How can I not look? It’s genetic programming, and Ivory has great fucking tits.
One corner of her mouth lifts in a seductive smirk. “See you in class, Mr. Marceaux.”
She walks away, leaving me with no fucking oxygen in the car. I roll down the window and rev the engine a few times to get her attention.
Glancing over her shoulder, she tucks her grin between nibbling teeth. “Are you trying to race me or impress me?”
I just wanted to see her smile one more time. Now I can breathe again.
Emeric
I spend the day listening for whispers and paying close attention to subtle expressions. Beverly Rivard greets me in the faculty lounge wearing a tight-lipped scowl of disdain. Nothing new there. Andrea Augustin watches me from a distance, wary and bruised. She’ll get over it. Prescott stays out of my way in the halls and slinks in his seat during class. He’s the one who concerns me the most. I humiliated him in front of Ivory last night, a horrendous blow to his boy ego. But if he opens his mouth, he has more to lose than his dignity.
In the classroom, Ivory maintains her demeanor as a student. She doesn’t hold my gaze too long. Doesn’t flirt or show affection. But the sexual tension between us hovers like an electric storm. If someone knew what to look for, they’d pick up on it. Prescott should have some inkling after the way I defended her, but he doesn’t dare look at her or me. For now, all I can do is keep him under my scrutinizing watch.
After Ivory’s private lessons, we return to her house. The starless sky and absence of light casts her street in a smudge of shadows.
Tucking the GTO into the same spot I used this morning, I take in the blackness beyond her windows. “No one’s home.”
“Guess not.” She opens the car door. “I’ll be quick.”
I turn off the engine and join her on the street.
She shakes her head and points back at the car. “Stay here. Someone might come home.”
It’s risky, but she’s not going into a dark house alone at night. Nor is she going to carry out a cat and all her belongings by herself. But in case her brother shows up, I need to prepare her for an unpleasant reintroduction.
I grab her hand and lead her to the front porch. “I met Shane a while back.”
“What?” She stops on the sidewalk and stares up at me with wide eyes. “When?”
I pull on her squeezing fingers, forcing her feet to follow me up the stairs. “He doesn’t know who I am, and sadly, he doesn’t know why I broke his nose.”
She gasps, her steps faltering, but I keep her moving.
“That was you?” Her brow draws down as she unlocks the door. A sigh billows past her lips. “Because of the cut on my lip.”
“No one hurts my girl.”
“I love when you say that,” she whispers softly.
With gentle hands, she straightens my tie, her fingers drifting down the silk before she turns away.
When she opens the door, the scent of stale cigarette smoke floods my nose.
A second later, an orange tabby races out of the dark depths and slows at her feet, purring like a motor and rubbing against her ankles.
She scoops him up, nuzzling his round head against her neck like he’s the most vital thing in the world.
I tuck my hands in my pockets and try to restrain my jealousy over a damn cat. “Are you going to let me in sometime tonight?”
“So impatient.” She flicks the wall switch and floods the small room with light. Then she holds the cat out to me and drops him in my arms, forcing me to take him. “I just need to grab his stuff.”
As she races through the line of doorways toward the back of the house, the fur ball in my hands sheds no less than a thousand orange hairs all over my suede jacket.
I step inside, glaring down at him. “Are you going to piss on my rugs?”
Round gold eyes blink lazily. Then he drags his hairy cheek across my chest, burrowing in.
I’ve never lived with a pet, but he seems friendly enough. The shedding, though…
“Can we shave this thing?” I shout toward the back room.
The creak of her footsteps pauses. “I thought you didn’t like shaved pussies.”
A grin stretches my face. Touché, my beautiful girl.
I carry Schubert through a tidy living room. It’s clean because there’s not a damn thing here but a cardboard box of clothes in the corner, a small end table, and a couch with sagging cushions. Continuing toward the back, I pass a bedroom, then another bedroom, both barely big enough to accommodate the mattresses on the floor and the mess of laundry and ashtrays.
Neither bedroom offers a hint of the girl I know. Ivory is organized, her clothes are simple and few, and she doesn’t smoke. Realization tightens my chest and quickens my steps.
I reach the last room, the kitchen, and find her lifting a pan of litter by the back door. “Where do you sleep?”
She grabs a few cans of cat food from the cluttered counter and walks past me into the closest bedroom. “This is my mom’s room.”
I trail behind her, stroking the cat and stirring up more loose hairs. My heart slams against my chest as I absorb the impoverished conditions she’s lived in. When she reaches the second bedroom, I know what she’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.
“Shane’s room.” She stares blankly at the piles of dirty clothes. “It used to be mine, but when my dad died, Shane moved back in. So…”
She continues forward, returning to the front room. My stomach caves in as I glare at the droopy sofa with new eyes.
“This is where I sleep.” She looks up at me expectedly. “Ready to go?”
I swallow down my anger with the reminder that she will never sleep on a goddamn couch again.
“That’s all you’re bringing?” I nod at the litter pan and cans of chow in her arms.
Her eyes lower to the cat purring against my chest, and she smiles warmly. “He’s all I have left here.”
As I drive out of her neighborhood, the tension in my muscles loosens with each block I put between her and that house. I’ve never felt more right about a decision than I do about this one.
With the cat crouched and mewing in the back seat, there’s only one thing left that will bring her back to Treme.
I make an unplanned stop, pulling up to the curb along the barred windows of the store.
She twists in the seat and searches my face. “What are we doing here?”
“The old man hasn’t seen you in a couple days. Go in there, give him your phone number, and tell him you’re safe.”
That wins me a huge smile before she leaps out and dashes inside.
An hour later, while dining in my kitchen over a spread of catered quesadillas, Ivory gives me her written list of bills. Just like I specified, it includes items she needs to buy, such as miscellaneous school supplies, deodorant, and tampons. I grin when I see birth control on the list.
She tries to tell me what I will and won’t do with her bills, but I shut her up with my lips fused to hers and my fingers in her cunt. Her back bows over the kitchen island, our empty plates rattling with the thrust of my hand. Two orgasms later, she stumbles into the living room to work on her homework, argument forgotten.
My bruised knuckles are still too tender to play piano, so I run on my treadmill, shower, and jack off to memories of her head tilted back, throat exposed, legs spread, writhing and vulnerable in my arms. Vulnerable to all the dirty, depraved things I fantasize about doing to every hole in her body. Christ, if she only knew what I have planned for her.
Before exiting the shower, I rub out another orgasm because fucking hell, I’ll be sleeping beside her tonight.
I tell myself she’s not ready for the kinky, savage way I fuck, but in the back of my mind, there’s an expiration date on my self-control. A date that’s attached to her doctor’s appointment on Saturday—only four days away. I have this strong coiling need to be with her without anything between us, including condoms. Once her test results confirm I can d
o that, all bets are off.
She moves to the bedroom to finish her homework with Schubert curled up beside her. I slip into my office and set up the payments to cover her family’s measly expenses. I consider paying off their mortgage. It would be easier, but fuck them. I’ll fund their bills until Ivory graduates, only because I don’t want to give them a reason to go looking for her. After that, they can sleep under a fucking bridge.
I reach out to my catering service and have them add Stogie to their daily route. He might refuse the food. Or maybe he’ll see it for what it is: my gratitude for offering Ivory a safe place to go all these years.
With that finished, I place a few more phone calls, find a reliable PI, and make contact. Ending the conversation, the investigator has very little to go on. A name. A license plate number. But he ensures me it’s enough.
By the end of the week, the PI proves his worth by providing everything I need to move forward.
I know exactly how I’ll deal with Lorenzo Gandara.
Ivory
Friday afternoon, I head toward my locker in Campus Center. Ellie hurries alongside me, going on about how I have a fast skip in my step. Rather than pointing out that her legs are shorter than mine, I slow my gait and playfully hip-check her.
“You seem different.” She smiles up at me, blinking angular brown eyes. “That’s all I’m saying.”
She hasn’t mentioned my new clothes. No, she’s too busy trying to find hidden meaning in the way I walk.
“You’re…lighter. You know, like easy breezy.” She springs ahead of me and bounces backward toward our lockers, her black ponytail whipping around her neck. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”
I don’t know what Emeric is, but it definitely doesn’t begin with boy. “So you think a guy is some magical remedy for weight loss? Or maybe you’re saying I’m gassy?”
She laughs and spins around to dial in her combination. “You’re so weird.”
I open my locker and find a small folded paper on top of the textbooks. With a huge smile, I reach in and touch it. Stroke it.
Emeric’s been leaving me notes all week. Just imagining him scrawling each one in his eloquent script and walking out of his way to slip it through the vent on my locker door sends a flutter through my chest.
Ellie stands a few feet away, distracted by her phone.
I hold the note inside the locker and unfold it.
I want you.
I wait for you.
You have me.
He makes my soul ache. I read it again, and my whole body aches. When I close my eyes, I hear his deep voice, feel his bruising touch, and taste the cinnamon on his breath. He’s with me, always surrounding me, lifting me. Damn, maybe I am more light-footed.
The click of heels approaches behind me. I wad up the note in my fist and glance over my shoulder.
Ann leans against the locker between Ellie and me and gives me a once-over. “The girls have been talking.”
Uh huh. She’s here, on behalf of the female population, to remind me that she’s prettier, smarter, and more popular.
I slide my hand into the satchel and drop the balled-up note. Then I shift to face her head-on, wearing the smile my dad always said was my greatest weapon.
Her sneer warps her smooth black skin and perfect features. “That’s a Dolce & Gabbana dress.”
I glance down at the yellow and white daisy print, loving how the A-line silhouette fits my body. “Okay.”
“Yesterday you wore Valentino. Day before that was Oscar de la Renta. For reals, Ivory. You’re a shoplifter now?”
Why couldn’t Emeric have just picked up some clothes from Wal-Mart? I wouldn’t have known the damn difference.
Because he doesn’t do anything unless it’s over-the-top.
Ellie steps beside me, hitching her humongous backpack over her shoulder. “Leave her alone, Ann.”
“It’s fine.” I nod in the direction of Crescent Hall. “I’ll catch up with you, okay?”
She gives me a sympathetic smile and heads toward our next class.
I turn back to Ann and contemplate a repulsive response, because it’s so much fun watching her squirm. I could tell her I fucked the store manager at Neiman Marcus. Is that where people go to buy these clothes? I don’t know, but that suggestion hits too close to my prior arrangements. Oh, I know… “I started selling my eggs.”
Her brown eyes bulge. “Your…what?”
“Eggs.” I shrug. “Who knew ovulation could be so lucrative? With my good looks and excellent SAT scores, the fertility center pays me double the going rate.”
She makes a gagging noise. “That’s disgusting.”
“So is your attitude.” I shut the locker and step around her. “But I’m deeply touched by how closely you pay attention to me. Brings new light on our friendship. Maybe we can go shopping and have sleepovers.” I’d rather be crushed by a twelve-hundred-pound piano. “We could get BFF necklaces—”
“You’re such a bitch.”
“—or not.” I pat her bony shoulder as I pass. “Thanks for keeping it real.”
Several hours later, I’m sitting behind the Steinway on the campus theater stage. Emeric moved my private lessons here a few days ago to get me comfortable with the acoustics. The Holiday Chamber Music Celebration is only a couple months away. As one of Le Moyne’s biggest performances, the ballet is open to the public and showcases the academy’s top musicians and dancers.
Piano is only a small piece of the production, but I would love to finally be part of it. Emeric still hasn’t announced who will fill that seat. He takes his job so seriously he’s not giving me any advantages just because we’re together. I have to earn it, and there isn’t an ounce of me that begrudges him that.
Even so, he has a frustrating way of making me wait for things.
When he joined me in the kitchen this morning, he told me it’s beautiful to see me waiting.
I will gladly go to exhaustion waiting for him. Waiting for his discipline. Waiting for his affection. Waiting for the unknown.
“Begin again.” His voice booms from the shadows of the tiered seats.
We have the theater to ourselves. He’s somewhere in the front row, but I can’t see him beyond the blinding stage lights.
Bending over the keyboard, I dive into Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker suite. My hands fly through the bursting tremolos, wrists snapping over the quickly-changing keys. I’ve played this piece so many times I know it by rote, my fingers moving of their own volition, seamlessly adapted with the notes.
As the dial on my watch reaches seven o’clock, perspiration licks my skin, and spasms twinge the joints in my shoulders and hands. Emeric has only interrupted me a few times to point out slip-ups. Hell, he’s been so quiet for the last hour I wonder if he left.
I pivot on the piano bench and squint against the lights. “Did you fall asleep out there?”
“No.” He clears his throat. “That was exquisite, Miss Westbrook.” His dark, deep-toned voice echoes through the theater. “This stage isn’t big enough for you.”
Tendrils of warmth unfurl inside me, spiraling along my arms, between my breasts, and around my spine.
“How about the stage at Leopold?” I tilt my head, blinking against the lights. “You know, since that’s where I’m going.”
“Leopold is just an idea stuck in your head. Think bigger. Better.”
Better than the best conservatory? I purse my lips. “Like what?”
“There’s not an audience in the world big enough to contain you. But you need one passionate enough to hold you.”
Wow. I’ve never thought of it like that before.
“Come here.”
It’s a command he would give to any of his students, like sit down, stop talking, answer the question. But to me, it holds a deeper meaning, one that doesn’t belong within the walls of a school.
My thighs quake as I stand from the bench. My breaths tighten as I move toward him, down the stage steps and
into the darkness of the empty seats.
He sits off to the side in the front row, just beyond the edge of light. With an ankle propped on his knee and forearms draped over the arm rests, he’s a picture of calm self-possession. But his eyes are steely and focused, drilling into mine.
I stop within arm’s reach, and my attention drops to the long, hard length rising in his slacks.
“Ivory.” His sultry tone snaps my head up.
I rub the back of my neck. “You’re…um, hard. Because of my performance?”
“Everything you do turns me on,” he whispers. “Especially the feminine motion of your body when you play. I want you naked, sitting at my piano and rolling your hips like you’re fucking the notes.”
A thunderbolt of heat shoots between my legs, lighting up every inch of me. I want to free him from his pants and feel the weight of his cock in my hands. In my mouth.
He strokes a finger over his bottom lip. “The soloist position in the ballet is yours.”
A sigh of happiness tingles through my limbs. “Thank you.”
“I love when you’re grateful.” He licks his bottom lip. “But you earned this, Ivory. You’re going to steal the show.”
His words commend my talent, but the smoldering flicker in his eyes appreciates all of me as his gaze traces the lines of my body and probes beneath my skin. He knows me on a deeper level, better than anyone, and he likes what he sees inside me.
A sudden and very specific need resonates through my chest, sparked from the marrow of my being. A need to satisfy him, to feel the power in giving him that gift.
I tug at the foot propped on his knee until he lowers it to the floor. He shifts to stand, but I stop him with my hands on his rock-hard thighs. Then I kneel between his spread legs.
He grabs my hair, his tone stern with warning. “Ivory.”
With a surge of bravery, I grip his cock through the trousers, touching him for the first time. “I want to taste this.”
“Fuck.” His exhale ricochets through the vast room. The hand in my hair pulls, pinching pain across my scalp. “Not here.”
Falling For The Forbidden Page 23
