by Paige James
“How can you do that to me? Even after all this tonight?”
Ebon raises his head and looks down at me, his face so close I can count every dark lash that surrounds his emerald green eyes. “After all what?”
“We’ve both…I mean…we’ve had several…”
“Orgasms? You can say that out loud, you know,” he teases. My cheeks flame accordingly.
“I know,” I say dismissively, quick to change the subject. “But I still don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel so much when I ought to be numb.”
“You make me feel, too,” he whispers, his face showing a seriousness that surprises me. I wonder if he means the same kind of feeling that I was referring to. Or something…more. “Tell me something about you, something I don’t know.”
My mind speeds through random facts about Sage, any of which she might’ve already mentioned to Ebon at some point. I mean, I doubt it, but I can’t take the chance. The only thing I can do to be sure that I don’t reveal something he already knows is to tell him something about me, the real me. Tell him something about Willow.
Even before I speak, there is a perverse freedom in telling him something shocking about me and blaming it on Sage. It’s almost like punishing her for having Ebon when I can’t.
“I fell in love when I was fifteen. My parents split us up and it took me years to recover.”
“Why did they split you up?”
I fiddle with the ring that encircles my middle finger. I’m not much for jewelry, but Sage is and I found this one in her bedroom, right at the edge of her dresser. “Because he was…older.”
Suddenly, I regret my choice of which personal facts to divulge. If Ebon starts asking questions, this could get hairy. Hairy and ugly.
“Oh,” he says, deadpan. I can almost hear the wheels turning. “How much older?”
This is where it gets sticky—when Ebon does the math. “Ten years.” As soon as the words are out, spilled into the quiet around us, the silence becomes heavy, burdened, and I regret my capricious revelation.
I brace myself for Ebon’s response. I know what it will be. It will be the same reaction I’ve gotten from everyone else who has ever known or found out about it. Judgment. Disgust. Pity. Everyone assumes that I was this poor little girl who’d been taken advantage of by an older guy. It wasn’t like that at all, but no one believes me. They never have, so I quit trying to convince them long ago.
Ebon is quiet for what seems like forever. I don’t ask what he’s thinking. I already know.
Finally, he gives a soft, “Wow,” in response.
“Go ahead,” I tell him in a small voice.
He turns a frown on me. “Go ahead and what?”
“Go ahead and tell me how awful that is, how sick, and how pathetic it is for a guy of that age to be targeting a young, helpless child.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice.
His frown deepens. “I wasn’t going to say any of those things.”
I search his face. I can’t read what’s behind his expression. He’s keeping his real thoughts carefully hidden. “Of course you were. I’m used to it. I’ve heard it a million times over the years.”
“Sage,” he begins, sliding his hand farther across my stomach to cup my ribs. “We can’t choose who we love. I don’t blame you. And the only pity I feel is that it obviously broke your heart.”
I stare up into his face as his words settle into my heart. Could he possibly mean what he’s saying? Could he possibly be so understanding?
“It did,” I say, wishing I could just take back my words and start this conversation over again. But the only thing I can do at this point is to change the subject, to turn it back to Ebon. “What about you? Tell me something about you. Something that I don’t know.”
Rather than answering me right away, Ebon slides his hand up from my ribs to touch my cheek. He peers deeply into my eyes, so much so that cold chills break out across my chest. This is the kind of look that, as Willow, I would’ve given anything to see on his face. “Please don’t regret letting me in. You can tell me anything, Sage. I won’t ever judge you and it won’t change the way I feel about you. You know that, right?”
In this moment, with his body heat enveloping me, his fingers resting against my face and his eyes pouring into mine like warm liquid, I do know that. I believe him.
“I know,” I whisper, trying to smile.
Ebon leans close enough to brush my lips with his. “Good, because I want to know you. Inside and out. I want to know what makes you tick as much as I want to know every place on your body that brings you pleasure.” His words are quiet and sincere. “I want to know what’s going through your head when I touch you and kiss you, but also when you watch a sad movie or hear a baby laugh.”
Rather than enjoying it as I listen to Ebon say things that I only ever could’ve hoped he’d say to me, all I can think about is getting away from talk of my past. All I can focus on is moving the conversation away from important things that might one day lead him to a truth that he can never know. So I divert. I deflect. I hide behind the fire that’s between us.
“Do you want to know what I’m thinking right now?” I ask, my voice husky even to my own ears. Just like I want it to be.
“I do,” he replies, his cock stirring against my side as though it can sense the change in mood. “Very much.”
“I’m thinking of what you might’ve written for me, of what kinds of things might be going through your head when I do this.” With Ebon’s eyes on mine, I slip my finger into my mouth, wetting the tip, and then I draw a circle around my nipple, causing it to bead. I feel the weight of Ebon’s shaft hardening against my hip. “Or when I do this.” My face stings with embarrassment and desire as I trail my other hand down my stomach to reach between my legs. Despite the passionate night we’ve had up to this point, I find that I’m already moist and achy, responding to the new direction my mind has taken, despite the reasoning behind it.
Ebon sits up slowly and moves to my feet. He takes my ankles and eases them apart until he’s staring up at my body. I’m wide open to him and he’s hungry for me. I can see it on his face.
Leaning back on his haunches, I watch as he wraps his fingers around his thick base and begins to stroke himself. “It makes me wonder if you’re wet,” he says in that sexy voice of his. “Are you wet, Sage?”
I’m hypnotized by the beautiful grace of his strong body, by the slow, measured movements of his fingers over the smooth skin of his erection. My only answer is a nod.
“Show me,” Ebon growls. “Show me how wet you are.”
My finger glides into the heated recesses of my body. I shiver at the way Ebon closes his eyes when he hears the moist sounds coming from my penetration.
I wait until he opens them again and focuses on me before I remove my finger and bring it to my lips. Ebon’s hand starts to move faster as he watches me lick and suck it.
“That tastes good, doesn’t it, baby? So sweet. So naughty. Pull on your lips for me,” he says, his eyes falling back down to the area between my legs. “Spread that beautiful pussy so I can see what you’re doing.”
I move both hands down and do ask Ebon asks, tugging my folds apart and exploring the slick skin with my fingers. “God, I know you’re wet. I can see how shiny you are. Put two fingers inside yourself. I want to watch them go in and out.”
Obediently, I insert two fingers, pulling them slowly in and out under Ebon’s watchful eye. He rubs his shaft, his hand fisted around it so tight it makes me throb for him. “Now your clit, Sage. Rub it, tease it. I want to see how you make yourself come.”
The more excited, the more insistent Ebon becomes in his masturbation, the looser I feel, the freer I become. My body relaxes into a familiar rhythm as I watch him cup his balls and toy with them, as I see him circle his thumb over the glistening head of his cock. Faster and harder we touch and tease, grunt and moan until Ebon speaks again.
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“Tell me I can come on you. Tell me you want to see it shoot out of my cock and cover your pussy. Tell me you want to feel it run down over your fingers.”
“Yes,” I breathe, my abdominals contracting as his words alone push me to my climax. “Yes, yes, yes!”
My eyes want to close, but I refuse to look away. Ebon is glorious in his desire for me. His eyes are black as coal, his teeth are clenched, and he’s stroking himself furiously, as he watches me finish myself off.
His groans become louder as he moves closer into the apex of my thighs, positioning himself right over my fingers where they still move slowly between my legs. “Let me see it, baby. All of it,” Ebon growls. I move my fingers to spread myself for him. Within seconds, hot fluid spurts from the end of Ebon’s cock to coat my swollen, pink flesh.
Pleasure pours through me, as though his simple action rekindled the flames of my release. My body shivers when he leans in close enough to rub the end of his erection in his semen—over my clit, between my folds, around my fingers.
“Oh fuck, I wanna be in you so bad,” he hisses.
And then he is. He thrusts into me, stealing my breath and thrilling every inch of my insides. He’s still so hard, even after coming. But then I realize he wasn’t done. Ebon rides me so roughly, so deeply I feel every pulse of him as he pumps the last of his orgasm into me.
He grinds his hips into mine, almost angrily. And I love it. I love every slamming thrust of his cock. I love every pinch of his fingers as he grips my ass. I love every dirty word he’s breathing into my ear. I love the feel of his teeth when he leans down to bite my nipple just before he collapses on top of me. In short, I love everything about Ebon—the way he likes to look at me, the way he can’t seem to get enough of me, the way he nearly loses control with me—because I love Ebon.
“The things you do to me,” he murmurs, his lips gently kissing my neck and shoulder, the space beneath my ear.
I wrap my arms and legs around him, holding him close to me in a moment of emotional honesty and weakness. But I’m too transparent. Even Ebon can feel something in my embrace. He raises his head to look at me, a question in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Mmmm, I’m wonderful. I was just thinking about the things I’d like to do to you,” I say with a satisfied grin. He works his eyebrows up and down, obviously believing my words. And why not? I’m becoming very adept at lying. Just what I’d always hoped for as a little girl: to be a world-class liar.
Not.
“Consider my body your playground then,” he teases, biting my lower lip and flexing his hips into mine.
“Well, I may have to explore the playground another time. As it is, I’ll probably be walking with a limp tomorrow.”
Ebon’s lips curve into a smile chock full of masculine pride. “Then my job here is done.”
“So you set out to maim me, is that it?”
“Of all the things I’d like to do to you, maiming you isn’t one of them. Eating you, yes. Fucking you, hell yes. Tying you to my bed and spanking you until you come from the thrill of it, most definitely. But truly hurting you?” His eyes turn soft as he looks down at me, surprising me with his mercurial shift into tenderness. “Never. I would never hurt you.”
I pray that my smile doesn’t falter, because I can’t say the same thing to him. I am hurting Ebon. It wasn’t my intention, and certainly not my original design, but nevertheless, I’m hurting him. More and more the longer I continue this charade and drag him into something he would never willingly do. But God help me, I can’t stop. I can’t give him up. Not yet. I need my Ebon fix for as long as I can have it. I’m addicted. Shamelessly, irrevocably addicted.
Addicted and in love.
FIVE- EBON
After taking Sage back to her apartment, I came home and showered. Now, only four hours later, I’m wide awake and writing again.
Damn I’m glad we didn’t say goodbye. She’s just as full of surprises as I always felt like her sister would be. Only I can have Sage. And I plan to. At least a hundred more times, in a hundred new ways.
I’m fighting a hard-on as I write a particularly mouth-watering scene when my phone rings. My first thought is that it would be nice if it were Sage, asking me to come over and help her shower.
My dick jumps to life as I reach for my cell. I frown when I see a number I don’t recognize. That wouldn’t normally alarm me, but what I do recognize is the area code. I haven’t spoken to anyone from Nevada in years. Eleven years to be exact. Since before I turned eighteen and moved away to start over.
Hesitantly, I answer. “Hello?”
There’s a long pause before I hear a familiar voice. A voice from my past. “Noah?”
My stomach curls into a knot. My fingers curl into a fist. “I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number.”
I hang up before she can ask any more questions. Within a half a minute, she calls back, but I don’t answer. In fact, as soon as my cell service provider’s offices open up, I’ll see what I can do about blocking her number. But still, that doesn’t make me feel much better. She found me. Somehow, she found me. And if I don’t talk to her eventually, she might come looking for me. And that would be a disaster. My mother can never know where I am. Or find out who the important people in my life are. She has a way of using them against me. She always has.
My first thought, of course, is Sage. Other than her, I’ve been very careful not to make close friends or to get too familiar with anyone on the staff at the college. People know who I am, but only what I allow them to know, what I want them to know. But Sage is different. It started with Willow, but now she’s drawing me in. And, as inadvisable as that probably was because of her sister, now she’s under my skin.
My mind is already spinning webs of worst possible scenarios. My writing is put aside as I debate the wisdom of continuing things with Sage. If I were smart, and if I were thoughtful and considerate, I would end it with her. For her good as much as mine. She doesn’t need to be splattered with the shit from my past. Nobody does.
********
I have a bitch of a headache by the time my Thursday 404 class is over. I wish I hadn’t posted office hours today, but I did, so I’m stuck at school for at least two more hours. My disposition is getting shittier by the minute.
When I hear a hesitant knock at my door, I barely glance up to see my T.A. hovering in the opening before I look away. I give her a snappy, “What is it?” I’m not in the mood for niceties.
“Mr. Daniels, you have another student who would like to see you.”
“Who is it?” I ask, my eyes still trained, unseeing, on the computer in front of me, on the papers I’m supposed to be grading.
“Willow Masters. I’m not familiar with her, sir, but she says she’s in your Mod Lit class,” McKenzie says in her tiny voice. I look up in surprise at the name she just issued. An alarmed expression overtakes the star-struck one McKenzie usually wears in my presence. Any time I meet her eyes, she gets startled, like I caught her spying on me in the shower or something. Normally, I find it sweetly endearing, kind of like the school-girl crush that it is. But today, I just find it aggravating.
“Well, show her in then.”
I grit my teeth. A visit from Willow is the last thing that I want or need today. I’ve got enough shit to deal with without…
Willow steps into my office, looking over her shoulder as McKenzie closes the door behind her. When she turns back to me, she bites her lip in that shy way that I’ve always loved. It’s not as much that she looks like she’s too nervous to speak; it’s almost as though she’s trying to prevent herself from saying…something. The curiosity of what it is, of what goes on behind those guarded eyes is what intrigues the hell out of me.
And, despite my growing attraction to her sister, it still does. And that pisses me off.
“Hello, Willow,” I say casually, only letting my eyes briefly sweep her form-fitting khakis and cap-sleeved shirt before returning to her face. “Wha
t can I do for you today?”
She clears her throat as she reaches into her bag, her cheeks blooming with color that makes my teeth ache. She pulls out a manila folder and steps forward to hand it to me. I take it, opening it to glance at the contents. A sheaf of typewritten pages stares back at me. I bite my tongue, preventing a string of explicatives from spilling forth as I give Willow a tight smile.
“You’ve been writing?” I ask. I know the answer. The burning in my gut tells me she has. I’m as drawn to it as I try not to be drawn to her.
She nods. “A little.”
She’s so fascinatingly brazen in her writing, yet so innocently insecure about it. It’s that self-doubt that makes me soften toward her, something that I don’t need to do, but something I find hard not to in most instances.
“A little is better than none, right?”
She nods a second time, her eyes darting up to mine and then away again. “Well, you asked me to bring you more as I made progress …”
“And so I did. Thank you. I’ll read these pages soon.”
“All right. Well, I guess I’ll see you Monday.”
I smile as she backs toward the door. “Monday. Have a nice weekend.”
Her smile is bright and genuine this time. “You, too.”
And then she’s gone. The problem is that she lingers long after she has physically disappeared. Only she doesn’t know it. And I don’t want her to.
I was already toying with the idea of taking Sage somewhere for the weekend. Now my mind is made up. I need to do it now. With my past making an appearance in the present, it’s only a matter of time before I have to end things with her. But I’m not ready yet. Not nearly ready yet.
By the time I leave my office, I’m a man on a mission. I open up my messaging to text Sage before I even get to my car.
(Me) Can you get out of work tomorrow?
I get no immediate response, so I put my phone in my pocket and head home to work on lessons for next week’s classes. I can get that out of the way and be able to enjoy the weekend without having to rush to get home Sunday.