by Sara Cate
“But you did,” I mumble, opening my eyes and looking at him.
He doesn’t say anything as his thumb flicks over his bottom lip. I see him swallow a few times, and I can tell from over here that his jaw is clenched.
Like he’s deliberating.
Like he’s fighting an internal battle.
“I don’t think we should go down this road, Wren.”
His words slam into me, and I feel tears prick at my eyes. Why does he always seem to find the words that sting the most.
“Do I get a say?” He opens his mouth to answer, but I let out a cruel laugh. “Or am I just some weird conquest to you?”
His face falls, and for a second, I regret my words. “What? No, that’s not—”
“You’re treating me like a child, Blake,” I growl.
He scowls and pushes off the wall. “You are a child—”
“Am I?” I challenge, taking a step toward him. “Are you sure, Blake?”
“Wren, it’s not your age that’s an issue. It’s that you’re a student at the school I teach at. A school I’ve worked at for eleven years. I love my students, and I love what I do.”
“I’m really happy for you,” I say caustically. “You’re right. Last night was a mistake.” I back up, heading toward my bedroom. “It won’t happen again.”
And then I turn and walk into the bedroom, ignoring his wounded expression.
Twenty minutes later, Felicity pushes me out of the bedroom, clad in a leather mini skirt and a cropped, long-sleeve shirt. I’m also wearing tights, and my hair is in a casual ponytail. I see Blake’s eyes travel down my legs quickly, coming back up to my face with an annoyed expression. He opens his mouth to say something, but the knock on the door silences him.
I walk over to the door and let Hans and Anders in. They’re both very good looking—tall, tan, young, with sandy blonde hair. I kiss them on both cheeks, and as I pull away, I feel Blake tug my wrist and pull me away from them.
“Gentlemen,” he says roughly, shaking their hands.
“Thanks for having us,” Anders answers, his accent subtle.
Blake laughs. “I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”
I see Hans shift his feet uncomfortably, but before Blake can make it any more awkward, Felicity ushers them into the small apartment, and I’m once again left alone with her brooding father.
“Behave,” I warn as his brows furrow.
“I paid for this place,” he grumbles. “And I didn’t get enough food for five people.”
I smirk. “You could always go out by yourself if you don’t want to be here.”
He looks at me like I’ve just stabbed him. “And leave you—and Felicity,” he adds quickly, “alone with two strange guys?” He looks at his daughter skeptically. “They don’t look eighteen.”
I laugh as I follow Felicity and the guys into the dining room. Much to Blake’s chagrin, we do have plenty of food, and we all end up gorging on a simple pasta dish and salad. I’m leaning back in my chair slightly when Ander’s hand finds my knee, perfectly visible for Blake and Felicity, who are seated across from us, to see.
Blake’s eyes flit downward at the motion, and his expression is pinched when Anders looks over at me and grins. He’s sweet—seems kind of young, but then again, so are we. Anders wouldn’t deprive me. In fact, if I wanted to, I could drag him back to our bedroom and fuck his brains out. I don’t want Anders, but Blake doesn’t need to know that. I’m pissed off, and all I can think about is how my conversation with Blake ended earlier.
How I walked away, and he didn’t come after me.
As much as I want him, maybe he’s right. Maybe we shouldn’t go down that path. We can stop it now—last night could forever be just a New Year’s Eve kiss, and that’s it. So, I do what any normal girl would do to get back at the man who scorned her. I look at Anders through my lashes and lean in, making sure my body is turned to face him completely. And I whisper into his ear.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, and I feel him stiffen in surprise. To drive my point across, I place a hand on his knee, pulling away as I bite my lower lip. “I’m craving something with chocolate for dessert, and we don’t have anything like that in this house.”
“Y—yeah,” he stutters, looking at Hans.
I sneak a peek at Blake, and he’s red with fury. But why? He says he can’t have me, so why does he care if someone else does?
“We should go to that bar near the river,” Felicity squeaks. “The one that has chocolate martinis!”
I nod vigorously. “Let’s do it.” I look at Anders and give him my best bedroom eyes, and he places an arm around my chair.
Blake shoots up from his seat. “I’m getting a beer,” he growls, nearly kicking the kitchen door open.
Felicity and Hans are whispering something, and Anders looks at me expectantly. I excuse myself and head to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me as I stare at myself in the mirror. What the hell am I doing? I should probably be excited about the attention Anders is giving me. After all, how many times can someone say they’re being pursued by a cute, tall, German guy in one of the most gorgeous cities in the world? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity we’re talking about.
So why can’t I stop thinking about Blake?
I use the toilet and wash my hands. Then I waste time looking at myself for a few more minutes, fixing my hair, reapplying my nude lipstick, and trying and failing to stop thinking about Mr. Cooper, and how it felt to kiss him last night. My hands find my throat as I close my eyes, and when the door slams open a second later, I nearly levitate in shock.
Blake is standing there, looking possessed—his eyes dark, his fists clenched. He’s breathing heavily, like the internal battle he was fighting earlier is raging right below the surface.
“Blake?” I ask, my voice unsure.
“They all went to the bar down the street to wait for you,” he says slowly. “Anders asked me to ask you to join them.”
I study him, and the way he grits those words out like they’re sandpaper in his throat.
I cross my arms. “Okay. Thanks?” I try to move around him, but he doesn’t budge. When I look up at him, his expression is desperate—wild, yet hesitant. He seems so crazed, but he’s hiding it behind a mask of careful consideration. And it’s then that I realize he’s asking an unspoken question.
Are you going with him, or staying here with me?
He’s giving me the option to stay.
With him.
I swallow, observing the way his chest is rising and falling. I can smell him, mixed with the lavender of the hand soap I used a few minutes ago. The apartment is quiet now, and I can hear us both breathing.
I swear, I can hear my pulse pounding between my legs.
“I should probably go,” I whisper, also mindful of the slippery slope opening before us like a giant cavern.
He was right earlier. We shouldn’t go there—shouldn’t give in. It doesn’t matter how badly I want him, nor how bad he wants me. It’s wrong. I am stronger than a mere physical whim—a whim that’s all consuming, that makes my whole body tingle, that fills my senses with the scent of his skin…
I push past him, gasping when my hip brushes against the bulge in his pants, and then it’s like something beastly awakens inside of me, and I can’t think of anything else. I need to feel him. It’s no longer a whim. It’s something potent, and heady, and animalistic.
I twist and press my body against his as I reach up and grab the back of his head. Our lips crash together, and we both moan at the same time. He scoops one of my ass cheeks up, lifting me slightly so that he can grind into me, and holy fuck, I wish he’d stop doing that—
No, I don’t.
I tilt my head back as his lips find my neck. “Keep going,” I rasp.
He presses me against the door, hard enough that I hear the hinge crack, and I moan out loud as I feel his other hand slide up my thighs.
“Did you like it when Anders
put his hand on your leg?” he snarls, his voice ripe with possession and jealousy as it feathers against the skin of my neck. My whole body trembles.
I smile. “Maybe.”
Blake growls, and then I hear a rip. Gasping, I look down, realizing he’s ripped a hole in my tights.
“These are getting in the way,” he says roughly, hoisting me up so that my legs are straddling his waist. “You deserve to be fucked properly,” he mutters, breathing into my mouth as I fumble with his belt buckle. “By a man. Not a boy like him.”
I moan and arch my back, pressing my taut nipples against his chest. He takes my lower lip between his teeth, practically roaring with pleasure when I free his hard shaft.
“Fuck, Wren,” he says, his voice ragged and uneven. Growling when he realizes I’m not wearing undies, he presses his thick head against my opening, and I feel like I’m on fire. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers, panting. I open my eyes and look at him. He’s completely unraveled—completely undone.
Because of me.
“I told you to keep going,” I say loud and clear. “Now fuck me, Mr. Cooper.”
Something savage takes over then, because his eyes go nearly black at my words, and he thrusts into me so that he fills me to the hilt.
“Oh, fuck,” I cry out, whimpering as I wrap my arms around him.
His hands grip my ass cheeks firmly as he hisses, pulling all the way out before slamming into me again. With each slam, the old hinge on the door makes a cracking sound.
“Jesus, Wren,” he says quietly, his voice breaking when he says my name. “I’m going to shatter this door to pieces if I keep fucking you here.”
“I dare you,” I answer, moving my hips to meet every thrust.
“Fuck,” he grunts, driving into me as he pulls my hips impossibly closer, spreading my legs impossibly wider, so that he can go as deep as he possibly can.
My eyes roll into the back of my head as I grip the top of the door for leverage. I feel my legs shake as his lips find my ear, sending electric currents shooting down my spine, the pressure building between my legs with such intensity, I can’t even cry out. The head of his cock is hitting the perfect spot. He pins me against the door roughly, and I hear it crack as one of his hands comes between my legs, swirling the wetness around my clit and pressing down firmly.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Open your eyes, Wren. I want to see your face when you come on my cock.”
I open them, watching him as his eyes bore into mine. His mouth is slightly open, his tongue pressing against his cheek, his dark brows furrowed in concentration. I grip onto his shirt, pulling him up and into me with each thrust, trying to match his tempo.
His thumb on my nub doesn’t move, but the way he presses down and lets our movements become the friction…
“I’m coming,” I cry out, feeling myself grip his hard length with each wave. My legs tremble around him, and he has to use both hands to hold me up now as he spills into me, too. I watch as his cock pulses inside of me, as his eyes find mine with such fiery intensity, that I go over the edge again at the thought of fucking him bare like this—of him claiming me like this, as his own.
At the wrongness of it all.
And I realize, as I pant and close my eyes, that I don’t even care if it’s forbidden. I don’t care if he’s my teacher, or if he’s Felicity’s dad. Because this? This was earth-shattering. I know he feels the same, because he’s watching me with an expression of awe and hunger—like he can’t believe we just did that, but he also can’t wait to do it again.
He lowers me to the ground, and I’m no longer holding the door up with my back, so it falls off the hinges just as Blake pulls me out of the way. We both start laughing, and the next thing we know, we’re on the floor in hysterics. Once I’ve composed myself, Blake walks over to the sink and wets a washcloth, cleaning me up as his eyes find mine. I swallow as he zips himself up, and we don’t say anything as my phone vibrates on the counter.
Felicity.
“You should probably go,” Blake says, his voice low and serious. “She’s going to worry.” I look down at my thighs and start to feel for the rip in my tights, but Blake’s hand reaches forward, gripping my wrist. “Leave it.”
I snap my eyes to his. “Leave a gaping hole in my tights—sans underwear, mind you—while I go walking in eighteen-degree weather?”
His throat bobs. “Yes. Because I want you to feel me drip out of you when you’re dancing with him.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he just gives me a cocky smile and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me stunned.
Chapter 8
Wren
* * *
Felicity and I stay out way too late, but we learned our lesson a couple of nights ago and stick to two drinks. I even manage to remind Felicity to text Blake so that he doesn’t come storming through the door again—not that I would necessarily complain.
The next morning comes all too soon, but we have a seven o’clock train to Cesky Krumlov, and it’s a three-and-a-half-hour train ride. Blake surprises us and tells us that we’re staying for a night, so we make sure to throw pajamas, clothes, and a toothbrush into an overnight bag. The thrill of travel once again settles over me on the train ride, and I hardly think of Blake or the fact that we had sex last night. Instead, I choose to focus on the Czech countryside as we travel south to the medieval city.
As the train pulls in, I realize it’s like a miniature version of Prague. We walk to a hotel in the middle of the city, and much to my chagrin, there is only one room booked, because he’d booked it when it was just him and Felicity. Blake looks flustered as he tries to book us an additional room, but he’s not successful, and we all decide to share the two-bed room—Felicity and I in one bed, and Blake in the other. I can’t think about it for too long without my whole body succumbing to nervous butterflies. Exploring the Cesky Krumlov castle is a perfect distraction.
By the time we get back to the hotel room to change for dinner, I’m exhausted, and Felicity must feel the same way because she crawls into bed for a quick nap. I busy myself in the bathroom, changing and drying my hair. By the time I emerge about an hour later, Blake is sitting in his bed, wearing pajamas.
“Aren’t we going to dinner?” I ask, looking between them.
“I have a fever,” Felicity whines. She sits up and shakes her head. “I felt off all day, and dad just took my temperature. 102. I feel like fucking dog shit.”
When I look over at Blake, his lips twitch briefly with the hint of a smile at her words. I know under normal circumstances, he might say something about the cursing, as I’ve seen him do it before, but I guess he’s picking his battles tonight.
“You have a thermometer?” It’s all I can think to ask.
He nods. “Always. I made the mistake of going to Peru once without one and found myself sick and unable to get to a doctor or a pharmacy to grab one.”
I cross my arms. “Okay, well, let’s just order room service. I’ll go change into my pajamas too—”
“Noooo,” Felicity croaks. “Go without me. I just want to sleep, honestly. You should enjoy your night.”
I glance at Blake, who looks just as apprehensive as me. “We’re not just going to leave you,” I say with conviction. “What if you need us and we’re not here?”
She snorts. “I have a cold, Wren, not amnesia. If I need you guys, I will call you.” She sniffs and blows her nose. “Can you get me a Gatorade or something like that? I’m not hungry, but I want to keep my electrolytes up.”
“Sure, sweetie,” Blake says, hopping out of bed. He looks at me. “I’ll be ready in five.”
As he’s in the bathroom, I sit on the edge of Felicity’s bed. “Are you sure? I’d much rather stay here with you.”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m fine.”
I look at the door and whisper. “I don’t want to be alone with your dad!”
She laughs. “Please. You’re a terr
ible actress, do you know that?”
I stiffen. “What do you mean?”
She snorts again, and then she coughs a few times before nuzzling back into the covers.
“You’ve both been making googly-eyes at each other since we’ve gotten here.”
My heart hammers against my chest. “What? No, it’s—”
“Relax.” She sighs, shaking her head and looking at me with her kind, light brown eyes. “I don’t care. I think it’s really fucking weird, but you’re an adult, and so is he.”
I swallow. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing,” I whisper, laughing.
She tilts her head and smiles. “He’s different around you. I mean, he always was, but I thought it was because he didn’t like you. Now I’m wondering if it’s because he liked you too much.” I look down at the duvet, trying to think of what to say, of how much I should tell her, when she continues. “Just, for the love of all that’s holy, please don’t ever tell me about your sexual escapades. Do whatever you want, but I don’t want the details. Ever,” she emphasizes.
I laugh. “Fine. That’s fair.”
Blake emerges then, clad in a white button-down shirt and navy pants. I feel underdressed in my red sweater and black jeans, but it’s fucking freezing out, and I had no intention of wearing a dress or a skirt to walk around.
“Have fun, guys,” Felicity says, turning over and pulling the duvet over her head. “Don’t forget my Gatorade. And don’t forget to wear a condom.”
“What did you—” Blake starts.
I grab his elbow and pull him out of the room before he can say anything else. As the door snicks shut, he turns to face me.
“Did you tell her?” he accuses, his voice rough.
Hurt and disappointment snake through me at his words. “Of course, I didn’t. But she knows. She said she could tell something was up.”