It’s loud in here as the students pour in through the double doors. Many kids are walking from the cafeteria where they’ve had breakfast. When the principal starts her morning class calls, we wait as the younger kids file out of the room. When it’s our turn, I shout for my class to follow me through the halls.
Thirty-two students fall in line behind me. They’re young enough to be wrangled but old enough to start defying. Ten is a tough age to teach, but I enjoy it. Especially since this is the year I introduce some of my favorite classic novels to students. You don’t know the real measure of a child until you see them analyzing some of the greatest works in history.
“Put your coats and backpacks away and take out your red folders,” I announce once they are all inside.
The kids take longer than I’d like getting themselves settled. Malik stops at my desk with a question on the weekend homework. Nate is goofing off in the back.
“Nate, get to your desk now. This is no way to start the week,” I say and then give my focus back to Malik. “It’s okay. We’re going to go over this in a few minutes. Go sit, so we can get started.”
I walk over to the windows and pull up the shades. There’s a ton of glare on this side of the building in the afternoon, so I’ve been dropping the shades to keep the sun out of the kids’ eyes. It also hides the less than pleasing building next to us that has been abandoned as the city and developers fight over what to do with it.
“Put your homework packets on your desks,” I say as I pull the string on the first blinds.
“Wow, Miss Doyle, that looks awesome!” Malik shouts.
I turn to him as I walk to the next window. “What does?” I ask.
“That.” He points out the window.
I pull the next string and turn around. I gasp in surprise at the sight. “Holy sh—” I catch myself from cursing as I cover my mouth.
Across from my classroom, on the second floor of a dilapidated building, is a mural the size of a billboard. It canvases the entire side of the building. It’s not just the size that’s impressive, but it’s also the art drawn on it.
Visionaries such as Norman Rockwell sits alongside celebrities like Jennifer Lopez, Robert Downey Jr., Carmelo Anthony, Alex Rodriguez, the Beastie Boys, and Jay-Z. In the center, in block letters, are the words Be Anything.
I close my eyes and open them again, making sure what I’m seeing is real.
“They look like floating heads,” Quinton says from the window.
All the students have come up and taken a spot next to the glass of one of the three windows in the classroom.
“They’re all New York City born and raised,” I say, still mesmerized by the images. I point to each and tell the students who they are, as some are unrecognizable to their young eyes.
The roses that were originally painted on my body stare back at me from the corner of the image. Next to them is the phrase Mon chéri.
“What does that mean?” Malik asks.
I say barely above a whisper, “My darling … in French.”
I’m not one to cry. For some reason, this incredibly kind act for my students, a request I said out loud during a casual conversation when I didn’t think something like this was possible, has me in tears.
* * *
When I get to Tanner’s door, I knock. No answer. So, I leave and walk across the street. I take a seat in The Den and wait for him to return from wherever it is he spends his days.
School, I suppose.
Paul serves me a glass of scotch without asking and says it’s on the house. When I see Tanner approach his door, it’s late enough that the sun has set, and my nerves are completely on edge.
I order a second glass of scotch and take my time in drinking it. Now that I know he’s home, I don’t exactly know what I’m going to say.
“You ain’t gonna find the answer in that glass,” Paul says.
He’s right.
“Yeah, but it might make the words come out easier.”
“Or all wrong. It could go both ways.”
I raise the glass in salute. “Here’s to hoping I don’t fuck it up. Again.” I down the scotch and leave a fifty on the bar.
“Your money’s no good here. Besides, that’s Tanner’s bottle.”
I give him a smile in thanks and leave the money there anyway.
“Good luck,” Paul calls out as I leave.
I could use it.
I walk across the street and ring the bell to the loft, but he doesn’t come down. I get the feeling he knows it’s me and doesn’t want the confrontation. I ring again and take a breath. Still, he doesn’t answer. I ring for a third time, and when I still find he’s ignoring me, I contemplate leaving when I hear the lock click.
Chills run up my spine as the door slides open to reveal Tanner in a white shirt and torn-up jeans. His hair is a mess, and his fingers are covered in paint.
His chest is heaving like he was doing push-ups. His lips are full and parted with each breath. Those intense blue eyes are boring down on me. There’s a slight tilt to the ends as he looks at me, almost in a plea as to what I’m here to say.
So, I say it.
“I don’t deserve you. I know … you don’t have to tell me how wrong I was for the way I behaved. I freaked out, and I left you. It was childish and wrong.”
His jaw clenches as he raises his chin. Those eyes though, they’re still hoping for something.
“When I was a kid, I wanted Rollerblades for my birthday. I know this sounds off topic, but bear with me.” I raise my hand and swallow, mustering up all my strength. “We lived on a steep street, so my mom said I couldn’t have them because I’d hurt myself. She told me I could get a bike because it was the safer choice, more appropriate for a girl my age. My dad didn’t listen and got me skates anyway. He said that, if I was willing to take the risk, then I should be able to try. Long story short, I sprained my wrist on the first day rollerblading. I plowed right into my neighbor’s car in front of a group of middle school boys. It was really embarrassing. Anyway, I ended up getting a bike, like my mom said I should, and I really never enjoyed it. I’ve always wondered why I never picked those skates up again.”
“Let me guess … I’m the Rollerblades in this scenario?” He leans into the doorway as I take a shaky breath.
“I think so?” Pulling my coat in, I hug myself. “I’m not a risk-taker. I like order and rules. I like safe. I don’t do well when things fall apart.”
Tanner’s scowl lessens.
I continue, “When my last relationship ended, I was really messed up. I lay on the couch for a month—not just because the relationship was over, but because I didn’t like not having control of my life. I didn’t know how to deal. The night we met, April had pulled me off that couch because she wanted me to live again. And I did. With you.”
His lips smash together as he looks away. I try to pull him back in.
“I never dreamed I’d fall for a man so spontaneous and brave. Someone so talented and charismatic. A man who makes things beautiful with the touch of his hand. Because that’s what you are, Tanner. A man. There’s no plan. The rules are always broken, and yet I’m not worried because, when I’m with you, I feel safe. I’m sorry for ever doubting you.”
He looks back toward me, and this time, I see a burn in his gaze.
“I’m not perfect. I hate large crowds, I make a terrible pot of coffee, and I’m the least creative person you’ve ever met. I’m a sore loser. If we ever play a game and I don’t win, I’ll pout like a five-year-old. It’s terrible, I know. But I like to bake and read, and I can quote any Friends episode, though that might not be a perk.”
There’s a small twitch to his mouth. It makes my heart skip a beat.
“Most importantly, I’m crazy about you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way you kiss me. Or how it feels, being wrapped in your arms, or how amazing it feels when you—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence as Tanner rushes toward me, wr
apping his fingers around the nape of my neck and through my hair, and his lips crash onto mine. I drop my bag to the floor, slinging my arms around his neck.
Our kiss is feverish.
Our bodies are on fire.
My hands grip him tighter, pulling him into me. He molds his hardness against me, letting me feel every piece of yearning he has.
Tanner doesn’t kiss with his lips. He kisses with his entire being.
“I saw the painting,” I say when he pulls back, running his lips down my neck.
“I figured,” he says against my skin.
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
“Sweet Harper”—he wraps his hand around my hair, gently pulling it to tilt my face up at him—“don’t leave me again.”
It’s a demand.
“Never,” I sigh as his lips brush against mine.
I think he’s going to ravage me again. Instead, he swoops me into his arms and carries me into his building.
I giggle as he takes the stairs up to his loft. When we get to his studio, he sets me on the island in the kitchen and spreads my legs to stand between them.
“I see you got my book.” I motion toward Chéri that’s sitting next to me. “Is that what made you create the mural?”
He pauses, slightly leaning back as he unbuttons my blouse. “No. It pissed me off actually.”
“Why?”
“That book has a horrible ending. It’s not the ending I wanted for our story. This”—he slides my shirt down my arms, revealing my black lace bra—“is how our romance continues.” He kisses the supple skin above the lace, making me whimper. “Paul is the reason I spent two days on a ledge.”
“Paul?” I chuckle under my breath.
“Yep.” He reaches behind him to remove his T-shirt, pulling it up over his head. “Old man’s got some great advice.”
“Maybe I should thank him. What did he say?”
“Something about pussy. Not to be crass, but I think I might have to devour my own tonight.” He smirks as he lifts me off the island and carries me over to the bed.
As he undoes his pants, I stare at the man in front of me, thinking of nothing, except that he’s a man. A tall, strong, virile man with the sexual appetite of a beast. His pupils dilate, and I reach behind me and remove my bra, letting it fall off the side of the bed.
He slides his pants down his legs, and I shiver with each inch of skin he exposes. With only his boxer briefs on, he lays a knee on the bed and bows down to kiss me. He makes a low, husky sound as he pushes hard into me, his full erection sparking my very sensitive clit to life.
“Do you feel what you do to me?” His mouth travels down to my breasts, taking a nipple and sucking on it hard. “I’ve dreamed about this body, praying that I’d have another chance to watch you come apart in my hands.” His fingers dance down to my clit, rubbing it, making my hips buck off the bed. “My mouth.” He unbuttons my jeans and slides them down my legs. I let out a small scream when his tongue swipes up the sensitive bud. “And my cock.”
His body is back on top of mine, grinding into me until the friction becomes too much to bear.
At the thought of him inside me, feeling needier than I’ve ever been, I undress him with my toes and grab ahold of the steel, letting my finger graze over the engorged head.
I already accepted that I wouldn’t be here again, but now that I am, joy, elation, and pure heaven don’t come close to explaining the way my soul feels at this exact moment.
When he slides inside me, filling me like only a true man can, my entire body goes slack. I lose all control of my arms, my legs, and more importantly, my mind.
Moans I didn’t know could come from me fill the room. Screams of ecstasy that I don’t want to hold back bounce off the walls.
His hands reach for mine, pulling them above my head, as he slows his pace, kissing me as he slides in and out of me. Every noise that escapes me is met by his lips.
He takes complete control, and I let him. He’s already taught me more about myself, about life, than I’ve learned in my thirty years. I can’t wait for him to teach me more. I want him to teach me more. Show me more.
He slows down his pace, breathlessly kissing me until he pulls back enough to where just his tip is inside me. Finding a rhythm, he moves just that small amount in and out, teasing me relentless.
My body runs hot.
The hair on my neck is slick with sweat.
I need to feel him, the desire so severe my breathing has become a series of inhales.
I’m quivering.
Over and over again, he rubs his head in and out, driving me absolutely insane.
I need to feel him inside me all the way. I need to feel his girth—of, the sweet swell of his cock that is rock hard and throbbing—yet what he’s doing is bringing me so close to orgasm that I can’t stand it anymore.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer.
He gives in.
When he slides inside me, giving me every delicious inch I’m craving, I explode on contact, gripping his cock in waves of spasms that make my legs go rigid, my head drop back, and my voice speechless.
He follows seconds later, and when I’m lying on his chest, breathless and relishing in my high, I take in a deep breath, knowing this is exactly where I want to be.
As his fingers run through my hair, I place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat before I whisper, “I can’t believe I was such a fool to let you go.”
He places his finger under my chin, tilting it up until I look at him. “I’m just glad you came to your senses. You’re my muse. Don’t you ever forget that.”
I lean up to kiss his lips, enjoying the feeling of him pressed against my body. “I like the sound of that,” I whisper before curling back into his side. I’m dying to say, You’re my lobster, but if he didn’t get the Friends reference, it would ruin the moment.
* * *
I wake up, wrapped around Tanner for the first—and hopefully never the last—time. The sun shines through the tall windows, waking me more easily than any alarm could.
I glance over to see Tanner breathing softly with his eyes closed. He looks peaceful as his golden hair falls over his cheek, so I reach up and push it off to the side. His eyes flutter open, and he grins as he reaches his hand up, pushing the rest of it off his face.
“Are you going to give me shit about cutting my hair, too?” he teases as he curls to the side, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me closer to him. “My brothers give me shit all the time about it.”
I entangle my hand with his. “I don’t want to change a thing about you.”
He hums his agreement and holds me tighter. No matter how much I don’t want to get up, I know I have to.
I start to rise, but he keeps me down, groaning his disagreement to me moving and wrapping his leg around me. I giggle.
“I have to get up. I have school remember?”
“Me, too.” He doesn’t act like he has any plans to leave this bed.
“Yeah, but I’m the teacher. I can’t be late.” I look at the time, and a small panic sets in. “I only have an hour and a half to get home, get dressed, and get to work.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“You have a car?”
He opens one eye with a mischievous grin on his face. “No. I have a motorcycle.”
“Oh no. No, no, no. I don’t ride motorcycles.”
He wraps his arms around me, rolling our bodies so that I’m on my back, and he’s settled between my legs.
“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s the crazy driver next to you. I grew up in this city, remember? I know how insane driving can be.”
“Do you trust me?” He leans down, gently kissing me, rubbing his thick morning wood up against me.
“I do.” I gasp.
As long as he keeps doing that, I’ll agree to anything.
I open my legs
further in invitation. Instead of continuing in some early morning bliss, Tanner quickly flips me over and slaps the side of my ass.
“Tonight, I’m going to devour this ass.”
“Such a tease!”
“You have to get to work, remember? Patience, baby.” He gets up. “Give me ten minutes, and we’ll be on my bike. I’ll make a believer out of you.”
I enjoy the view as he walks to the bathroom. Watching him leave with nothing on but his black boxer briefs makes me a believer in other ways.
I search for the rest of my clothes and am ready to go when he comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later, freshly showered, smelling like mint and combing out his hair. I ignore the fact that he’s in a towel as I hop in and do my own business. I exit the bathroom to see him standing by the door, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, holding a helmet out to me.
“I’ll admit, I’ve never been on the back of one of these things,” I say as I take the helmet with trepidation.
“That’s how this works. I introduce you to all kinds of firsts and open your eyes to what life is all about. There’s nothing more freeing than riding a bike through a crowded street. The thrill, the fear—that’s life.”
I nod my head as my lips pull up to a grin. That’s what he brings to me. The thrill and the fear, all wrapped in one gorgeous package with a killer smile. We head to the parking garage next door where there’s a motorcycle parked at the bottom of the ramp.
Tanner waves at the attendant, who greets him, “Morning, Mr. Sexton.”
“Do you work?” I ask Tanner.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering how a college guy affords his own apartment and a monthly parking fee.”
“My family has some money,” he answers nonchalantly as he hops on the bike first, steadying it between his legs.
Thoughts of where I was going with that completely exit my mind as tingles run down my arms. My palms are sweaty, and my stomach turns when he ignites the bike to life.
Tanner: A Sexton Brothers Novel Page 15