by Lily White
The relief had been so sudden when Ben and Jackson stepped in, I was able to take a full breath and swallow down the knot of revulsion. Guilt stepped in to dance with that relief because Sam hadn’t done anything I hadn’t invited him to do; still, I felt it. It was like coming up for air to walk away, like finally kicking my feet hard enough to reach the surface of turbulent water only to discover I’d breached in the eye wall of a hurricane.
My heart jumped into my throat at the moment my eyes locked with Mr. Carter’s. It stayed there for a split second. The fight faded away behind me. The world’s rotation stopped. And my heart pulsed one last frantic beat before dropping into place inside my chest, beaten and bruised, to flat-line the instant he wrapped his hand over the back of my neck.
One moment, I’d believed my night couldn’t get much worse, and in the next I learned why it was foolish to tempt that fat bastard called fate.
“I asked you a question, Amelia. I highly recommend you start talking. Otherwise, I’m going to continue believing that I just watched you set a man up to be mugged.”
His voice was calm. Too calm. And he wasn’t wrong. That’s exactly what I’d done.
That calm voice became a dark croon, the gentle tone somehow violent. “But you wouldn’t do that, right? Not after what happened between us in an alley? Certainly not while knowing that if anything went wrong, you were risking losing your spot in the program.”
Damn red lights. They kept happening at the most inconvenient times. Now Mr. Carter wasn’t just talking to me, he was burning holes in the side of my head with murderous eyes.
Maybe not murderous. More seething. A stare that promised expulsion from the scholarship program as well as who knows what else.
“Where are we going?”
“To a place where I can ask you a bunch of questions.”
I was barely whispering, my voice shaking as thoroughly as my body. “You can ask me questions here.”
He grinned, but I was too scared to look at him fully. Instead, I watched him in my peripheral vision.
“Here won’t work. I’ll run out of gas before I’m done.”
I glanced at his gauges. “The tank is full.”
“Exactly.”
The light turned green and the SUV lurched forward, silence settling in between us. I’d preferred the loud music from earlier to the deafening lack of sound now.
At first I thought he was driving around aimlessly and without a specific destination in mind, and maybe he was. The turns didn’t make sense, more like large circles around the city.
Eventually, Mr. Carter blew out a heavy sigh, glanced at me and back to the road. His hand clutched over the wheel as he made a hard left, and hit the gas with enough force that my body rocked against the seat, the tension between us suffocating.
“Where are we going?”
“To my house.”
“What? No. I need to go back to the bar. My car is there.” Ben would be worried and pissed if I didn’t get back to the house.
“I’ll take you to your car when we’re done.”
“Done what? I need to get home and go to sleep. I have class tomorrow morning.”
“Do you?” He turned his head to look at me, eyes dancing with emotions I didn’t know and couldn’t understand.
Shifting in my seat to stare back at him, I was practically begging him not to expel me. “I deserve to be in that program. You can’t force me out over this.”
Eyes back to the road, a river of light and shadow flowed over his skin from the passing streetlamps. “Actually, I can. The students who continue forward are entirely up to me, and I’m not sure I want to recommend a criminal for the scholarship.”
Terrified that he would make good on his threat, my eyes watered with stinging tears. Blinking didn’t help stop them, the hot, wet traitors rolling down my cheeks, slow rivulets revealing my loss of control.
“Please don’t do this.” I’d been reduced to begging, every emotion inside me welling up until I was drowning.
He was silent as we pulled into the driveway of a large house, the tires bouncing over unleveled ground. Pulling to a stop, Mr. Carter didn’t move to get out of the car, didn’t bother to look at me.
“Please,” I said again, “I need that scholarship. I deserve it.”
It was too thick, the silence, too abrasive and cold. My skin crawled as it stretched and solidified, darkness swallowing the space between us while the blaze of headlights illuminated a garage door.
Fingers drumming slowly on the steering wheel, Mr. Carter bowed his head, his eyes closing as his fingers slowed to a stop and gripped the wheel as if to strangle it.
On a bare whisper, he spoke without looking at me, his eyes shut, his jaw tight with indecision. “You have no idea how much I like that word on your lips. No fucking clue.”
A shiver twined around my spine at the admission, whether in fear or surprise I wasn’t sure. I was uncertain and confused, a thousand competing thoughts racing through me with such force that it held me in place. What word?
Say please...
Like a ghost, the memory was there and gone, a word he’d demanded when we first met, a word I was shamelessly tossing at him now.
Without speaking again, he opened his door, exited the SUV, and slammed the door before knocking on the window, motioning for me to follow. I watched his back as he walked a stone path that led around the side of the house and out of sight.
I had no choice but to follow. What was I going to do? Sit in the truck all night? I thought about it, considered it, rolled it around as a viable option until Lennon appeared at the bend in the path, his face masked in shadow, his shoulders high and tight.
He didn’t need to make the threat for me to know he would drag me from my seat if I didn’t willfully follow.
One click, and the seatbelt unlocked, a soft whir as it rolled up at my side, the interior of the SUV bathed in light as I opened the door and climbed down from my seat. The night was muggy and damp and yet I was shivering in my barely there dress, the feeling of exposure consuming me.
Perhaps Mr. Carter felt the same. As soon as I stepped up to him, he stripped the patterned jacket from his shoulders and handed it to me. I didn’t argue, quietly slipping it on as we walked along the path, the scent of his cologne hugging me in its tight embrace. It was unfair how much the scent affected me, a tangle of earthy, masculine notes that were seductive and subtle.
When he led me inside, I froze in place to see a kitchen that was three times the size of my living room. The appliances gleamed beneath low recessed lighting, a center island of white carved cabinets with a black stone top dominating the space. Pendant lights hung down from the ceiling, the glass shades an Art Deco design in red, black and white that cast an eerie glow..
We crossed over black marble floors that transitioned to a deep cherry wood, the click of my heels the only sound breaking the silence. Led into a living room with vaulted ceilings and a stone fireplace that I could have easily camped inside, I was directed to sit on a leather couch while he took a seat on the bench of a gorgeous Steinway grand piano in black.
It was intimidating to be in his private space. In the classroom, I took comfort in the students that acted as a buffer. In a way, they blocked him from consuming the space around me, from siphoning my power away merely by looking at me.
Here, I had no such buffer, the quiet calm between us pregnant with possibility.
With legs spread slightly, Mr. Carter rested his elbows on his knees, his shoulders hunched and head lifting to look at me. “Start talking.”
I fingered the fabric of his jacket, my nerves on edge. “About?”
“About what I witnessed back at the bar.”
Too gorgeous for words, he locked his blue eyes with mine, his dark hair a disheveled mess around his head, the sleeves of his white button down shirt rolled up to his elbows. My gaze traced the muscle in his forearms, the bones of his strong hands. It still surprised me that he could elicit su
ch tempting music with the softest touch.
“I was out for a drink and met someone.” A lie, bold faced and unconvincing, but it was all I would give him. Admitting the truth would only implicate my brother and me, would threaten the tenuous hold we had on our house and our ability to care for our dad.
A single brow arched above his eyes. “Not only are you a terrible thief, you’re a horrible liar. Let’s try this again. Who were the two men who were with you?”
My hand fisted the jacket. “No clue. They just came out of nowhere. I was worried they would -“
“You have one more chance,” he interrupted, “before I bend you over my knee and make good on my earlier threats.”
Pulse fluttering, I shook my head. “You can’t do that.”
“That’s your choice. Either tell me what I want to know, or choose the punishment. I’m not playing with you, Amelia. I want to know what happened tonight. Who were the two guys with you?”
Dizziness assaulted me, the room wavering out of focus, my stomach rolling left, then right. Mr. Carter wouldn’t actually -
Swallowing hard, I thought he might.
Still, I couldn’t say a word. He would turn us in, expel me from the program, and then everything would fall apart. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Try me.” Pausing, he flexed his hand where it hung between his knees. “Who are they?”
In the distance, a grandfather clock played through its haunting melody, the hours counted down by the slam of hammers against the chimes. By the time the tenth hour was counted, a hollow echo of sound was left floating in the room. I shook my head, refusing to answer.
“Come here.”
“Mr. Carter, this is ridiculous. I’m not-“
“I said come here. Don’t make me say it again.”
I felt tugged forward by his controlled tone, my body reacting while my mind still fought that this was happening. I wasn’t a child. Spankings weren’t something done to women my age.
On trembling legs, I stood and crossed the room slowly, his eyes refusing to release mine. He waited until I was within arm’s reach to crane his neck and repeat my options.
“I told you it was your choice.” Straightening his posture, he said, “Tell me who they were or lay your body over my lap to be disciplined.”
“This is insane.” My voice was barely a whisper.
“You don’t know the half of it. Now choose.”
I could leave. It wasn’t like he could hold me captive. What would he do if I just turned around and walked out?
He’d expel me from the program, and with the information he already had on me, with what he’d already seen me do, any rules I could turn to about interactions between student and teacher would be tossed out a window. Sure, he’d be replaced by someone else, but it wasn’t like he needed the job.
The only person who needed to stay there was me.
Stepping forward, I held my breath and lined my body up at the side of his lap. Lennon’s eyes watched me closely, his mouth a tight line. With a huff of indignant breath, I lowered myself down to lie across his lap, my breasts hanging over the right leg as my ass hung over the left.
A twitch of the muscle in his thigh was his only response for several seconds, a heavy breath expelled above me before his fingertips ran up the back of my thigh to lift my skirt above my hips.
Blood rushed to my head, my body trembling with fear of the pain, embarrassment for the exposure, and anticipation of his touch.
“Say please.”
I swallowed, tears already welling in my eyes. “Please.”
The first strike was a sharp clap of sound tearing through the room, my body jolting forward as fire spread across my skin. I bit my lip, tears dripping down to the floor beneath me, a heavy exhalation of breath bursting from my chest. Disbelief raced through me to dance with the pain his hand had inflicted.
“Will you tell me who they were now?” His voice was gritty and dark, so controlled that it forced shivers up my spine.
Shaking my head, I clenched my eyes shut and refused.
As I struggled to remember how to breathe again, he rubbed his palm over the sore skin, pulling it away before repeating, “Say please.”
My body quaked, everything inside me refusing what was happening, a tidal wave rushing with such speed that I couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think. Despite it all, the word slipped free. “Please.”
Another strike on the opposite cheek and my mouth opened on a silent cry, the sound trapped in my throat, my eyes wide.
Endorphins flooded my veins, the room spinning. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Except, it was, and as my tears continued to pour down my face, a surge of emotions coursed through me, like a floodgate had been opened and all the stress and heartache I carried came pouring out.
“Will you tell me now?”
I shook my head, refusing.
His warm palm rubbed the spot he’d struck. “Say please.”
The tears wouldn’t stop. “Please.”
A strike against the crease where my ass met my thigh and suddenly my head was too heavy, my body melting over his lap.
Warmth bloomed through me, expanding until I swore my skin blushed pink. I released a tremulous breath.
“Last chance before I give you three more strikes, Amelia. Tell me who they were.”
My hands splayed over the floor beneath my head. “I can’t.”
He didn’t make me say please again, his palm delivering three more strikes, each one harder than the other, a crescendo of sensation firing across every nerve ending until I was left helpless and shaking.
I couldn’t have shoved away if I’d wanted. Every muscle was weak, my thoughts chaotic.
Several seconds passed, the beat of time a slow crawl while my mind caught up to understand what had just happened.
It was like I was floating in some weightless place, my body trembling while a need surged through me that was foreign and unrecognizable. Warmth spread through my muscles, my lungs erratic in their attempt to draw in enough air.
For some reason, I didn’t want him to stop.
Mr. Carter’s voice was soft when he said, “Sit up.”
My arms and legs wouldn’t cooperate, but somehow Mr. Carter was able to help me up, turning me to cradle my shivering body over his lap and against his chest. Fingers gripping the material of his shirt, I submitted to the intensity of emotions ravaging me, my breath coming out on a tremulous shudder.
It was so cold except for the heat of his strong body, the silence between us soothing me until my eyes closed in need of sleep. With a gentle stroke, he rubbed my back, the beat of his heart a rhythmic thump against my ear.
Cheek pressed to the top of my head, he spoke, the words disembodied as if I were dreaming. “You have no idea how dangerous you are for me.”
Lips against my forehead, his breath was warm against my skin as he brushed the hair from my face.
“Did you like it?”
Unsure if he’d actually asked the question, I nodded my head, the admission surprising me.
I felt weightless, the experience an odd release, all my problems, the hell that was my life, gone while he held me.
“Damn it,” he whispered, his arms tightening over my body as he stood from the bench and carried me to the couch. Lying down beside me, he kept me cradled to him, his scent, his heat, his quiet strength surrounding me.
Without thinking, I ran my fingertips up the broad plane of his chest, indulging in the hard ridge of his collar bone, the warmth against my palm as my fingers slid through his hair to wrap around the back of his neck.
Arms tugging me close, Lennon breathed deeply, his shoulders becoming rigid when I tilted my head to kiss the line of his jaw, a teasing brush of my lips over the rough stubble of his skin. I didn’t know what possessed me to do it, didn’t know why I pressed closer to him and trembled to feel the hard length of his erection against my leg.
This wasn’t right.
A gritty warning, his fingertips trailing down my spine.
“We can’t-“
The sentence hung open-ended, his head turning until our mouths were a tempting inch apart. What was I doing? This was my teacher, my mentor, the man who could change his mind tomorrow and shove me away, destroying my dream of becoming a musician in the process.
It was stupid of me to tempt fate.
Still, I wanted to know what it was like to kiss him, wanted to experience his hands play over me with the same tender touch he used when stroking the keys.
It was the first time in my life that I’d ever wanted a man to touch me.
“Dangerous,” he whispered.
Lennon’s mouth brushed across mine, our breath mingling, the tease of a kiss hovering on my lips until he pressed down again and flicked his tongue against mine.
“Please,” I whispered against his lips, not understanding what I was asking for…or even why I was asking.
Lennon
Middle C.
An innocuous note when played; however its importance is tantamount to the dance between the treble and bass clefs.
It’s the first note we’re taught when learning the keys, the dividing line between what our left hand is doing as opposed to our right.
Standing in the absolute center, it is the precise point between what I view as male and female, the median that separates the harmonious or discordant steps of the dance. It is the precipice I always shuffle back to when the music inside me stops. It is a rest giving me a single moment to gather my breath, to decide whether to give up or move on.
Amelia had pinned me at Middle C, the prelude coming to a halt, the music silent with the question of whether I would venture forward into a flurry of decadent and obscene notes, or pull back and rip my hands from the keys.
She’d learned the one word that could undo my tenuous hold on control, and the only person who could be blamed for teaching it to her was me.
