watching your body bow in anguish, on knowing I put those tears in your eyes. But only when you give me that pleasure freely and with absolute trust.”

  Did I give it freely? Did I even have a choice? “If you care about me, why can’t we do this without…tears?”

  His rumpled black hair and thick eyelashes give him a softer look, but the sharpness in his blue eyes reminds me that if there’s any gentleness inside him, it’s easily choked by his meteoric temper.

  He glances at the clock and looks back at me. “I have a deep sexual need to push a woman beyond her comfort zone. When you’re ready to let me take you there, you’ll fight every instinct in your body, but I promise…the result is far more fulfilling than an orgasm.”

  What could be better than an orgasm? Is it something deeper, like that warm feeling that fills my chest when I know he’s enjoying me? Giving him pleasure heightens mine to euphoric levels. So yeah, maybe there’s more to intimacy than just lying on my back while he ruts on top of me. But I have no idea what it could be.