by Pam Godwin
I want her to experience that kind of love again.
After dinner, I lean back in the couch, shifting the waistband of my skirt to ease my aching belly. I don’t know if it’s from my overindulgence of turkey, mashed potatoes, and buttery bread, or if I’m riddled with plain old nerves about being alone with Laura Marceaux.
“I see why he’s so taken with you.” She smiles at me warmly and reclines in the chair beside the couch.
My gaze wanders through the doorway of the kitchen and lands on the white t-shirt stretching across Emeric’s back. Sitting at the table with his dad, he straddles the back of a chair, deep in conversation. I can’t see his face or hear his words, but the deep notes in his voice vibrate through me, soothing me like a sensual lullaby.
He doesn’t wear briefs beneath his jeans, and right now, the denim hangs dangerously low on his hips, barely covering the hard muscles of his ass. If he leans over just a little more, my view will become a whole lot more distracting.
I clear my throat. “I’m taken with him, too.”
She swirls the red wine in her glass, studying me intently. It’s so strange to see Emeric’s blue eyes set in such a soft expression. She’s intimidatingly beautiful. Not a wisp of gray in her shoulder-length black hair. But there’s decades of wisdom in the way she looks at me, like she can read my thoughts and make sense of them.
She sips her wine. “You both seem happy. Maybe a little on edge, understandably, but happy. You’ve only been living together for…a month?”
“Five weeks.”
Does she think that’s insufficient? That five weeks isn’t long enough to measure the seriousness of a relationship?
I want to point out that we’ve been emotionally wrapped up in each for three months and the actual sex part didn’t happen until three weeks ago, but that’s TMI. Besides, on the way here, Emeric forbade me to act weird about us. No shame. Be yourself. They won’t judge us.
As it turns out, he was right. Laura carries on like the most important thing on her mind is her stories about Emeric’s ornery childhood. Her kindness eventually opens me up enough to share memories of my dad. We steer clear of discussions about Leopold, the conflict of interest too sensitive. But it doesn’t hinder us from settling into a comfortable exchange, as if I’m just a normal girlfriend, getting to know the family.
An hour later, I’m completely enraptured with her. Her disposition is so weightless and refreshing. Her gentle eyes and sincere smile radiates the kind of serenity that only comes from deep-seated happiness.
She’s the embodiment of maternal warmth and affection. Such a devastating contrast to my own mother. She makes me feel accepted and nurtured and…young, but only in the best way.
In the kitchen, Dr. Marceaux stands from the table, squeezes Emeric’s shoulder, and disappears down the hall that leads deeper into the estate.
“If you don’t mind…” Laura rises from the chair. “I’m going to go see where Frank went off to.” As she passes the couch, she reaches down and grips my hand. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Ivory.”
I let the tenderness of her words sink in. “You, too.”
Emeric hasn’t moved from his seat in the kitchen, his forearms folded on the back of the chair.
Standing, I brush down the flirty mid-thigh skirt. I feel pretty, but not flashy, my sleeveless green blouse a fitted button-up over a thin camisole. If I did my own shopping, the outfit is something I would’ve chosen.
I approach his back and zoom in on the peek of skin above his low-hanging jeans. No ass crack. He’s too cool for that. But a shadow teases the valley between his brawny cheeks. It’s too inviting to ignore.
I dip a finger beneath the denim and trace that sexy cleft.
He draws in a long, deep breath, his voice husky. “Ivory.”
Stroking the top of his crack, I put my mouth next to his ear and whisper, “I love your ass.”
His hips rock, and his forehead lowers to his bent arms. “My ass loves you.”
My breath falters. His ass loves me or he loves me? I want him to mean both.
I place my palms over the lean muscles along his spine and caress in slow circles. I still find it startling that I’m able to touch him like this. To just walk up to him when we’re alone and show him affection. How crazy is it that I actually want to put my hands on him?
The last five weeks have drastically changed my perceptions about myself and my ability to do normal things with a man.
Leaning in, I loop my arms around his shoulders and press my upper body against his.
With his head tipped down, he wraps a large hand around both of my wrists, shackling them against his chest. “One of the most erotic things a woman can do is brush her tits against a man’s back, and Ivory, your tits are sinful.”
Jesus, his parents could hear. I try to lift my chest away, but he holds me still with his grip on my arms. My attention flicks toward the empty hallway.
“Even sexier, you’re not even trying to turn me on.” He shifts his head and bites my bicep.
My mouth parts on a soundless gasp, my breath held in anticipation. What am I going to do with this naughty man? If he touches me in a more provocative manner, I won’t care where we are or who’s watching.
He slides his lips up my arm, and I melt against his back.
His free hand drifts behind me, latching onto the bare skin of my thigh beneath the skirt. “Did my mom give you the third degree?”
I kiss his neck, savoring his warm smell. “I’ve become impervious to the methods of Marceaux interrogation.”
“Is that right?”
The tightening pressure of his fingers around my hands kicks up my pulse. His thumb strokes the underside of my wrist, and I know he can feel the thudding palpation of my heartbeat there.
I bury my nose in the soft hair behind his ear, inhaling the scent of wood from his shampoo. “What did you talk about with your dad?”
“You. Us.”
With the manacle of his hand around my wrist, he hauls me to his side. Then he rises from the chair, snags his gray fedora from the table, and sets it on his head with a tilt so subtle it could be accidental.
I’m not fooled. Everything he does is insidiously calculated. Like pairing his jeans and white t-shirt with a fedora? Seemingly harmless, as if he just threw something on. But dammit, he knew that sexy look would work me into a lusty froth.
It’s his steady stare, though, the deep oceans of his eyes beneath the brim of the hat, that makes me never want to look away.
The room dims around us until I’m only aware of him and the pulsing beats between us. I sink into the luring waves of desire, into that deliciously dark abyss that craves his punishing grip, growly voice, and vicious thrusts.
Not here.
With great effort, I pull myself back to the surface and take a deep breath. “You talked to your dad about us? What did he say?”
Does his dad condemn our relationship? Is Emeric having second thoughts?
The fingers around my wrist tighten, and he wrenches my arm behind my back. The movement shoves me right up against his swelling erection.
His eyes ensnare mine. “He wanted to make sure I have all my bases covered, that I’ve thought through everything.” With my arm pinned behind my back, he cradles my face with his free hand. “I’m working through a few cautionary measures to keep us safe until you graduate.”
“Like what?” I hate this constant looming threat of someone hurting us.
He brushes his mouth against mine. “Trust me?”
“Deeply.”
His teeth catch my bottom lip. “Let’s go home and take care of your pussy.”
I grin into the kiss. “Schubert?”
“Him, too.”
We say our goodbyes to his parents, climb into the car, and drive to his house without attacking one another. But the second the garage door closes behind the GTO, he gives me a look that liquefies every bone in my body.
In a fluidity of
motion, he tosses his hat, releases our safety belts, and flings his seat backward away from the steering wheel.
His hands fly to his zipper, yanking it down and freeing his hard cock. “Straddle me.”
One gravelly command, and I’m instantly wet.
I launch at him, banging a knee on the console as I tumble into his lap. He wrenches my legs around him, my ass bumping the wheel and honking the horn. We laugh with our mouths melded together, his hands under my skirt and my fingers tangled in his sexy-as-hell hair.
Yanking the crotch of my panties to the side, he plunges a finger inside me. “So fucking ready.”
Then he slams me down on his cock.
I moan through the bursting sensations, clenching my inner muscles and arching my back. He grips my ass with one hand and the back of my head with the other, thrusting vigorously and holding me so tightly he’s the only thing that exists.
He bucks beneath me with hard-hitting drives as the hand on my head directs the angle and depth of the kiss. His tongue fucks my mouth the way his cock fills my pussy. Deeply, urgently, and completely unrestrained.
His muscles shake and contract. His hoarse groans harden my nipples, and the sensual, hungry roll of his hips reduces me to a trembling puddle of surrender.
I dissolve in the steel bands of his arms as he kisses me senseless, drags me up and down his length, and jacks himself off in the clutch of my body.
I come hard and long, my nails scratching his scalp and his name howling from my throat. He shoves inside me in a ruthless grind, drops his head on my shoulder, and chases his release with a deep, throaty groan.
When he lifts his head, we stare at each other, panting, clinging tightly together, lips touching and releasing. He trails his nose along mine, his eyes so close, never looking away. I’m so lost in this man, so over my head, heart wide open, and soul quaking.
We aren’t just a teacher and student, a Dom and submissive, a man and woman.
“We’re a timeless concerto.” I kiss his lips. “A musical masterpiece.”
He drags his mouth across my jaw, his cock jerking inside me. “Like Scriabin’s ‘Black Mass?’”
Too dissonant.
I arch my neck for his lips. “I was thinking along the lines of Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy.’”
“Lame.” He bites the skin beneath my ear. “We’re more like Van Halen’s ‘Hot For Teacher.’”
Oh my God. I stifle my grin. “You’re ruining my analogy. That’s not even a concerto.”
“We’ll compose our own masterpiece.” His mouth glides down my neck, kissing and licking. “A song that will never end.”
I love the sound of that.
Two weeks later, I trudge across the school parking lot, digging through my satchel for the car keys. The sun’s long gone, and the time is ticking somewhere south of sleep-thirty. Man, my ass is dragging.
At school, Emeric’s been working me hard behind the piano in preparation for the holiday performance this weekend. At home, he works me hard against the wall, strapped to his headboard, and kneeling beneath the heat of his belt. He’s an endless, high-intensity, cardiovascular workout. For the life of me, I don’t know where he finds his energy.
There’s only a few cars scattered in the lot, the Porsche on one end and the GTO on the other. The surrounding darkness cools the air, chilling my skin beneath the light sweater. The scarce lighting doesn’t help my search for the keys. I root around the text books in my bag, head lowered, cursing under my breath.
Found them. I punch the unlock button and wince at the loud chirp.
When I look up, I come face to face with the last person I expected to see.
Six feet away and leaning against the Porsche, my brother gives me a no-good smile. “Where’ve you been, Ivory?”
My muscles freeze up. How does he know that’s my car? Has he been following me? Does he know where I live? Who I’m living with?
I fidget with the key fob. No use hiding it. I already made the damn car light up. “It took you two months to come looking for me? Wow, Shane. I guess I should feel special you noticed me missing at all.”
He straightens and plucks a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. His buzzed blond hairline recedes from his broad pale forehead, his cheeks sunken beneath dark eyes. He looks as tired as I feel. And thinner. His jeans and flannel shirt hang on his tall, gaunt frame.
What the hell happened to him? Does this have anything to do with Lorenzo’s arrest? My chest tightens.
“Nice ride.” He lights the smoke and glides a hand over the white hood. “How’d you score it? Turning tricks?”
My trembling fingers curl around the strap of my satchel. Emeric will be right behind me, and Shane will recognize him from the night he broke Shane’s nose. If I run back inside, maybe I can circumvent him.
I pivot in the direction of Crescent Hall. Too late. Emeric’s halfway across the lot, his long strides eating up the pavement and heading right toward me. I can’t see his face from this distance, but I know exactly what I’d find in his eyes. The hairs lift on my arms.
How can I warn him that the shadowy line behind me is my brother? Anything I do will make Shane suspicious. He’s blocking my path to the car, but I could walk in the opposite direction, head down the road or something. Emeric would chase me down.
Shane would, too. He came here for a reason, and he’s not going to leave until he gets it.
There’s nothing I can do to stop this impending confrontation.
I spin back to Shane, my stomach rolling. “What do you want?”
He exhales a stream of smoke. “Mom’s gone.”
“So? She’s always—”
“No, she packed up her shit a month ago and fucking dis…” His eyes shift over my shoulder, tapering into slits. His mouth drops open in disbelief. “I fucking know that guy.”
Shit. My pulse leaps to my throat. Why couldn’t Emeric just let me handle this?
“Is there a problem here?” His chilling voice is right behind me, tingling up my spine.
Emeric steps in front of me, hands clasped behind his rigid back, his expensive suit pervading the air with authority.
Shane might’ve lost weight, but his frame is wider and taller than Emeric’s. If this turns into a physical throw down, Emeric might never be able to play piano again.
I move to Emeric’s side. He shifts with me, as if to block me again, then stops, planting his feet in a wide stance. He knows as well as I do the importance of maintaining a neutral demeanor in front of my brother. He’s here to investigate a trespasser, not to protect his girlfriend.
Shane takes him in from head to toe, flicking his ashes into the six-foot distance between them. “You work at Ivory’s school? Like a teacher or something?”
Emeric cocks his head, eyes on Shane. “Miss Westbrook, is this man bothering you?”
I need to choose my words carefully. The intensity in the way Shane’s gaze darts between Emeric and me tells me he’s trying to figure out why a teacher at my uppity school walked into a bar and punched him four months ago.
I gaze up at the stone-hard angles of Emeric’s profile and return to Shane. “This is my brother, and he was just leaving.”
Shane smirks. “Need some answers, little sis. Like, I don’t know… Who are you living with? And why did this frat boy”—he waves the cigarette at Emeric—“break my fucking nose?”
With his attention bolted on Shane, Emeric doesn’t move, not a twitch. His silence is somewhat shocking, but there’s a purpose to everything he does. A spoken word reveals things. Muteness gives less away. But Shane’s not going to let this go, so I open my mouth.
“I’m staying with a friend from school.” I arrange my lips into a display of wonderment. “She has this huge house and has all these spare cars.” I gesture at the Porsche. “Can you blame me for moving out of our dump to live in a mansion? A mansion, Shane. For real.”
He studies me with skepticism. “Didn’t realize you gave a shit abou
t that stuff.”
I don’t, dammit, but I can’t exactly tell him the truth. “Where did Mom go?”
He drops the cigarette and smashes it with his boot. “Don’t know.” His eyebrows pull together, his focus flitting to Emeric and back to me. “Her phone’s shut off. No note. No calls. Not even a Fuck you. Have a nice life.”
Even in her frequent absences, she always kept in touch with Shane.
I rub my arms. “Do you think she’s in trouble?”
“Nah.” He shrugs, stares at the pavement. “She found something better is all.”
Something better than family. In a way, I guess I did, too.
We exchange a suspended look, and in that tiniest sliver of a heartbeat, I see the boy I knew before he enlisted in the Marines. The brother who used to walk me to school, put gum in my hair, and draw penises in my music books. The son who loved his father as much as I did. As we stare at one another, we share a raw moment of loss, for our dad, our mom, and the love we once had for each other.
He blinks, breaking the connection, and grips the back of his neck. “Someone is still paying the bills.”
I wait for Emeric to react, but he stands still and silent like a watchtower, no doubt weighing every spoken word and preparing to expose his relationship with me if Shane does something stupid.
“I won’t leave you homeless.” For now. I send a silent thank you to the man at my side for covering the expenses and making this easier.
“I’m going away for a while.” Shane steps toward us, slowly, arms at his sides, expression sullen. “But I don’t want to lose Dad’s house.”
My head swims. “Where are you going?”
He stops within arm’s reach of Emeric and boldly plucks something from the lapel of Emeric’s jacket.
Tension seeps into Emeric’s posture, his lips flattening in a line. I stop breathing.
Shane holds up one of Schubert’s orange hairs between his pinched fingers.
A smirk twists his lips. “I used to live with a cat. Damn thing shed all over my clothes.” He flicks the hair and levels me with a knowing look. “I miss him.”