by Autumn Grey
I nod, forcing a smile.
“I need you to trust me and know that I will never hurt you intentionally. As long as we are doing this. . . whatever this is we are doing, I hope you will consider letting me in. Let me take care of you.”
I squint at him, wondering what it is about him that makes me believe his words. “I already trust you. I have told you things my own sisters don’t know about me. I never told them about what Rick did to me because I was so humiliated.”
Growing up, I vowed to myself I’d never let any man lay a hand on me or hurt me with words like my father used to do. I’d failed miserably when I started dating Rick and also my boyfriend before that.
After the incident with that bastard, I signed up for counseling sessions with Rushmore’s therapist. It took me a long time to stop excusing him for what he did.
“Where is that son of a bitch now?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I filed a restraining order seven months ago.” I don’t tell him what Amber told me about Rick being back. He already knows that part of my life that I didn’t intend to share in the first place.
But then he held me.
Made me feel safe.
He takes my hands into his. “You mentioned your father.”
I stiffen in his arms and close my eyes. “He was a bastard.” The words are harsh and final.
He doesn’t say anything after that, just lets go of me and pushes me gently to lie down. Then, he straddles my hips, kissing every inch of my back. “Beautiful tattoo. Any special meaning behind it?”
I nod, my fingers curled around the sheets. “When I was little, I used to feel trapped in my own existence. My life. Playing the cello makes me feel free, like I’m soaring through the sky. Every time I feel like I’m tethered to this earth, I remind myself that anything is possible and that one day I’ll find my wings and fly.”
“You already found your wings, and they are beautiful,” he says into my skin. “You’re fierce and brave, Little Wolf.”
“Why do you call me that?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him, moaning when his hand skims my inner thigh.
“You’re not afraid of talking back to me, especially when I’m being an asshole. God, do you know how stunning you look when you are angry and fire flashes in your eyes?” He bites one cheek, staring at me under his lashes. “Quiet, until provoked.”
Then, Nate drapes his body over mine, his left elbow propping his upper body up, keeping most of the weight off his right shoulder and at the same time pinning me on the mattress with his lower body. I’m at his mercy, writhing beneath him as he plays me like a cello, strumming me with his tongue and teeth. His fingers lock around my hair, firmly tugging me back to meet his mouth.
God, this man can kiss. And he does it like he was born to make love to my mouth and only mine.
Suddenly he is on fire, greedily kissing me everywhere, as if he’s apologizing for my past, showing me how being treated right feels like.
A sob slips from my mouth, but it doesn’t stop him. In fact, it seems to fuel his ministrations, altering my reality and rearranging my thoughts. It’s kind of scary because, after Rick left and before Nate’s arrival, I never thought any man would make me feel like this.
He pauses long enough to pull a condom from the nightstand.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He’s back behind me, thrusting into me, groaning, his lips on my ear telling me how good it feels to be inside my tight pussy, how tight I am. He knows what I need, and he’s going to give it to me. His arm circles me and he clutches my boob in his hand. Shifting to the left, he anchors our bodies with his hip before he makes love to me excruciatingly slowly, his grip on my hair hovering between gentle and rough. His scruff, his teeth, his mouth. . .he’s consuming me, making me realize I hadn’t lived until his mouth was on mine, until he was buried inside me.
“Nate!” I breathe.
“Give it to me,” he growls into my ear, thrusting with gentle, deep strokes as he makes love to me.
“Oh God! I’m coming!”
His hand moves to my hip, grips hard as his thighs flex, and I’m spiraling out of control, shouting Nate’s name, soaring across a star-kissed sky. He’s still murmuring encouragement when I finally come down from my high, staring at me like. . .like I’m his forever.
Before I can collect my thoughts, he’s pumping into me viciously, then stiffens, his warm breath feathering my neck, calling my name over and over in a husky voice, his body shaking from the force of his orgasm.
When our inhales and exhales are in synchrony, he pulls out of me and kisses my shoulder. He grimaces as he gets on his feet, favoring his right shoulder as he heads to the bathroom. After disposing the condom, he returns and spoons me.
He buries his face into my neck, inhaling deeply, then says in a sleepy voice, “After three years of feeling as if my lungs would never consume oxygen again, I can finally breathe.”
My body stills. My thoughts freeze.
Seconds later, he exhales slowly as his breathing evens out.
My thoughts burst into chaos, flight mode activated, but he’s holding me like he’s never going to let me go.
I’m terrified out of my mind because stuff like this only happens in my dreams or in fiction. The man draped all over me with his big hand clutching my boob is too real, too good to be true. He’s also my professor. And he just rocked my reality with a few simple words.
God.
Being here, being in his arms is everything.
Before my sensible brain sabotages my reckless heart, I snuggle deeper into him and savor his scent, his closeness, knowing that tomorrow morning, this will be over.
“Shit. shit shit!”
The whispered words in a panicked voice rouse me from my deep sleep. Elon is no longer nestled in my arm like she was two hours ago when I woke up to make sure she hadn’t made a run for it while I slept. My poor ego wouldn’t have survived the blow. And also, for some weird reason I cannot explain, I wanted her face to be the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.
Whatever has her freaking out must be colossal to make her thoughts spin around inside that pretty head of hers.
Finally, I pop my eyes open, and I’m met with a round ass covered in hot pink, cotton panties pointing to the ceiling. I imagine climbing out of bed, yanking the material down and taking her from behind, and my dick responds like a champ.
“I hope you’re not planning on sneaking out without a goodbye, Miss Blake,” I say.
She squeaks and spins around, her hair flying to her face, blocking her view. She tucks a lock behind her ear and greets me animatedly. “Hey! Hi, you’re awake.”
Her eyes scan the room before zeroing in on the couch. Relief washes over her face as she practically sprints forward.
“What’s going on?” I ask, swinging my legs out of bed.
I have a rough idea why she looks like she’s about to jump out of her skin.
She is spooked. Scared as fuck. Just like last night when she told me about that little shit excuse of an ex-boyfriend. And when I spouted those words about finally being able to breathe, I could swear if I wasn’t caging her with my arms, she’d be gone by now. I won’t even begin to evaluate my reasons behind speaking those words, otherwise I’ll just be as spooked as she is.
After Camille, I never thought I would ever feel that kind of pull with someone else. Something beyond mere sex. It’s terrifying, but more than that, it gives my heart that extra beat, just enough to make me feel alive.
I watch her for a few seconds before standing up and walking over to her. I block her path with my body and take her hands in mine.
“Take a deep breath, okay?” I instruct her. She nods and sucks a deep breath, blows it out through her mouth. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m running late for my tutoring class. I’m never late for class.”
“What time is your class?”
Her head whi
ps in the direction of the alarm clock. “Nine-thirty. I have less than thirty minutes to go home, shower and change.”
She pulls her hands from mine, grabs her skirt and wiggles her sweet ass into it and zips it up, but then her face suddenly goes pale and her body sways. Her stomach grumbles, causing her eyes to widen. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
I walk over to the dresser, pull out a pair of faded jeans and T-shirt, and slip them on, then take her hand and leave the room.
We enter the living room, which is designed in an open-plan style. I point to one of the chairs in the living room. “Sit.”
She doesn’t argue with me and sits primly, drumming her fingers on her thighs.
I watch her for a few seconds, wanting more than anything to comfort her, but I have a feeling she needs distraction more than being reassured.
“Coffee or tea?”
She blinks at me, surprised by my question. She answers, “Coffee. With cream.”
I head to the kitchen, feeling her eyes on me the entire way. When I glance back, she’s practically drooling at my ass.
“That look could get you into a lot of trouble,” I tease.
The flush already on her cheeks deepens as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and brings her eyes to mine. I could swear I hear a sigh when I smirk at her.
I return with a mug of coffee and a plate of Nutella bread cut in the middle like I’ve seen her eating at the office.
“Here you go.”
She beams up at me as she takes the plate from me. She plows through the bread like she’s starving, then gulps down the coffee
Christ, I can’t stop looking at her. Disheveled hair or not, she’s beautiful.
“Come back after your class?”
She shakes her head while hopping up from the chair. “I’m driving home later. I’ll see you in class Monday.”
Last night, we were passion and heat. Now, she is distant and edgy. Seeing her like this leaves a bad taste in my mouth. She’s already in my blood like a drug that won’t be drained.
As if reading my mind, she doubles back, stands on her tiptoes and seals her mouth over mine. The kiss is short but hot, knocking the wind out of me.
I watch her as she slides her cello to her back, grabs her bag and rushes out the door.
I could have easily hauled her ass back to bed and given her something to remember me by. But from the speed her legs were carrying her to the door, I couldn’t chase her. Not yet anyway. I know she will be back because, like me, she wants more of last night.
From the moment I laid eyes on Elon, I knew I was in trouble. And if what I’m feeling right now shows on my face, then Elizabeth was right. I did look at her the same way I used to look at her daughter.
I need to be careful.
The sound of a phone ringing in the direction of my room jolts me from my thoughts. I walk back to my bedroom and answer the phone, catching Bennett’s name flashing on the screen.
Shit. I forgot we had plans to take Matthew to drafting day for the Burlington Little League at the Burlington Sports Club.
“Yo,” he greets. “You coming or what?”
“Give me ten minutes.”
He grunts something under his breath, before saying, “Make it five. I need you to hold me back before I murder the coach.”
I laugh and end the call.
After a quick shower and downing coffee, I shoot a quick message to Elon to check if she got home safely, then grab my keys, shove my medication in my jacket pocket and head out.
THE SECOND I WALK INSIDE the apartment, Amber dashes out of her room and throws her arms around me, knocking me back a couple of steps. She mutters, “Thank God, you are okay.”
I hug her back tightly, feeling guilty and trying to come up with an excuse for where I spent the night. Last night she and Alex were supposed to go to a party, then she was going to spend the weekend with him at his parents’ house.
Crap.
She pulls back, her eyes roaming my face, the worry in them cutting through me like a knife. “Where have you been? I tried calling you several times and your phone just kept ringing, then going to voicemail.” She stops and inhales deeply. “I thought something happened to you. You better have a good excuse, E.”
I checked my phone for any missed calls or messages after leaving Nate’s place, but it had already shut off. The battery must have drained again, even though I’d charged it during my tutoring class. I’ve been saving to get a new phone for a while now, but between Josh being sick and helping Nor with the bills, and also paying half of the bills for this apartment, a cell phone wasn’t high on my list of priorities.
I can’t tell her I was at Nick’s place. She already knows what happened between us.
My heart races at the thought of her finding out about Nate. I move away from her arms and hurry toward my room. “Can we talk about this later? I’m late for my class.”
“Elon.” I’ve never heard her use that tone of voice before, which is why I stop and face her again, trying hard not to squirm under her concerned gaze. “I was worried.” Her voice breaks as she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.
I’m a world-class jerk.
“I’m so sorry for worrying you. I didn’t mean—” She suddenly leans forward, sniffing me. “What are you doing?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You smell like sex.”
“What?” I blurt out in a nervous squeak.
Of course she’d know what sex smells like since she gets laid on a daily basis. I’m sure the blush on my face is a level-ten alarm right now. I curse my phone for dying on me.
Outwardly, I roll my eyes and mumble while continuing my journey to my room. “Yeah, like I’d be so lucky. I thought you were supposed to be with Alex.”
“Elise called me when she couldn’t get you on the phone, so I told her I’d come home and check if you were okay,” she explains, staring at me as if she’s trying to read me. “Holy shit! You totally got laid!” She hoots loudly, clapping and jumping. “Was it Mr. Crotch Grabber? Dude, this is good.”
I show her my back as I prop my cello and bag against my desk, hurry to the white dresser and pull out a black T-shirt, bra and panties and leave the room again. Amber’s feet pad behind me as she rambles on about making up for all the times I’ve gone without sex. I stop abruptly at the bathroom door, causing her to bump into me, and turn around.
“Unless you want to join me in the shower, then by all means come in and strip.” I raise a brow in question.
She takes a step back, snickering. “Someone is letting their freak flag fly. Okay, first tell me who’s ding dong you rode all night.”
“I can’t do this right now.” My voice comes out harsher than I intend. She flinches, the smile fading fast. “Shit, I’m sorry. Look, can we talk about this another time? I’m almost late for class—”
“Fine. Whatever.” She flicks her blonde hair back, turns and marches away with her shoulders curled around her as if to protect herself from a blow.
“Amber—”
She pauses long enough to look at me over her shoulder and mutters, “It’s okay,” before disappearing into her room.
I rub my face with my hands, groaning under my breath. Not only am I breaking the rules and endangering my position at Rushmore, I’m the worst friend ever. First Nick and now Amber.
The thought of my friends being upset with me makes my nose sting and my eyes burn with tears. I don’t have many friends, and losing the few I have makes my heart twist in my chest.
I’ve played by the rules my entire life, and the second I step out of line, pieces of my life start collapsing like dominoes.
How the hell am I going to sort this out?
Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind for now, I strip off my clothes and toss them in the hamper before hopping in the shower.
After taking the shortest shower in the history of showers, I rush out of my room, dressed in my T-shirt and faded jeans with my towel
-dried hair pinned up in a bun. I duck my head inside Amber’s room to say goodbye, but it’s empty. She must have left while I was in the bathroom. I grab my cello and bag and leave the apartment, the tightness in my chest getting worse as I hop inside my car.
Seven minutes later, I pull into the parking lot Studio 22 shares with Burlington Sports Club. I hop out, grab my stuff and dash into the building. I arrive in class with only two minutes to spare, plug my phone into the charger and concentrate on teaching two different classes filled with ten-year-olds for the next three hours, momentarily distracted from the issues plaguing my life.
“It’s about time you got your ass here,” Bennett declares as soon as I sit next to him on the bleachers.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter under my breath, propping my elbows on my parted knees and clasping my hands between my legs. “How’s the game going?” I ask, searching the field for Matthew.
I spot him running around in circles in his white uniform, his cap barely sitting properly atop the massive curls on his head. The coach yells his name, waving animatedly, but two more boys join my nephew and run off in the other direction
“Jesus,” I chuckle under my breath. “No wonder the coach looks like he’s about to have a fit.”
“He can’t seem to control the kids. He’s as useless as tits on a nun.”
I turn to look at him, my brow raised. “Ouch. Someone’s grouchy this morning. Did Izzy forget to kiss your boo-boos today?” I flash him an evil grin.
“Shut up, asshole.” He rubs his face, then glares at me with bloodshot eyes. “Izzy was having pains last night, so we went to the hospital to make sure everything was okay. The doctor put her on bed rest for at least two weeks.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you call me?”
He shrugs and says, “She threatened to cut off my balls if I called you. I happen to love my balls where they are.” He inhales deeply. “My mom drove over and stayed with the kids until we came back around three in the morning.”
“Christ.” I drag my fingers through my hair, massaging my neck as I worry. Unlike previous pregnancies, this one seems to be taking a toll on Izzy, and I’m worried about her.
