Forbidden Heat (Firework Girls #1)

by J. L. White

  Shane beats me to his office, but I’m not the only student wanting to see him. A girl has a question about her paper. While I’m waiting for her to stop whining and flirting with my boyfriend, I send my dad a text.

  Me: How bad is this? Mom says it’s no big deal, but you know mom.

  Dad: We really don’t know. There are a couple of other things it could be. But it’s concerning. I thought you should know.

  Concerning. Sure. That’s the word.

  I text back, Thanks, and Little Miss Flirt finally leaves.

  Shane checks the hall before closing the door.

  “Let’s keep our voices down,” he says coming to me with a concerned expression. “If someone else knocks, we’ll ignore it. What’s going on with your mom? Is she okay?”

  Finally alone with him I let it all out in a rush. I tell him about my mom first, but then it’s like I can’t stop. I tell him about my GRE score. “And Harvard already has the score so it’s a done deal. I’m completely freaking out. And then I got a 70 on your stupid paper and who knows what that’s going to do to my grade.”

  “You’re still at an A. I checked. Right on the line but you’re there. I couldn’t make an exception...”

  “I’m not asking you to!”

  He blinks at me. “I just thought... I shouldn’t be making exceptions for you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  I sigh impatiently. “You’re right. It’s fine. It’s just that this isn’t my only class. I’m barely hanging on to an A in biochemistry, but I’m getting B’s in my other classes. B’s!”

  I’ve been aceing my classes for three years, was on track for summa cum laude, and now I’m about to screw it all up at the eleventh hour. What the hell am I doing to myself?

  “Aside from blowing my summa cum laude out of the water, this semester’s going to be on the transcript going to Harvard.”

  “Sweetheart,” he puts his hands on my arms, but I’m too upset to be comforted.

  I put my hands over my face. What about my mom?

  “Honey, even if you get B’s in those classes, your record overall is amazing. And your GRE isn’t really a bad score, it’s just not as high as you want it to be.”

  I scowl at him. I don’t really care if other people think I’m being stupid about my grades and freaking out over a couple B’s, but Shane’s supposed to be the one person who understands.

  “It’s not as high as it could’ve been,” I say. “Do you realize how hard it is to get into Harvard’s program?”

  “Honey...”

  “Oh! And I ran into stupid Justin Kirby in the hall. What the hell’s he doing over here, anyway? I never see him over here.”

  “Justin Kirby?” Shane’s eyes sharpen. “Did he do anything to you?”

  I impatiently tell him what happened and I can see he’s really alarmed and pissed about it, but frankly I’m back to thinking about my mom again. The chemo was so hard on her. What if she has to go through it again? What if it doesn’t work?

  Shane’s going on about Justin Kirby and how this can’t be allowed to continue.

  “There’s nothing to be done,” I say dismissively, not caring about stupid Justin Kirby.

  “Isabella, you should really talk to the dean,” Shane says in a firm voice.

  His tone gets my hackles raised. What, is he going all professor on me now? “No.”

  “Well, maybe I should report him then.”

  “Wait, what? What the hell?”

  “Isabella, he could be dangerous. Think about what he already did to you. If you don’t feel you can go to the dean, then maybe I should...”

  “Hey!” I say, fed up with this conversation and this day and with everything. “Don’t you dare pull rank on me.”

  “What? I’m not!” Then, raising his hands. “I’m not,” he says softer.

  “Look, I need to go,” I say, and barge out of his office without caring if anyone sees me or not.

  Chapter 17

  Storming across the quad, I consider going to the pool to get some energy out, but I’ve come to associate being there with Shane and I can’t deal with it. Ultimately, I end up sitting on the couch in our apartment, diving straight into a container of ice cream. No one’s home and I don’t bother calling anyone. I just want to be alone.

  Twenty minutes later, Jack comes in.

  “Hey,” he says, surveying the scene. An open container of ice cream accompanied by a girl slouched low on the couch is never a good sign. “You okay?”

  I press my lips together, really, really not wanting to cry. Because if I start crying, I know myself well enough to know Jack’s going to end up hearing it all, and I don’t know how he’ll react to my big Shane secret.

  “Hey,” he says again, softer, coming around the couch to me. “What’s wrong?

  My bottom lip is starting to quiver, and by the time he’s sits next to me and throws that big brother arm around me the tears are flowing.

  As predicted, Jack gets an earful. First I tell him about all the horrible things that happened today. After he does his best to comfort me, I fess up about Shane. Giving him the abridged version of our situation, I conclude by saying how I’m just so tired of having to hide and I just want to be able to be with him openly.

  “Ah, Bella,” he says sympathetically, kissing the top of my head. Then I tell Jack about our conversation and the whole pulling rank thing and how I reacted.

  “Do you think he was pulling rank?”

  I sigh. “Well... I don’t know. Probably not. I think he was just scared for me.”

  “The way you’re scared for your mom?”

  I start crying again. “What if the cancer’s back?” I ask.

  Jack holds me closer. “Then she’ll fight it. Linda’s a strong woman. Obstinate, in fact. Kind of like her daughter.”

  I laugh. “You’re not supposed to insult me. You’re supposed to comfort me.”

  “Hey, if you come to me for comfort, you gotta take what you get. This is Jack, baby.”

  I laugh again. “I know. And I love you for it.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He kisses the top of my head again and I lean my head on his shoulder.

  I check my phone for about the twentieth time since I started talking to Jack. Still no texts.

  “When you look at your phone,” Jack asks, “who are you hoping to see?”

  I don’t answer.

  He squeezes my shoulder. “Hmmm?” he prompts.

  “Shane,” I admit miserably.

  “So go talk to him. You’re not really mad at him anyway. You’re just scared and upset.”

  I know Jack’s right. I’m really just so scared for my mom and it feels safer to rage about everything else.

  “It’s obvious you want to talk to him. So talk to him.”

  “How come you’re so smart about it?” I say, elbowing him gently.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” he says easily. “None of this logical crap seems to work on the girls I date.”

  I think that’s probably because of the kind of girls he dates, but I don’t say anything. While his choice in girlfriends has always been somewhat of a mystery to me (unless you go with the “he’s thinking with his cock” explanation, in which case it’s all crystal clear), I don’t judge him for it. Jack has a heart of gold and he’s always been there for us. That’s all that matters to me.

  I sigh, pull out my phone, and text Shane.

  I’m sorry. Can I come over?

  My phone dings immediately.

  Yes, please.

  He’s waiting for me next to the garage. When I park he’s right there. I get out of my car and slide into his arms. I tuck my head into his neck as we hold each other tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m sorry. You needed to talk and I wasn’t listening very well.”

  “No, no. You did listen, to my whole stupid rant.”

  “It wasn’t stupid, honey. You had a pretty
shitty day.”

  I nod against his chest.

  “I wasn’t trying to... be your professor,” he says softly.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I’m just so freaked out about my mom and my grades and it’s finals week next week and... and you. I don’t... really know what we’re doing and what if someone finds out about us? It’s just all piling up. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

  “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?” he asks gently. “We could go for a drive or something.”

  I shake my head. His house has become my little sanctuary. There’s nothing I want more than to be there with him. “Let’s order Chinese or something and stay in. Would that be alright?”

  “Of course.”

  “I brought some homework,” I say hesitantly. I was hoping I’d get to stay, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Good,” he says. “Grab it.”

  I sling my bag over my shoulder and we head back to his house, my head on his shoulder.

  When we get inside, he orders dinner and we curl together on the couch. He listens as I tell him all about my mom’s battle with cancer over the summer and holds me as I cry, worried that it’s come back and we might lose her this time.

  When dinner arrives, we eat that on the couch and talk some more. When I’ve finally talked myself out and am feeling better, I suggest we try to get some work done.

  I curl against him, still needing to be close, and read the pages assigned in my biochemistry text. He keeps one arm around me, apparently needing to be close too, and works on his laptop, typing with one hand.

  Fifteen minutes later, I close my text book and set it to the side. I rest my head against his shoulder and watch as he finishes typing a sentence.

  He slowly closes the laptop and sets it to the side as well, wrapping both arms around me now.

  “Did you finish your reading?” he asks quietly.

  “No.”

  I tilt my head up, my cheek still on his shoulder. He looks down at me. We silently look at one another for a long moment.

  I’m still a little raw because I hate that we argued and long to be close to him. I’m also a little terrified because I’m pretty sure I just maybe might be falling in love with Professor Shane Brooks.

  He strokes my cheek once. Twice. I scoot half an inch closer and lean up to kiss him.

  We press our lips together gently, lingering. My heart slowly starts to lean toward wholeness.

  I bring one hand up into his hair, softly caressing his head.

  His lips part and I open to receive him. Our tongues gently explore each other. Our breaths deepen. I climb onto his lap, my legs on either side of his, my hands on either side of his face. Cradling his face between my hands, I kiss him deeper, longing to know what’s in my own heart.

  I kiss him stronger now, his broad hands pressing firmly against my back, holding me to him.

  I feel him harden and I press against him, craving him.

  He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls gently. I arch back and he kisses my neck, suckling my skin. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and embrace him, needing him close. He trails down my neck, sucking my tender skin and getting my whole body trembling.

  I’m holding him tightly, but it’s not enough. I need him closer.

  “Shane,” I whisper.

  He starts unbuttoning my jeans and I reach for his button and zipper too. He grabs the waist of my jeans and starts to tug. I take over, angling over onto one knee so I can bring my legs together and work my pants off. But I feel the gap between us and the only thing helping is the way he’s holding my eyes, slipping his pants off as well.

  Once free of my jeans, I climb back on. He scoots down slightly and I grab his cock, putting it where I need it, and slide down on him.

  As he fills me, holding me tightly, I sigh and tuck my head onto his neck, still embracing him. We angle into one another only a couple times before I resent the barrier of our remaining clothing. I need to feel him against me. Leaning back, feeling his cock press against my side wall, I pull off my shirt and toss it aside.

  He comes forward and I pull at his shirt, scrambling to get it off him. As I do so, he unfastens my bra and cups my breasts gently after he releases them.

  I lean against him, clutching him and sighing in relief as my bare skin presses against his. His arms are tight around me too, his head buried in my neck, and we work together. My entire body hums as his cock fills me, sliding in and out of me. I grip his shoulders, digging my fingertips into him. He thrusts into me again and I feel his hot exhalation on my skin.

  We slowly increase our rhythm and my walls tighten around his cock. Our hot breaths come in time with our movements. Every part of me is holding on to him, afraid to let go, needing him to fill me. As he continues to harden and stretch against me, the heat in my body rises. I feel the flush climbing up my chest. He clutches my hips, pulling me even firmer onto his cock.

  I angle against him so his rough hair rubs against my throbbing clit.

  I exhale and tuck my head down, my slightly open mouth resting against his neck. Clutching my ass he thrusts me harder, brushing hard against my clit. I whimper and extend my tongue to taste his skin.

  He groans and thrusts me again. He’s slick with me.

  He pulls me on him again and again and I start to moan as I feel myself rising toward a climax. His hard cock is stretching me so tight and yet I still cling to him. I still want more.

  Our movements peak in intensity as we ride against each other. He sucks hard on the tender skin on my neck and I arch my head back.

  The heat is climbing higher. I bring my mouth down on his and we open wide to each other, our tongues diving deep as his cock thrusts deep and my clit explodes with pleasure. As I peak to my climax, I whimper in his mouth, still kissing him as I contract. He moans and I feel his hot release inside me. Curling against him, I continue to dive deep into his mouth as my orgasm continues, until I can’t any longer. I break from his mouth, gasping, crying out. He’s still thrusting me hard, though more erratic as he comes inside me.

  His hands leave my rear and his arms grip me tight as he finishes his climax. My body gives one last, all-encompassing shudder and I collapse against him, breathing hard.

  Our movements slow, and eventually still. We stay like that, holding each other as our breathing slowly settles. He’s still inside me, still semi-hard. I press against him and he answers me. We press against one another long and hard, lingering, then finally relaxing.

  And I’m finally satiated with him, but I don’t let go.

  Chapter 18

  The next week is finals week and it keeps me busy. I manage to get myself together enough to, at the very least, put in my best effort. I spend more time at the apartment, where it really is easier to work without the distraction of Shane and Shane’s bed, but we still see each other every day.

  My mother has had her tests but won’t get the results back until I’m home for break. I’m trying really hard not to worry about it. There’s nothing I can do about it and we’ll just have to deal with whatever it is as it comes.

  Once this week is over, I’ll have four weeks until the next semester starts. Under different circumstances I’d only go home for a week or two, but mom wants me home for the entire break and I’m not inclined to argue. With everything that’s going on, I want to spend as much time with her as I can.

  But I’m not looking forward to the separation from Shane.

  The night before my flight home, I give him a Christmas gift. It’s a ceramic sculpture I found at the open-air market downtown.

  I watch him carefully.

  I wasn’t sure if I should get him a gift. I’m not really sure if he celebrates Christmas, first off. I’m also not sure if we’re at the gift-giving stage of a relationship. There’s nothing normal about our relationship. We don’t have all the usual markers. We’re not hanging out with each other’s friends. We’re not meeting each other’s parents. As much time as we spend together, I st
ill have no idea what any of it means.

  But his eyes light up and he smiles at me. “I love it.”

  “I thought you could put it in your office at school. It could use a little sprucing up.”

  “That’s true,” he says. “I’ll think of you every time I look at it. Thank you,” he says, giving me a kiss that leaves me breathless. He pulls back and smiles at me. “Hang on.”

  He disappears into the bedroom and comes back with a small, rectangular box wrapped in silver paper.

  I smile. I don’t even care what it is, I’m just happy I didn’t misjudge the situation.

  “Thank you,” I say taking it.

  I remove the shiny paper to reveal a black, velvet box. I tilt the lid open. A delicate sterling silver bracelet winks up at me. It’s beautiful and understated and just my style.

  “Oh,” I breathe. “It’s lovely.”

  “Do you like it?”

  I nod eagerly.

  He takes the box from me and I watch his face as he tenderly puts the bracelet around my wrist. “Maybe when you look at it, it will remind you of me,” he says, resting his hand over the bracelet and against my wrist.

  “I don’t need a reminder,” I say, looking into his eyes. “I think about you all the time.”

  Even better than the bracelet, my favorite Christmas gift comes three days later: my mom’s tests point to a kidney infection, nothing more. Her doctor gives her a prescription and we all take one, giant, collective breath.

  When Christmas rolls around, I text Shane a Merry Christmas before heading into mass. I don’t really believe all the things the church teaches, but I find the familiar rituals comforting. It’s part of my family.

  Shane and I talk on the phone that night. He’s back in Chicago, celebrating with his family. As we describe one another’s day, I realize that in a lot of ways the day has been about the same thing for him as it has been for me: spending time with the people I love.

  Well.