by Pam Godwin
“I play every night.” Except I won’t be able to tonight.
I glance at my throbbing hand with no regrets.
She scrapes a forkful of linguine. “I know this is a big place, but I haven’t seen a piano.”
“I’ll give you a tour another time. Finish your dinner.”
She inhales the remainder of the pasta and follows it with gulps of sweet tea.
I finish mine soon after and slide the dish away. “I made a doctor’s appointment for you.”
Her fork clanks against the plate, her voice quiet. “I don’t have insurance or the money to pay for that.”
My hand flexes. I want to hurt her mother and every other person who’s never been there for her. “It’s covered.”
“I can’t—”
I slam my fist against the counter, rattling the china. “You will go to that appointment and get a full examination, for the sake of your health and for my peace of fucking mind.”
Jaw clenched, she pitches me a stubborn glare.
She can scowl all she wants. I’m not finished. “From this point forward, the words I can’t are no longer in your vocabulary.” I angle forward until all she can see is my eyes. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh, you’re clear.” She holds my gaze. “And abrasive and surly. You have a terrible temper.”
A playful kind of youth twinkles in her eyes, but there’s something else there, too. Her lips separate to allow for the climb in her breaths, and she’s not blinking, like she’s forcing a mask of toughness and bravery.
Deep down, she’s scared. To stand up to me? To disappoint me? To put faith in what’s happening between us?
I close the inches between us and kiss her mercilessly on the mouth. Cupping her head in both hands, I work my tongue against hers, fusing us together, licking and biting and flooding her with every last drop of fervor I feel for her. I love her strength in the face of fear, her determination despite all her roadblocks, and fuck me, I love her mouth. The way the hot, wet suction of her lips wraps around my tongue and hardens my cock.
She tips back in the frame of my hands and searches my eyes. We stare at each other, chests heaving, suspended in the energy pulsing between us.
After an endless stretch of heartbeats, she blinks. “I have the money to pay you for the textbooks…but…I can see…” She cringes at the heat rising in my face. “Now is a bad time to bring that up.”
I stack the dishes and carry them to the sink. “By tomorrow night, I want a list of your bills and all the things you need.” I throw her a hard look over my shoulder. “Things I won’t know to buy.”
She joins me at the sink, her expression pinched in frustration.
I rinse a plate and hand it to her. “I know you’re strong enough and brave enough to stand on your own. Hell, you’ve been doing it for years.” I brush my fingers over her stiff jaw. “But now you have help. I’m here to make your hardships a little less hard. You will lean on me.”
She stares at the rack in the dishwasher, sets the plate in the wrong way, studies it for a moment, then turns it. “Like this?”
I nod. The realization that she’s never loaded a dishwasher makes me appreciate a lot of things in life, putting her at the top of that list.
With a stoic expression, she helps me finish the dishes in silence. I give her the time to think, to weigh her pride against mine. When the cleanup is completed and the counters are wiped down, I turn to her.
She stands just out of arm’s reach, her small frame swallowed by the t-shirt as she stares at her bare feet. “The thing I value most doesn’t cost a dime, yet it seems to be the hardest for people to give.”
Friendship? Protection? Love? My head swims, searching for the answer. “Name it, and it’s yours.”
Her eyes find mine, and she steps forward. Another step, and her arms encircle my waist. She presses her cheek against my chest, skin-to-skin, and releases a heavy sigh.
A hug. That’s the thing she values most.
My ribs tighten as I embrace her, crushing her as close as possible without bruising her soft skin. She’s a head shorter, too short to feel her heart pounding against mine. So I catch her beneath her knees and back, swoop her up, and hoist her against my chest.
I flick the light switch with my elbow and head for the stairs.
She snuggles against me, hands snaking over my shoulders and sliding into my hair. Her entire body relaxes in my arms as she nuzzles her face against my cheek, touching, breathing, feeling me. “I should tell you to put me down, but I like this too much.”
Good thing, because I’m not letting go.
As we reach the bedroom, she murmurs against my neck. “I need to go home in the morning to get clothes and feed Schubert.”
I bite down on my smile. “Do you feed him brains?”
“What?” Her startled expression eases into a glimmering smile. “Not the dead Schubert. My cat.”
“We’ll swing by your house before school, but you don’t need clothes.”
I enter the closet and set her on her feet. Stepping back, I lounge against the door jamb and block her exit. When she realizes just how fucking crazy I am, there’s no telling how fast she’ll run.
She circles the island in the center, rubbing the back of her neck. “Your closet is bigger than my house.”
I slide my hands in the pockets of my flannel pants and wait.
Her gaze snags on the far wall, and her hesitant strides carry her toward it. She trails a hand over the long shelf of high-heels, flats, sandals, and tennis shoes. Tilting her head, she stares up at the racks of dresses, shirts, and trousers. The entire wall is hers.
Her shoulder blades tighten, her hands falling to her sides as she speaks with her back to me. “Do you have an alternative lifestyle I don’t know about? A fetish with women’s clothing?”
“Something like that.”
She snatches a beige Louboutin pump from the shelf and checks the size. “How did you—” She sighs, returning it carefully to its place. “The first day, when you slid my shoes back on.”
My blood pumps thick and hot in my veins. Separated by the island and the length of the room, I watch her peruse the clothes, anticipating her next words.
“I ca—” She whirls toward me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I know. No I can’ts. No sniveling. No questioning your methods.” She hooks an arm around her waist and presses a fist to her mouth, staring at me from beneath her lashes. “It’s a lot to take in, but I’m trying.” She stands straighter, glancing at the clothes behind her. “It’s just…this is all too much, too fast, and—”
“Come here.” I remove my hands from my pockets, my posture open, welcoming.
She crosses the room in a vision of dark skin, thin cotton, and allure.
When she reaches me, I lift her and carry her to the bed. “What’s mine is yours, Ivory. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”
Shifting under the blankets, she stares up at me. “If I don’t accept it?”
I slip in beside her, pull her to my chest, and entwine our legs together. “Then you get to endure more of my… What did you call it?” I lean in and kiss her bottom lip. “Abrasive and surly temper.”
“There’s medication for that.”
“You’re the only drug I need.” Reaching back, I switch off the light and rest my head on her pillow, our faces inches apart.
The illumination of gas lamps and moonlight filters in through the nearby window, blanketing us in pale silence. Her eyes glisten with wonder, worry, and unspoken words, reflecting all the emotions I openly express in mine.
I brush her hair behind her ear. “I don’t share. That means no more high school or neighborhood boys. You’re in my bed and no one else’s.”
She opens her mouth.
I tap it with a finger then trace the soft curve of her lips. “I’ll protect you from those who don’t respond to no.”
“What about you?” Her leg twitches in the bend of m
ine, her tone low and suspicious. “Are there other women?”
“You’re the only one.”
I’ve turned down every goddamn woman since I met her. First time in my adult life I’ve gone this long without sex.
Vertical lines form between her brows. “What about your love-hate thing with Joanne?”
“She’s complicated. But I haven’t seen her in six months.”
I haven’t told Ivory everything, but I need to make a decision about that mess before I expose her to it. And there’s a second secret I’ve kept from her, a more urgent one that I need to address now. “I have something to tell you about Prescott Rivard.”
Her gaze shatters into rippling pools of brown. “Will he get you fired? Or press charges?”
“I scared him enough to keep him silent for a while, but that fear will eventually sour and grow resentful. Then…I don’t know.”
“I’ll go to the cops and explain what happened.”
“No, you will not.” I hook an arm around her back, preparing for her to jerk away. “I promised his mother a spot for him at Leopold.”
A frozen moment passes before she tenses against my hold. “How? Why?”
“She gave me a career at Le Moyne in exchange for my connections. To get Prescott into Leopold.”
“Connections? Leopold admits their students on talent alone.”
“My mother holds a seat on the Board of Trustees. She’ll slide him through without a formal audition.”
She studies my expression, curling her hand against her chest between us. “This affects my chances, doesn’t it?”
“If I refer you, their recruiters will come. They’ll attend a school-wide performance and…”
Her breath hiccups in her throat. “They’ll see Prescott play and potentially reject his application.”
“And accept yours instead.” I comb a hand through her hair and rest my lips against her forehead. “You have more talent than anyone at Le Moyne, but if I ask my mother to sneak two applications through—”
“No way.” She yanks her head back. “When I’m accepted into Leopold, it will be on merit and talent alone.”
I cuddle her against me as pain pounds behind my breastbone. I can’t bear the thought of fucking her over. “I’ll make this right.”
“How? You took that deal for a reason, right? Because of Shreveport?”
“Yes, but I can get an out-of-state job.” I tilt her chin up and kiss her, smiling against her lips. “Or I can become a pirate.”
After the shit with Prescott tonight, however, my resignation brings new complications for Ivory.
She caresses my jaw. “The dean will just replace you with another deal. She hired you under wrongful terms and wiped Mrs. McCracken’s recommendations from my file, so clearly, she’s on a devil’s mission. Why does she want her son to go there so badly?”
“It’s the best school with the wealthiest endowments. Prescott’s admittance is her shoe in to elevate Le Moyne’s power and status. Or who knows? Maybe she aspires to sit on the board there someday.”
She nods, her face furrowed in contemplation. “If you quit, Prescott won’t have enough incentive to keep his mouth shut about me. After tonight, he can give his mother all the leverage she needs to get rid of me.”
Exactly where my head is at. Just like that, I know with absolute certainty I won’t leave Le Moyne or Ivory. I’m smarter and meaner than Beverly Rivard, and I have a few months to decide the method and level of cruelty I’ll use to beat her.
“I understand why you did it. Why you took that deal.” Ivory trails her fingers across my chest, watching the movement. “Even after what Joanne did, it’s hard to let go. To move away.”
My breath catches at the accuracy of her statement. She’s right, but she doesn’t know the real problem, the one I’m working to resolve with Joanne. And my feelings for Joanne? Those have dulled enough that they no longer drive my actions.
Ivory’s eyelids flutter heavily, her limbs slackening around me, as she mutters under her breath, “Everything is possible.”
“Such as?”
“I’m going to Leopold.”
Her stubbornness is inconvenient. And painfully admirable. Unfortunately, I have no idea what I’m going to do about it.
I hate to postpone her sleep, but there’s one more thing I need to know. “Where is your brother’s friend?”
Her eyes flash open, and her voice catches in her throat. “What?”
“Did he disappear after he raped you? Or is he still around?”
Her complexion turns bloodless in the dim light, her cheekbones pressing against her tightening skin.
Everything inside me goes still, strangling my throat and thickening my voice. “Tell me.”
She throws back the covers, rolls on top of me, and rests her forehead against mine. “No more punching tonight.”
I grip her firm ass beneath the shirt and try to focus my energy on her body and not what’s been done to her body. “When was the last time he touched you?”
She drops her knees to my sides, straddling me, as she holds my face in her hands. “He hasn’t raped me since August.”
August? I jackknife to a sitting position, my vision blurred by red fog. “This past August, as in two months ago?”
She clings to my chest, holding on to my head as she mashes her mouth against mine. The moment her tongue seeks entry, I kiss her back, angrily, possessively, tangling my hand in her hair and yanking her hips against mine.
I bite her lip. “His name.”
She rocks her pussy against my cock, thrusting her tongue and, goddammit, distracting me.
I rip my mouth away. “His name.”
She slumps, her whisper hollow. “Lorenzo Gandara.”
Latino? The same motherfucker lurking around her house that night?
“Does he ride an orange sportbike?”
Her fingernails dig into the back of my neck. “How do you know that?”
“Go to sleep.”
That’s the only response Emeric gives to my endless questions about Lorenzo. Eventually, my worries dissolve beneath the weight of fatigue.
I tuck close against the rigid wall of his chest, sheltered by the bulk of his arm around my back, and guarded by his vigilant gaze. I fall fast into sleep, lost in a great timeless space where forever isn’t long enough.
I’ve never felt this weightless, like a strange airy sensation has replaced my bones and skin, and there’s nothing left but my breath. Soft, floaty breaths of ether. Each exhale forms a cloud that joins the others drifting around me in a vast blue sky.
I’m dreaming. I try to hold onto the enchantment. It’s so safe and gentle here I don’t want to leave. Don’t wake up.
I blink against flashes of sapphire haloed by lamp light.
“Good morning.” Emeric’s blue eyes fill my horizon, so deep and majestic, glimmering with all the colors and stars of heaven.
I stretch my arms over my head, delighting in the softness of his bed. “I’m dreaming.”
He stands over me, biceps bunching as he plants his hands on the edge of the mattress. “Still dreaming?”
“Well…I was in heaven.” I reach up and caress the day-old scruff on his jaw. “Until the devil showed up.”
His lips crook up in a territorial grin, his complexion rosier than usual. His skin is damp beneath my fingers, his hair dark and drippy against his forehead.
“You already showered?” I drag my focus from his face, down his wet t-shirt, and pause on the gym shorts. “Oh. You worked out. What time is it?”
I shift to my side and find the clock on the nightstand. 5:15 AM. School doesn’t start for two hours.
He straightens, rolling his shoulders. “How long do you need to get ready?”
I sit up, the room wobbling around me as I recall the conversation we didn’t finish last night. “Depends. You haven’t told me how you know Lorenzo.”
“He’s no longer your concern.” He turns toward the ba
throom.
“You can’t just go beat him up.” I slide off the bed and adjust the shirt over my thighs. “He’s an ex-Marine, a thug, maybe even a criminal. And you’re a—”
He shoots me a scalding glare that shrivels the rest of my words in my throat. His fist opens and closes at his side, his lacerated knuckles glowing red. Okay, maybe he could get a few punches in, but…
“It’s too risky.” I slump on the edge of the mattress, trembling against the idea of him fighting another one of my monsters.
Lorenzo rarely comes to my house without Shane, so it would be them against my teacher. Nothing good would come from that.
I meet his eyes. “The cops might get called. You could go to jail. Or worse, if you keep hitting stuff, you could break your hands and lose your ability to play piano.”
He strides back to me, his expression marbleized with shadowy lines of intensity. “Despite what you’ve seen, I usually don’t confront problems with my fists.” He raises one of those fists and strokes it across my jaw. “I prefer subtle and deceptive planning. Lorenzo Gandara won’t see me coming.”
Okaaay. So he’s going to…what? Go ninja on his ass?
He returns to the bathroom, his voice rumbling over his shoulder. “I’m taking a shower. Then the bathroom is yours.”
The door shuts behind him, followed by the hollow click of the lock.
I flop back on the bed, the shirt lifting to my waist and exposing me to the cool air. I don’t know what he did with my panties. I don’t even care. He’s seen me naked and put his fingers inside me. Yet all he’s let me see is his bare chest.
Why did he lock the door? What is he hiding? My pulse elevates as ridiculous theories fill my head. Is his dick malformed? Or maybe he doesn’t want me near it until the doctor checks me for diseases?
My emotions overflow, but the sharpest feeling is the one deep in my core. Just thinking about him naked sends a quiver up my thighs and a jolt between my legs.
Sensations that have never been there before surge like a fever. I feel so damn hot and needy. For my teacher.
It’s wrong. Being here is wrong. Sliding my hand over my pussy feels wrong, too, but I do it anyway, stroking the way he stroked, dipping and circling exactly how he did it. My fingers are his fingers, caressing, giving, and building that wonderful energy inside me.