Breaking Gravity (Fall Back Series #2)

by Autumn Grey

  “Professor Rowe.” She regains her pose fast and smiles, even though her teeth skim her lip as if she wants to bite it.

  I want to bite it.

  “We are not in class. You can call me Nathaniel.” Anyone who can play as brilliantly as she can has the license to call me by my first name. “Stunning performance, Miss Blake.” My voice comes out gruffer than I intend.

  “Thank you, Prof—Nathaniel.” She directs her gaze to the floor, her cheeks flushing prettily. Disappointment about losing her eyes cuts through me. I want those hazel eyes on me again.

  I wonder if she hears the loud thumping of my heart as it tries to break free of its cage. Does she feel this raw current that connects us, or has loneliness finally won and the attraction is all in my head? Maybe sitting around my sister and her husband, watching them moon over each other, intensified my usual warm attraction to Elon Blake. I’ve seen the way she looks at me when I catch her unguarded. The only way to know for sure would be to test that theory.

  She’s your student, jackass.

  Breathing out a sigh, I run my fingers through my hair and squeeze my neck with my left hand while eyeing our surroundings.

  Shit.

  Miss Blake and I have unknowingly managed to attract an audience.

  “Well—” she says, lifting her eyes, looking around and she stiffens. Her nervous gaze slides back to my face, then down to my crotch and she freezes. I can hear her sharp intake of breath as her eyes dart up to meet mine again.

  I was so focused on getting to her that I forgot my dick had a mind of its own, practically waving at her.

  Groaning inwardly, I murmur, “Excuse me,” subtly readjusting my stance to allow myself relief, before striding to the hallway that leads to the bathroom.

  Too bad, even after jacking off in the bathroom, my dick is far from waving the white flag. He’s found something that fascinates him. Something dangerous, forbidden. Beautiful tranquility to my raging storm.

  Now I know how Adam felt lusting after the prohibited fruit in the Garden of Eden.

  HOLY. FREAKING. WOW.

  Wow. My cheeks are on fire, and my nether regions are blazing with lust and need. I’m wearing a stupid-ass grin as I hurry toward the bar, my cello grasped firmly in my hand.

  Crap. Even my nipples are hard as rocks. I’ve seen my share of penises in my twenty-one years. Well, maybe two penises. They were not as impressive as the bulge I spied tenting the front of my professor’s pants. Honestly, there’s no way I’ll be able to face Amber and Alex without blurting out everything, which is why I’m dashing toward the bar to buy some time to gather myself together. I’m not a kiss-and-tell kind of girl, but I feel high, drunk from the way he was looking at me. So much passion, lust, hunger.

  Need.

  My brooding professor has feelings. Was I responsible for that hard-on? And why am I giddy about that fact?

  I need to savor the knowledge for a minute. Or five. It’s not every day I get to see my crush, my professor and boss all rolled into one, sporting a boner. King of the Bulges.

  Then I remember Nick, and guilt cuts through me.

  Why can’t I have these feelings for Nick instead? He has had a crush on me since we moved in next door. To me, he was just a kid I used to babysit. I used to think he would outgrow his feelings, but time only served to make his crush stronger, worsening the constant guilt I have for not feeling the same way as he does.

  At the bar, I choose a vacant stool located at the far end of the counter where my cello will be safe and prop it in a corner. Carefully, I slide onto the stool, making sure not to flash the patrons and give them an encore performance. A guy tending the bar sidles closer, pushing his ruffled, dark blonde hair back with a smile and leans forward, winking. “What can I get you?”

  “Seriously? The wink?” I ask.

  He grins. “One of the weapons in my arsenal. Did it work?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “What else is inside your arsenal?” I ask jokingly.

  “You’ll have to come with me in the back to see for yourself.” He winks again.

  I giggle, enjoying this interaction. I can’t even remember the last time I went out and had this much fun. “Just stop winking and serve me my drink. What do you recommend?”

  He laughs, eyeing me up and down languorously. “The Cosmo. Hell yeah. Definitely the Cosmo.”

  “Dude. You’re my spirit animal. Cosmo me up.”

  He shakes his head with a chuckle and goes about preparing my drink. “You’re really, really hot.”

  “Um. . .thank you,” I reply. What should I say? You too?

  “Do you have a boyfriend? You know, a girl like you—” His words die abruptly, his gaze moving to my left shoulder.

  Shifting slightly on my seat, I follow his gaze and find Professor Rowe, Sir Scowl-A-Lot, openly glaring at Sir Wink-A-Lot across the counter. The bartender clears his throat, choosing to finish preparing my drink in silence while the man beside me angles his body toward me, his shoulder brushing mine. And I die.

  God, how I die, yet, it feels like a miracle I’m still standing here breathing his scent, a feather-light caress to my senses bringing me back to life. I run my hands up and down my arms, soothing the wild goosebumps on my skin. Being so close to him like this, knowing the effect I have on him thrills and frightens me. He does some pretty wickedly delightful things to me, stoking the fire in parts of me that crave attention, the parts that have forgotten how it feels for a man to look at me like I’m something precious. The only thing holding him back from devouring me is his control, which seems to be wearing off by the second.

  He’s your professor, Elon. Remember the ‘no fraternizing’ rule set in stone at Rushmore? Remember your dreams? Playing with the Vienna Philharmonic or London Symphony Orchestra?

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve always strived to be the best in what I do. I’ve fought for my dreams and refused to allow my past to interfere with my future. How can I let something as simple as lust destroy what I’ve built so far?

  “Cosmo for the lady,” the bartender says, interrupting my internal turmoil.

  “Thanks!” I pick up the glass and gulp down half of its contents.

  “Easy, Little Wolf,” Nathaniel’s deep voice washes over me, sending shivers down my spine. He’s close now, his ragged exhales brushing across my arm. So close I’m sure if I turn my head I would breathe his air. I can’t face him though, because I’m terrified that he’ll read the mayhem setting fires inside me.

  Placing the glass down on the gleaming, dark wood counter, I gather my hair with my hands and pull it atop my head to keep it out of my face.

  “Leave it.” His voice is dark chocolate, sultry nights and dark silk sheets. “You look beautiful with your hair down.”

  Without a second thought I open my hands, letting my hair fall back into place, pooling over my shoulder.

  Unable to postpone it any longer, I face him. I suck in a deep breath when I meet flinty eyes with specks of gold staring at me like I’m enigmatic or something.

  You know that little voice that pleads with you not to do something, but you end up doing it because it’s against the law of physics or something not to obey? Like trying to defy gravity but you know your butt will be hitting the ground sooner rather than later? That little voice is screaming at me, Don’t look at his crotch, Elon. Don’t you dare look.

  My gaze drops to his crotch like metal being pulled to a magnet, then I grab my glass before my uncensored thoughts can slip through my lips, and I down the rest of my pink drink. It’s kind of overwhelming to see your professor—who is also your boss—with tented pants.

  A smirk curls across his face at my reaction, then he shifts in his seat and crosses his right leg over the left. Crap. He knows what I’m thinking.

  I roll my eyes and dip my head to hide a grin. “Do you always pay compliments to your students like that?”

  “No.” He’s still smirking, one side of his mouth curled up, and I’m
melting. “I don’t make a habit of cornering my students in a bar.”

  “Yet, here we are.” The words tumble out my mouth without my permission.

  One dark brow shoots up. “Yes, here we are. There’s just something about you, Miss Blake. I can’t seem to shake you off,” he murmurs distractedly, as if he’s mulling over the words.

  His words knock the wind out of my lungs. I’m not about to attempt dissecting that comment, so I challenge him in a stare down, my eyebrows raised.

  God, he’s so hot. Why does he have to be my professor?

  He chuckles. “Sometimes I think I’ve figured you out, but then you surprise me over and over again.”

  He has been trying to figure me out? Wow.

  “Did you like it? The performance?”

  Our bartender sidles close and sets a glass of amber liquid in front of Nathaniel. I didn’t even notice Nate ordering a drink.

  “Your Scotch, Sir.”

  Without taking his eyes off me, he lifts the glass to his lips and drinks deeply. I take in his strong jaw, watching as the muscles on his neck move as he swallows his Scotch. My thighs clench together, that single action more erotic than anything I’ve seen in a long time.

  “Needs improvement.”

  Um. . . okay. “So, what would you suggest?” I ask a little too sarcastically.

  He narrows his eyes in a glare, sensing my tone before saying, “Loosen your grip on the bow and the notes will flow softer.”

  I nod and stand up abruptly, causing him to lift a dark brow at me. “I will take that into consideration. I hope the rest of your evening goes well, Professor Rowe.” I stress the latter more to remind myself of our respective positions at Rushmore.

  He sets his glass on the counter, then tangles the fingers of his left hand around my hair and moves the tresses over one shoulder, exposing my neck. His chest rises in a quick inhale as he leans into me. His scent swaddles in its intoxicating warmth, and I swear he breathes me in.

  I’m uttering Hail Mary in my head, the words now and at the hour of our death resounding over and over inside my head. It feels like the appropriate moment in time to pray for my poor soul because I feel like I’m dying. I’m sure coveting and fantasizing about your professor can be classified as a sin, since it’s against Rushmore’s law, right?

  “Good evening, Miss Blake.” And he pulls back, his fingers falling away, leaving me cold.

  With my body buzzing with want, I let my legs carry me back to our table where Alex is sitting, his full attention on his girlfriend. Belatedly I realize I missed his performance, so I scramble to come up with an excuse.

  A lie.

  His eyes momentarily leave Amber on the stage and move to me, and he frowns. “You okay, Freckles?”

  “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  He waves a hand around his face and says, “Your face is red.”

  “Oh,” I force a laugh while rubbing a hand down my cheeks. “I think I need air. It’s too hot in here.”

  He shoots me a weird look. “You missed my performance.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry.” I point in the direction I came from. “I needed a drink—” His head turns toward the bar, and my heart drops to my feet when I see that Nathaniel is still sitting there.

  “No worries, guess you’ll never know if you won our bet or not. Dude. What the hell were you two talking about over there?”

  I choke another awkward laugh. “He talked about my performance.”

  “And?”

  “He enjoyed it, I think.” Judging by the fact that his dick gave me a standing ovation, I’d say he enjoyed the performance just fine.

  Alex nods, mutters something about giving me the Amazon gift card the following day, then turns his full attention to Amber, who is finalizing her violin performance.

  Nathaniel and I have crossed an invisible line. I need more than a lie to forget this evening. But the truth glares at me in the face: My crush for Professor Rowe is now something more. A burning mutual attraction.

  Shit. I’m in so much trouble.

  THE LECTURE HALL IS EMPTY when I stride through the door thirty minutes before the class starts. I toss my bag on the desk, pissed off at myself for my lack of control over my fucking emotions, and start pacing while squeezing the tension coiled in the base of my neck. I spent the entire night thinking about her, tossing and turning in bed, frustrated, my balls tight and aching just thinking about Little Miss Blake with her pouty mouth and those damn freckles. And that neck. Eventually, I stormed out of my room and sat on my balcony with my vape case in one hand and a joint in the other. I spent the rest of my night until the chilly hours of dawn soothing my nerves.

  I haven’t been interested in any other woman like this since Camille. What makes Elon so special? Why can’t I stop thinking about her?

  I shake my head, dragging my fingers through my hair in frustration.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch movement, followed by a soft giggling sound. I stop pacing, spin around, air catching in my throat.

  I can’t fucking breathe.

  There she is, my Little Wolf, sitting at her desk with her knees pulled up. Her head is bowed low, hair in a meticulously tied-up bun on top of her head. Her chin is partially tucked inside the neckline of her oversized, black sweater. She’s utterly immersed in whatever she’s reading from the book propped on her knees that has her cheeks flushing prettily and her chest rising and falling rapidly. A set of pink earbuds are stuck in her ears, and one small hand clutches the earphone wires tightly while the other holds the book in place.

  I suck in a deep breath through my mouth, unable to look away from the girl sitting several feet away, looking untouchable and so put together.

  I want to undo that bun, rip off that damn sweater that’s hiding the curves I saw last night, then do very dirty things to her. Ruin her perfection.

  Fuck. I’m still high from smoking weed and imbibing Scotch to drown any thoughts of Elon and the constant guilt that followed every time Camille’s face flashed in my head.

  Suddenly she moans, then mutters a muffled, breathless, “Oh God.”

  I’m standing in front of class, unable to take my eyes off her gorgeous face. Her perfectly styled hair. Her mouth, which is all kinds of innocent, sexy and sweet, purely made for kissing, and all I can think is fuck me. I want to kiss that mouth, undo that bun, wrap her red hair around my fist and then stand back and watch as fire flashes across her face.

  What the fuck, Nathaniel?

  Why her?

  My mind shuts down and my body takes over, coiled tight with tension and violent need. Between one breath and the next, my legs are swallowing up the distance between Elon and me, and I halt in front of her, my breaths rough and fast in my ears. Her head jerks up, seeming to sense the shadow looming above her.

  Ah, there’s that pretty mouth I was missing so much.

  She yanks the earbuds from her ears, the book slipping from her knees to the floor with a thud as she drops her feet from her seat.

  “Professor Rowe.” Her voice is soft, her eyes wide and her neck long and elegant as ever. “Sorry I didn’t know the class has started.” Her eyes dart around, and upon finding the lecture hall empty, they snap back to meet mine, a little frown marring her smooth forehead. “You’re early.”

  “So are you,” is all I can say because I’m out of breath from all the hunger for her clouding my fucking brain.

  Why her? Why do I have this sheer fixation with this girl?

  She leans to the side and picks up her book from the floor before straightening up and trapping my gaze with hers, and I see why I seem to be fascinated with her.

  That look. The fire flashing in her steady gaze right now even though calmness surrounds her. She’s quite a conundrum, and it makes me want to discover the true Elon hiding behind this quiet girl.

  “I wanted to catch up on my reading before class started,” she says, tapping the book that’s now on her desk. “What about you, P
rofessor? Did you have some reading to catch up on?” She stares up at me through her lashes, a small, teasing smile on her lips.

  Oh, she’s a playful little thing, isn’t she? Placing my hands on her desk, I lean forward, aligning my face with hers. She gasps softly, but she doesn’t pull back.

  Bravo, Little Wolf. “ I wanted to watch you as you walked through the door.” My voice is low, barely masking the yearning wreaking havoc in me.

  Those words seem to catch her off guard, but she doesn’t back down.

  Again.

  Jesus. Why did I ever think this girl was shy?

  “Lie to me, Nathaniel,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper, my name husky and so damn hot on her lips. Me? I’m so hard and ready to drag her inside one of those cupboards in the front of the classroom and do things to her that will have her squirming every time she thinks about me.

  My brain catches up with her words, and I frown. “What?”

  “A lie.” She licks her lips, hypnotizing me. Slaying me. “One sweet little lie.”

  I’m not sure what game she’s playing, so I take a wild guess and push my face forward, staring at her parted lips. Her quick breaths softly blow against my nose and mouth. The only thing separating us now is the desk. “I really don’t want to kiss you right now.”

  Her eyes fall shut, her head slanting forward bringing her mouth so close to mine. She inhales deeply as if she’s taking in my scent and in one long breath says, “I really don’t want to kiss you, too.”

  Lifting one hand from the desk, I brush my thumb across her full bottom lip, pressing it gently. A gasp falls from her mouth as her long lashes flutter open.

  Fuck me. She’s so hot with her hungry gaze, dark and needy. The craving to taste her burns through me like fire. One kiss. One taste. They’re all it would take to cross the line. She’s temptation and calm, wrapped in one hot package that could send me to Hell, but I don’t really give a fuck right now. I’ve spent the past three years in purgatory. Maybe kissing her will stop the chaos in my head.

  She stiffens, her gaze darting to the door, and mutters, “Shit!” She looks at the door, then back at me with a desperation that cuts through me like a knife. “Someone’s coming!”