Falling For The Forbidden

by Hawkins, Jessica

  “Stop thinking, dammit, and feel me.” He drives his cock against my leg, his breath catching in his throat. “Feel how much I want you. How much I want you with me. I’m not finishing without you.”

  An invisible wall crashes down inside me, and an outpour of quivering, overwhelming heat spills from my spine, detonates through my womb, and shatters every neuron in my body. The shock of it steals my breath, my back bowing against the force of so many new and frenzied sensations.

  “Ah God, there you go. So beautiful,” he rasps. “So fucking mine.” His fingers, hips, and breathy groans work in tandem, shoving me deeper into tingling bliss and shredding his voice. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

  He comes with a strangled shout, his body jerking as he rolls halfway on top of me and captures my mouth in a breathless kiss. His weight slouches against me, and the rocking of his hips ebbs into a lazy roll. His hand slips from between my legs, his chest heaving hard against mine. But his movements are slow, reverently gentle as he cups my jaw and kisses me into a languid, dreamy cosmos.

  I died somewhere between my release and his. And now I know how it feels to be alive.

  I can’t seem to move the muscles in my face to kiss him back. My skin is hot and slippery with perspiration, but who cares? Every inch of me is luxuriously numb, listless, and happy.

  He holds my gaze, his eyes wide and mesmerizing as he chokes a jagged sound against my lips. “Now I know why you’re illegal.”

  Emeric

  I lift Ivory’s beautifully exhausted limbs, molding my hands around her flexuous curves and touching more than required to slip the shirt off her arms. “Still with me, sleepy girl?”

  Her hooded brown eyes make a sluggish climb over my mouth before meeting my gaze. “Mm.”

  My smile is so deep, I feel it in my lungs like a nourishing breath. There’s no limit to what I would do to put that look on her face every night. But what are her limits? What is she willing to gamble? Her education? Her future?

  If she’s caught in my house, I’m the one at risk. I’m the adult, taking advantage of a student, a victim. While I might end up fighting a legal battle, she would be safe from all blame.

  When I pull my head together, I’ll figure out a plan. But right now, her safety far outweighs the consequences I might endure.

  I remove the rest of her clothes. When I toss the final scrap to the floor, I’m left with a view so fucking tantalizing I couldn’t have dreamed it—and hell knows I tried for weeks.

  Sprawled in my bed, her nude hourglass figure beckons every masculine nerve, organ, and connective tissue in my body. From her wet mouth and the slackness in her muscles to her abundant chest and flushed clit, she draws me in and holds me in mindless fascination.

  She hasn’t said a word since she came on my fingers. She seems to be in shock. Or soaring in bliss. Definitely in awe, given the widening of her eyes as she slides a hand between her legs and feels the swollen flesh of her pussy.

  Christ almighty, she’s innocence wrapped in sin.

  The innocent part rattles me the most. Not only have I crossed the line as her teacher, there’s a ten-year age difference between us. Add to that her abusive past and the ruthless dominating way I fuck, and we’re navigating a land mine. If I move too fast or make the wrong step, the consequences will be devastating.

  I run my fingers over hers, brushing the dark curls on her cunt. “Don’t shave this.”

  She glances at our hands and returns to my face. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to feel like I’m—” Touching a little girl. “You’re young, Ivory. I don’t need any more reminders.”

  “I’ve been with a lot of guys older than you.” Her cheeks bloom with heat, and she pulls her hand away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  The impulse to demand she never mention other men burns in my throat, but I bite it back. “If you need to talk about it, about them, I want to be the person you turn to.” I kiss her lips and trail my finger over her pussy. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” She grips my wrist and squeezes. “Thank you.”

  I slip off the bed and swat her thigh. “Up.”

  Ten minutes later, steam drenches the bathroom, fogging my reflection in the mirror as well as the shower door behind me. The splash of water against tiles broadcasts her movements as the woodsy scent of my shampoo infuses my inhales. There’s something deeply satisfying about her using my things, smelling like me, and making herself at home in my space.

  While she showers, I wash my dick at the sink, both appalled and riveted by the fact that I jizzed in my briefs. I haven’t done that since high school. But it shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve been jacking off like a fucking fiend for weeks.

  It takes every ounce of restraint I have left to not join her in the shower. I want to fuck her thoroughly, completely, and in every way imaginable, but I have to prove to her I’m not like the others. Every step with her is a risk, and there are still so many unanswered questions.

  I clean my knuckles and lather them in antibiotic cream from the supplies beneath the sink. “Are you on birth control?”

  Her misty silhouette freezes behind the shower door. “No.”

  I turn to face her, straining to make out the shape of her body in the curl of steam. “Do you use condoms?”

  She presses a palm against the glass door, as if to steady herself. “When I can.”

  My fist clenches, but the next thing I punch should be my own stupid mouth. Could I be anymore heartless? Of course, she doesn’t always use condoms. If a man doesn’t stop at no, he’s certainly not pausing to wrap up.

  I manage to hold my temper in, but the rapid-fire of my pulse and the rage scorching up my spine propels me out of the bathroom.

  “I’ll set out something for you to wear,” I shout from the bedroom. “Meet me in the kitchen.”

  Tossing one of my t-shirts on the bed for her, I strip my clothes and drag on a pair of flannel pants.

  On my way out, I grab my phone and make a call to my dad’s clinic. As expected, it goes to voice mail. My bare feet pad down the carpeted stairs and into the kitchen as I tell the recorder who I am and what I require.

  I could’ve called my dad to schedule her appointment, but I don’t want to field his questions tonight. Not when I still don’t have all the answers.

  By the time she emerges in the kitchen doorway, I have two plates of heated linguine carbonara set out on the island.

  She hovers on the threshold, her deep brown eyes darting between the food and my bare chest. Her expression creases with every emotion in existence before softening with a smile. “You cooked?”

  “My catering service did.” I grab two glasses and a pitcher of sweet tea. “The oven warmed it up.”

  She approaches the island, tugging the mid-thigh shirt down her tanned legs. Her long wet hair soaks the white cotton against her chest, revealing taut nipples and delicate shoulders. I find it impossible to look away. It’s as if every fiber of my being is tied to hers, and every movement she makes moves me, pulling me closer, deeper.

  I never stood a chance.

  “Thank you.” She sits on the bar stool, tucking the hem of the shirt between her legs. “This smells incredible.”

  I settle on the stool beside her, twisting to face her, and stab a fork into the noodles.

  Her eyes return to my chest.

  I arch a brow. “What?”

  She holds a finger in front of me, tapping the air as her concentration travels from my shoulders to my waist.

  Is she counting?

  Fuck me, my pecs bounce. All she has to do is look at me and my body reacts.

  She drops her hand and turns to her dinner, mumbling, “Twelve indentations and ten muscly bumps.”

  I glance down, trying to make sense of her numbers. I spend two hours a day, seven days a week in my home gym, honing my physique into tiptop shape for the same reason every other guy works out. To get laid. But now I want to hit the weights just to watch her count my
muscles again.

  She sucks a noodle off her fork, grinning. “You don’t look like a teacher.”

  “You don’t look like a student.”

  Her smile disintegrates.

  I wipe a hand down my face, wishing I could call back those words. How many times have her looks attracted the wrong kind of attention? She attracted me.

  She waves her fork up and down the length of my body. “You’d make more money modeling than teaching.”

  “Do I look like I need money?”

  “Good point.” She scans the kitchen, taking in the high-end appliances that never get used. She doesn’t ask about the source of my wealth, but I know she’s wondering.

  I swallow a buttery bite of pasta and twirl more noodles around my fork. “My family holds the patent on the wooden bracings in pianos.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Really. So money is not my incentive for working.”

  “Why work at all? You could live on a yacht, drink rum, and grow a smelly beard.” Her eyebrows lift. “Like a pirate.”

  “A pirate.” My lips twitch. “As appealing as that sounds, boredom doesn’t suit me.” I would lose my fucking mind. “I need challenge and self-earned success, and I find those things playing piano, teaching…” I give her a narrowed look. “And disciplining.”

  Her eyes flicker. “You’re very good at that last one.”

  “But not the others?”

  A sly grin pulls at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve never heard you play.”

  “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 mine, 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.”