“Fuck you,” I spit out. It’s not a figure of speech. There actually is a little spit. “You don’t know anything about me.”
He leans forward, simmering with that intensity again, the kind that takes my breath away. “Don’t fool yourself about that, princess. I do know you. I will always know you.”
I really shouldn’t like the sound of that. I really should be mad about the presumption. I’m not.
But I know enough to at least pretend to be. “And you think I’m punishing myself? Why the fuck would I do something like that? Just for falling for a guy?”
“For letting everyone down. You’ve lived your whole life being the good girl, doing everything everyone expects of you. And then you let them down. You weren’t smart. You weren’t careful. You got yourself into a load of shit. And you can’t forgive yourself for disappointing everyone.”
“That’s crazy.” I’m so mad I can barely sit still now. “You’re just wrong. You’re just arrogant and wrong.”
He shakes his head, quiet in a way that’s just not normal for him. “I’m not wrong. I know what it’s like to let people down. I know what it feels like afterwards. I know it when I see it.”
This distracts me enough to rein in my outrage. “What do you mean? What did you do to disappoint people?”
“It doesn’t matter. But I know it. And you need to figure out whether making yourself suffer is really worth it.”
“I don’t need to do anything you tell me to do. We hire you to protect me—not to give me arrogant and stupid advice.”
“Whatever you say, princess.”
“Would you stop calling me that?” My voice has now gotten a little shrill. “I’m not a princess. And I’m not punishing myself.”
“Whatever you say.”
A burst of exasperated sound forces its way out of my throat. I’m this close to hitting him, to clawing the obnoxious arrogance off his face. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”
He stands up. “You wouldn’t be so mad if I wasn’t right.”
“Get out!” This time, it’s more of a scream.
He leaves, but I don’t feel vindicated. I feel naked. Exposed. Confused. And close to tears.
***
It’s almost seven that evening when there’s a knock on my apartment door.
Jack left earlier, switching off with Bill, his night replacement, who does nothing but sit outside my apartment all night. But even Bill wouldn’t let some random person just knock on my door. He’d come in and tell me about a visitor.
There’s only been one visitor in the last month, and that was one of my friends from another school.
But someone is definitely knocking, so I get up to look through the peephole.
It’s Jack. I have no idea why he’s knocking.
I open the door and see he’s holding a pizza box and a bag with bottles of something that looks like beer.
I stare at him blankly.
“I come with a peace offering.”
For the first time all day, I see that little tilt of his lips, the sign that he’s hiding a smile.
Ridiculously, I want to smile back. I don’t. I just stare at him stonily. “Why?”
“Because I was an ass. And I don’t like you to be mad at me.”
That sounds all right then. I don’t actually like to be mad at him either. I step aside to let him in.
He takes the pizza and beer to the couch, and I follow to sit beside him. I’m just finishing up my paper, and I haven’t had the chance to eat anything yet.
He pops the top off a bottle of beer with his multi-tool and hands it to me. “I got the expensive stuff for you.”
I look at the imported beer. “Why?”
“Because you’re an expensive-stuff girl.”
I square my shoulders. “I’m not a princess.”
He grins at me. “Yeah, you are.”
“This is your way of making peace?”
“Sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry at all. He looks hot with rumpled hair and worn t-shirt, but not sorry at all.
I take a swig of the beer. “You know I’m not legally allowed to drink yet, right?”
“So don’t tell anyone I gave you the beer.”
The beer is actually good—much better than the cheap stuff I’ve had before. Maybe I really am a princess and a snob who only likes the expensive stuff.
Jack must see something on my face. “Told you,” he drawls.
“Shut up.”
He laughs, and I realize I’ve never heard him laugh uninhibitedly like that before. At least, I don’t remember him ever doing it.
It changes him. Makes him less a professional. More a man. Not that much older than I am.
And so gorgeous he turns my insides into jelly.
“Is this allowed?” I ask, since I sure as hell better distract myself from those particular thoughts.
“Allowed by what?”
“The bodyguard code of conduct.”
“Is what allowed? Pizza? I don’t think the secret bodyguard council has passed any rules about pizza.”
I give a silly giggle and have to swallow over it with beer. “You know what I mean. Fraternizing with your protectee.”
He smiles. It’s the kind of smile that should be outlawed—because it’s everything that’s dangerous, rebellious, tempting innocence into sin.
Not that I’m particularly innocent, but you know what I mean. That smile should not—absolutely not—be allowed in civilized society.
“I’m off the clock, since Bill is out there now.”
“Oh. So off the clock you can do what you want?”
“Why not?” He’s already on his second piece of pizza, and I haven’t taken my first bite.
“I don’t know. Doesn’t your dad have anything to say about you hanging out with people you work for?”
“He’d be pissed. But he’s pissed at me for pretty much everything right now, so what’s the difference?”
“What is he pissed at you about? Is that what you meant earlier about letting people down?”
I realize I know absolutely nothing about Jack—except his personality and his hotness—and I’m dying to know more.
He just looks at me with those blue eyes and chews his pizza. Doesn’t say anything.
It’s really very annoying. “So you aren’t going to answer? You get to psychoanalyze me, and I don’t get to know anything about you?”
“You know what you need to know.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m right here, whenever you need me.”
Okay, I’m on a man-fast. That’s what I decided over the summer, and I’m still committed to it. No more men until further notice, since the ones I want give me nothing but trouble.
But, damn, I want Jack. Bad. Not just because he’s hot. I challenge any girl to hear this man say what he just said to me and not want to jump his bones.
Seriously.
“So what did you do?” I ask, because I really want to know, no matter how irresistible he is.
He looks like he’s going to say something, but then his expression changes. I’m not sure what the shift means. “The most recent thing he’s pissed about is that I didn’t follow his advice on my last job.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“You don’t know my dad.”
“Is he pretty controlling, then.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“So he’s mad at you?”
“Just normally pissed. Whenever he gets pissed at me, I get stuck with cotton-candy cases.” The wry amusement appears on his face again—that hiding-a-smile look I really shouldn’t like.
“Oh.” After a minute, I jerk. “Wait! Am I a cotton-candy case?”
“Of course, you are.”
I glare at him, trying to think of something appropriate to say. Nothing comes to mind.
“I thought you were here to be nice.”
“Am I not being nice?” His voice has changed, grown slightly huski
er.
I gulp some more beer and put down my pizza. My fingers are greasy so I lick them.
Jack’s eyes are on my mouth as I do, and the innocuous gesture suddenly feels sexual.
I lower my hand. “Calling me a cotton-candy case is definitely not nice.”
His eyes blaze with a heat that’s unmistakable. “I like cotton candy,” he murmurs. Not his obnoxious, smug drawl—but a thick, sexy one that makes me quiver.
I literally quiver. I never realized I could do that from nothing but hearing a voice.
“I’m not cotton-candy,” I say, because there’s a principle here, and I refuse to melt into goo because he makes me think about sex. “That’s insulting.”
“You’re not cotton-candy. The case is.” Somehow he has scooted closer to me, but I never actually see him move.
“That’s still insulting.” I’m doing my best, but I can’t look away from his eyes, his mouth, his lips… Oh, fuck, this is bad. I’m supposed to be on a man-fast.
“Why is it insulting? I like cotton candy.” He’s really close to me now. Not touching me yet, but it feels like he is. It feels like he’s about to.
“Cotton candy is nothing but air.”
Now his hand moves up to my face, cupping it like he did earlier today. He’s just as intense, but it’s all focused on this heat I can see in his eyes, feel in his body. “It’s sweet,” he murmurs, leaning forward until his lips are just a breath away from mine. “And soft. And you know it’s bad for you. You know you’re not supposed to have it. But you just can’t help yourself.”
I barely suck in a breath before he’s kissing me. He’s kissing me. His lips are hard but gentle, and his tongue is very naughty—slipping along my lips and then inside my mouth in ways it really shouldn’t be allowed to do.
It feels so good I groan at the back of my throat, and my hands move up to wrap around his neck, tugging at his hair, trying to get him even closer.
His stubble is scratchy against my skin, but it creates new shivers that run up and down my spine. I can’t think of anything except how this feels, how I need even more.
I make a silly whimper of protest when he pulls away, and I’m gasping for air. I know my cheeks are bright red because I can feel how hot they are.
Jack stares at me, devouring my face with his eyes.
And I, being me, say something infinitely stupid. “You taste like pizza.”
He makes a choked sound that might be a laugh. “If that’s what you’re thinking about, princess, then I must be doing this wrong. Let me try again.”
I have absolutely no objection to this plan. When he leans forward again, my lips are ready to meet his. This time, he’s more eager, a little rougher, his tongue goes even deeper. His hand is on the back of my head, holding it in place.
I get the same rush of sensation and feeling, but this time I feel it most acutely between my legs. The pulsing desire makes me shameless, eager.
I grab at his shoulders and push him back against the couch as we kiss. Then I move over him, straddling his lap so I can rub against his big, hard body—feel him right where I need him.
His hands cup my bottom now, and I love how they feel there—like he’s holding me, like he’s claiming me. I squirm against him, feel that he’s getting aroused too.
It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life. No exceptions.
I’m seriously about to come from just the kiss.
Then he makes a rough sound in his throat and pushes me away.
It’s not a shove or anything, but it effectively gets me off his lap.
He lurches to his feet, panting and stiff.
“What? What?” So I’m not exactly articulate, since my body is throbbing with need and my mind is a hot blur. I can’t even begin to understand what is happening here. Only that I almost had something really good and then it was taken away.
“Sorry.” He rubs his face with both hands, like he’s trying to wake himself up.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because I can’t do this.”
“I thought you said there isn’t a code of conduct you had to follow except keeping me alive.”
“There’s not. No, that’s not right. Of course there is, but that’s not the problem.” He’s aroused. I can see him hard beneath the denim of his jeans. It’s taunting me because it’s exactly what I want. Not so far away.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“If I kiss you, then I won’t be able to stop.”
“So what’s the problem with that? If you hadn’t noticed, I was kind of into it.”
“Yeah. But I can’t be that into it. I can’t.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. It doesn’t make any sense at all. Then he’s leaving. He’s walking away. I see his tight ass and his strong back as he walks to the door of the apartment.
“Jack!”
He stops when I call after him.
“You asshole. You can’t just walk away without any explanation. Tell me what the fuck is going on here.”
He lets out an exhale—more like a groan, really. Then he comes back to the couch and collapses beside me. “I’m sorry, princess. I’m trying to do the right thing here. It’s not exactly standard procedure for me.”
“What the hell do I care about the right thing?”
“You don’t care now, but you will eventually. You’re not the kind of girl a guy can fuck and just move on.”
For some reason, I’m insulted by this statement. “Why not? Carter fucked me and moved on easily enough.”
“Did he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Then he’s insane.”
Okay, I’m not insulted anymore.
We both just sit there on the couch for a few minutes, not talking, not doing anything really. Eventually, I’m not quite as wild with lust, although I can’t say I’m really on an even keel. Jack is sitting not far away from me, and he looks sexier than he ever has, tired and rumpled and conflicted somehow.
Finally, he turns his head toward me, his blue eyes fixed on my face. “Did you love him?”
“What? You mean Carter?”
“Did you love him?”
It’s a good question, and I don’t have a good answer. “I don’t know. I thought I did.”
“What do you think now?”
“I think I was pretty stupid—about a lot of things.”
“How did it happen? The first time, I mean.”
I should be shocked and annoyed by the intrusive question, but it doesn’t feel out of the blue. It doesn’t feel inappropriate. It feels natural. “It just did.”
“Nothing just happens. Did you want it?”
I see what he’s asking now. He thinks I was taken advantage of. Like my parents think. And some of my friends. It would be easier for me if I could think the same thing. I almost wish I could blame it on Carter.
“Yeah. I wanted it. I…I made myself available. I did it. It didn’t get done to me.”
“Tell me how.”
I don’t know why he’s asking or what exactly he wants to know. I do realize it’s none of his business. But it doesn’t even seem to matter anymore.
***
So everyone always wants to know exactly how it happened—how I ended up in a relationship with my professor. They want all the juicy details. Just to have them, I guess, unless some of them want to make a move on their professors too.
So, for the record, here are the ten steps to take to fuck your college professor.
One – Register for a class because the professor is cute—not because you really need to take it.
Two – Have a lot of questions that require meetings in his office during office hours.
Three – Get up a half-hour early so you can be cute when you come to class.
Four – Wear short skirts, but only the casual kind that won’t look strange or like you’re dressing up for him.
Five – When he suggests you bring a draft of your paper to his offic
e after regular work hours, make sure you do it, wearing another short skirt.
Six – Laugh at his jokes, widen your eyes at all his smart points, look awed at all his wisdom.
Seven – When he walks you to the office door after you’ve gone over your paper, linger, gazing up at him in your most winsome way.
Eight – Let him kiss you. Kiss him back. (Maybe that’s two steps, but I’m counting them as one.)
Nine – When he pulls away, looking guilty, say that you didn’t mean for it to happen and that you agree nothing can happen while you’re a student in his class.
Ten – After the semester is over, stop by his office again. Let him kiss you again. Let him touch you all over. Let him turn you over his desk and pull up your skirt.
Maybe these steps won’t work for everyone, but they sure as hell worked for me.
Interlude
Jack
When you’ve lived what I’ve lived, you know when to walk away.
You know when you’re being pushed too far, when you won’t be able to control yourself, when your tight grip starts to loosen.
That’s when you walk away, before you do something you won’t be able to take back. At least, that’s when you’re supposed to walk away.
I don’t—even though I know damned well I should.
Chloe sits beside me on the couch, looking like temptation personified with flushed cheeks, tousled hair, and hot eyes. It’s taking every ounce of restraint I possess not to drag her back on top of me and take her exactly as I want.
Just a minute ago, I had her in my arms—her body soft and small and eager in my lap, her tight, rounded ass in my hands, her hot little pussy rubbing against my cock, her mouth and hands and heart just as passionate as I’ve always known she’d be.
And it was one of the hardest things I’ve done to push all of that away, to not take what I want, to not give in to what my body and my soul are driving me to do.
But giving in like that would be a mistake. I know how much of a mistake it would be. It would be even more dangerous for her than it would be for me, and I’m not going to surrender to it.
No matter how desperately I want it. Want her.
Since I didn’t walk away when I should, I’m paralyzed now between need and restraint. Holding myself back from acting but unable to not want.
Knowing Jack Page 7