Hard Lessons (She's Off Limits Book 1)

by Avery Kaye

  We’re greeted by a shelf full of clearance fall décor items. Beyond the cheap faux leaves and goofy looking turkeys, we find shelf after shelf of snacks. No meat. No vegetables. No pumpkin pie.

  We meander down the aisle full of potato chips, discovering a refrigerator section with milk, cheese and butter in the back. Next to the refrigerator section we find freezers.

  “Ah ha! I knew it!” Sounding pretty damn proud of himself, Jordan yanks open a freezer door and snatches up a package.

  Frozen turkey roll.

  He displays it to me with a huge grin that makes my heart get all pitter-pattery. “It isn’t a porterhouse, but at least it isn’t mystery meat.”

  “I beg to differ,” I tease, laughing as I go in search of dessert. Because dessert, in my humble opinion, is the most important part of any meal. Especially on Thanksgiving.

  There are no pies but I score some pumpkin pie flavored ice cream, and we move on, searching for some side dishes to complement our faux turkey and ice cream.

  All total, we manage to scrounge together a decent meal, if you don’t mind off-brand stuffing, boxed potato flakes, canned gravy, frozen turkey loaf, and day old dinner rolls. With a bounce in our step, we haul our loot out to Jordan’s car, dump it all in the back and climb aboard.

  “I gotta say,” I confess as I buckle in, “I’m pleasantly surprised. Who knew a dollar store sold groceries?”

  “I didn’t. Not before today.” Jordan cranks on the motor and off we go. There is a noticeable lack of traffic on the freeway. It’s odd, seeing the roads so empty in the middle of the day. But it’s nice. It makes the day feel special, intimate. As if we’re the last two people on the planet.

  We talk some more, about our favorite holiday traditions. About cookies and old movies. The longer we drive, the more intimate our conversation becomes. He admits he was married once. Years ago. And I share a little bit about my mom. Over an hour after leaving town, we turn down Dr. Conners’ street. He parks the car in the driveway, swings the gate shut, and locks it. Then he unlocks the door adjacent to the driveway and we haul our groceries inside the house.

  By now, I’m starting to feel very comfortable with Jordan. Like I’ve known him for years. Technically, I have known him for years. But not known-known him. Now, I feel as if I do.

  No, I feel more than that.

  I feel like we’ve been close friends our whole lives. Separated. And now reunited.

  We click.

  We fit.

  Perfectly.

  We enter directly into a small, cramped kitchen. And Cujo greets us at the door, tail wagging. Although he looks happy today, unlike the last time I saw him, I stick close to Jordan as he pats his dog’s head.

  “I’ve got a special treat for you,” he tells the big dog. To me, he says, “This is Euclid. He looks tougher than he is. I promise. He’s a big baby.” As if he knows exactly what Jordan has just said, Euclid, rolls onto his back, and Jordan gives his belly a scratch before commanding, “Okay, outside, boy.”

  Euclid gallops to the French doors in the dining room.

  While Jordan lets him outside, I take a moment to check out my surroundings.

  I’m not big on home décor or anything, but even I know that this kitchen is ancient. Like…older than the car we just cruised through town in, and maybe even original to the old house. The cabinets are painted white but they still look tired. The countertops are made from that old-fashioned weird faux marble stuff my grandparents had in their kitchen. The refrigerator is an ugly gold color. The electric stove matches it. The walls are painted white. So are the thick moldings framing the door and windows. But, to put it bluntly, this is not what I envisioned Dr. Conners’, self-proclaimed math geek, and (as I’ve come to find out) Twenty-One Pilots fan, home would look like.

  It’s too old, too run down for a guy as cool as Dr. Conners.

  Though who am I to judge?

  “Let’s see what we’re up against,” Jordan announces as he pulls the fixings of our (not-so) gourmet meal out of the bags. He grabs the turkey roll box and reads the instructions. I watch, delighted to see him in such an informal setting. As I stand here, admiring the scrumptious view, I wonder how many other women have seen him like this. Outside of the classroom. Where he’s just a man. A gorgeous, charming, sweet man, as I’m coming to find out. But just a man.

  I know there are at least fifty girls at school who would kill for a chance to spend an evening alone with him.

  I am very, very lucky. And super excited.

  He turns on the oven and digs in a cabinet for something.

  Feeling useless, I ask, “What can I do to help?” I take off my jacket and lay it over the back of a nearby chair in the dining room.

  Smiling (ohmygod, that smile takes my breath away), he plunks down a roasting pan on the countertop. “Would you like to make the potatoes and stuffing?”

  “Sure.” I reach for the boxes at the precise time he reaches for them. Our hands collide. An electric arc buzzes up my arm.

  My gaze jumps to his.

  We stare. Gray eyes lock to brown.

  The air thins.

  And there it is. That white-hot chemistry.

  It’s back. And it’s hotter than ever.

  Let’s put it this way: there’s more chemistry boiling in this room than in the all the science labs on campus on a busy day. And all those sizzling, explosive chemicals are making my brain short circuit.

  His fingers wrap around mine and he pulls, and suddenly I’m standing with the front of my body flush to his. He slides his hands down to my hips, applying pressure to move me. We turn around so my back is pressed against the counter behind me, and he’s blocking my escape. Not that I want to escape.

  Heat burns in his eyes as he looks down at me. His fingertips dig into my hips. I see the hard male desire simmering in his features, and it takes my breath away.

  “Kelsey.”

  I run my hands up his arms. Muscles. I feel muscles under his sweatshirt. Thick. Hard.

  This man isn’t just smart. He’s strong too. Big. Tall. I feel very small next to him. But not afraid. Not at all.

  “I shouldn’t…” He lifts one of his hands, grabs my hat and yanks it off. My messy hair tumbles over my shoulders, and I reach up to gather it into a bun, but he catches my wrists and jerks them down. “No. I like it like this. Messy. Sexy.” He slides a hand up the back of my head, tangling his fingers in the tresses and pulls, and I let my head tip back.

  “Damn it.” He smashes his mouth to mine.

  Holy crap. Is this kiss hot.

  His mouth doesn’t tease or torment this time. It claims. It takes. It possesses.

  When I part my lips to suck in some (much needed) air, his tongue plunges inside my mouth, filling it with the sweetest, most decadent flavor I’ve ever tasted. It caresses mine, thrusting in and out while one hand holds my head in place and the other circles my wrist like a cuff.

  I am lost. Utterly. Completely. Wonderfully lost in throbbing, pounding pleasure.

  My heart gallops. My blood simmers. Heat throbs through me.

  His hands move up my body and in a blink he has me lifted. I land on the countertop, my legs spread. His body wedges between them as he devours my mouth. I feel like the world is spinning out of control. I plant my hands on his broad shoulders and hold on. But that doesn’t stop it. It’s his kiss. It’s thrown me into a maelstrom.

  His fingers walk, walk, walk up my body, toward my breasts.

  Closer.

  Closer…

  Ohmygod!

  My spine arches.

  His fingers cup my breast, kneading the soft fullness.

  I can’t…breathe. Or think. Or move.

  I need…

  More.

  Touches.

  More.

  Kisses.

  More.

  There’s too much pressure between my legs. I burn.

  He slides his hand under my t-shirt and I shiver. He drags my shirt
up, exposing my stomach and bra, and I quiver. He scoops my breast out then flicks his tongue over the sensitive little peak and I cry out.

  I’ve kissed guys before. I’ve even let a couple do more than that. But I had no idea desire could feel like this. I don’t just want him; I hurt for him. I ache. Deep inside.

  I grind my girl parts against him shamelessly. I can tell my panties are becoming damp. My body is tightening all over. An orgasm is building inside me. Pressure growing. Like steam in a pressure-cooker.

  I think I might explode.

  His fingers walk down my stomach, leaving a tickly, tingly path. I shiver even as another wave of heat ripples through my body. I’m hot and cold at the same time.

  He drags my leggings down, over my hips, down my thighs. Then he steps back so he can take them off. Now all that’s between me and his touch is a pair of thin cotton panties.

  I should stop him. I know he’s worried about what could happen if anyone finds out. I should kick my legs or shove him away.

  Should.

  But then he touches me. Between my legs. Through my panties. And I writhe in agony.

  Nope. Definitely not going to shove him away. Rather, I open my legs for him, begging him to touch me again.

  “Baby, I want you so badly,” he whispers.

  I’m very relieved to hear that. Because I have been miserable for weeks. Absolutely miserable. And it’s become unbearable, and I want him to make it all better. Starting right now. “I want you, too,” I tell him. “Please…”

  He cups my chin and stares into my eyes, and I hold my breath and stare back. He looks like he’s about to snap. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Either he’s going to do something I’ll like or he’s going to shut down and pull away. Again.

  I can’t breathe until I know which it’s going to be.

  “Please,” I repeat.

  He draws a line down the center of my stomach with an index finger. It stops when it gets to the waistband of my panties.

  My stomach clenches. Inside me, a horde of butterflies swoop and flutter. My blood sizzles as it rushes through my body.

  Lower, the finger drags. Down. Down. Down.

  It hooks under the waistband.

  “Tell me to stop now,” he murmurs, sounding like he’s in as much agony as me.

  I shake my head. No. I’m not going to tell him that. No fucking way.

  He jerks his hand and just like that my panties are torn. The material flops down, leaving me (basically) naked. From waist to ankle.

  Holy shit! I’m naked. And it isn’t dark here like it was that night in his garage. He can see my pussy. And my tits, since my t-shirt is bunched up above them.

  And I can’t breathe. I’m dying. I want more, more, more!

  His gaze meanders down my (aching, throbbing body). The corners of his lips curl up into a lopsided (totally evil—in a good way) grin. “You. Are. Perfect.” He leans in, brushing his lips over my nipple and I suck in a gasp. “What I would love to do to this hot little body…”

  I’m game! I shiver.

  His tongue takes the same path his finger did a little while ago. Down my stomach. But he doesn’t stop when he reaches my mound. No, he grabs my knees and shoves them apart, opening me wider. A massive tsunami of heat blazes through me.

  He’s going to…

  Down he licks, a few inches lower.

  He’s going to…

  Down he goes, a few inches lower than that.

  His breath is cold against my burning folds. I shudder all over, not sure what will happen next.

  Softly, gently he parts my folds exposing my clit. He angles closer.

  Closer…

  Oh.

  My.

  God!

  One, two, three long, slow laps with his tongue, and I explode into a million pieces. My whole body shakes and spasms, and I become a big, churning mass of white-hot pleasure. Utter bliss rips through me, my insides clenching and un-clenching. I’ve never had an orgasm so intense.

  I ride wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure. I don’t want it to end. It’s sooooo gooooood. Especially because it’s with him. My Jordan.

  But gradually the waves ease. The heat cools. And I can breathe again.

  I blink open my eyes, not even realizing I’ve closed them.

  Standing, his hips wedged between my splayed thighs, he holds me in his arms, protecting me from falling.

  Protecting me.

  Jordan, my hero.

  Maybe he kept me from literally falling off the counter, but not figuratively falling. There, he’s failed. Even after he has tried so hard to keep us apart. After today, there is no way we can go back to the way we were before. I’m falling for this man. Falling fast. Falling hard. My heart doesn’t care about the rules.

  Afraid he might back away now, I wrap both my arms and legs around him and hold on as tight as I can. I’m still tingly all over. And giggly. And so, so, so incredibly happy.

  He places a kiss on the top of my head (isn’t that an adorable, sweet gesture?) then disentangles his body from mine. “I noticed…You’ve never…No man has ever…?”

  Oh God, he noticed. “No.” Somewhat embarrassed now, I stare down, at the floor. How silly I must look, to a man like him. Who is older and experienced. I loosen my hold on him, letting my arms and legs drop. I tug my t-shirt down to cover my breasts.

  He cups my chin. “Kelsey.”

  I meet his gaze.

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says. “I admire you for waiting. I respect you. Very much.” He bends down and swipes my leggings from the floor.

  Admire. Respect.

  Those are nice.

  But I feel that and so much more for Jordan. I’m falling in love with him. Does he feel the same?

  “Yes, well. I spent my whole life hearing about how awful it is to be a single mom. So I decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t have sex until I got married.”

  He hands me my pants. “I completely understand.”

  “It hasn’t always been easy,” I admit as I slide my feet into my leggings then slip off the counter and pull them up. “I’ve had several ugly breakups over the sex thing. Guys just don’t understand.”

  “Some do.”

  “I’ve yet to meet one.”

  He gives me a crooked grin. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

  What is he?

  That is a good question, considering what just happened.

  What is he?

  I would like to know that.

  In the past, a day like this would have put him in the potential-boyfriend category. But…well, this is a unique situation.

  “Is that a rhetorical question, Professor Conners?” I ask, intentionally using his last name.

  “Ah. I suppose that is a question that should be answered.” He pauses. “But not by you.”

  Butterflies swoop in my belly.

  Yes, I would love to hear his answer to that question. What is he to me?

  Teacher. Boss. Those are obvious. But is there more?

  Will he let there be more?

  Will he be my friend? My lover?

  Today has been so wonderful. Now that I’ve spent time with him like this, away from school, outside of a classroom, I see what a great man he is. He’s funny. And sweet. And sexy.

  He’s perfect.

  We connect. On so many levels. I don’t know how to describe it.

  “I’ll tell you the answer.” Jordan opens a cabinet and grabs a pair of sauce pans. He plunks them down on the stove. “There’s no denying my attraction to you. Whenever you’re nearby I can hardly think. I want to kiss you. To touch you. To talk to you. I want to know everything about you. Why you’re alone on Thanksgiving. What your dreams are. If you want to have a family someday…” He opens another cabinet and pulls out a glass measuring cup. Then he turns on the water and fills it.

  Those butterflies start doing a happy dance. His words are so genuine and sweet. Hearing them is making me fal
l more in love with him. It’s allowing me to embrace and accept my feelings for him. It’s giving me hope that he’s willing to give this thing between us a chance.

  Until he says, “But…”

  The butterflies die. Instantly.

  “You know our situation is complicated.” His brow scrunches. “Shit.” He takes my hand in his and tugs, and I step closer. He wraps his arms around me.

  I rest my cheek on his chest and close my eyes.

  This feels so right. So good.

  Why does our situation have to be complicated?

  Why can’t we just let things develop naturally, as they’re meant to?

  He kisses the top of my head again, and my heart melts. Never have I felt so cared-for or safe. Or cherished.

  Never.

  I don’t want to give this up. It’s breaking my heart just thinking about it.

  “We can be together once you’ve graduated,” he tells me, tightening his hold on me. “I don’t know how I’m going to wait that long to kiss you again. But I have to.”

  I smile, even as my eyes burn. This is so heartbreaking and yet I can’t help feeling hopeful. This smart, kind man cares about me. He respects me. He admires me. And he can barely keep his hands off me. He wants to be together. After I graduate. Which won’t be so long. I’ll count down the days.

  He cups my chin and lifts it. “That’s what you want, right? Tell me that’s what you want. To be with me. To build a future together.” His eyes search mine.

  “Yes. I want that. Very, very much.”

  He groans and brushes his mouth over mine, and my body sizzles. “So much for not kissing you,” he whispers against my lips. I fling my arms around his neck and hold on as his mouth teases mine. This kiss is so soft I barely feel it. It’s teasing. Tormenting.

  With my body and my mouth I try to tell him I’m already his.

  When it comes time to take the next step…I will. Happily.

  Until then, I’ll keep telling myself we don’t have to wait forever.