Indisputable

by A. M. Wilson

  I don’t know what this means for us. I’m sure it’ll be the center stage topic tonight. All I know is having a taste of Jacoby has awakened a pool of need inside of me that I didn’t know existed, or thought I could live without. But as my body still shivers inside from the loss of contact, I know I was terribly wrong. I have a newfound thirst that is begging to be quenched.

  Because the entire night at work, I couldn’t shake the thought of his hands on my body, his lips on my lips, his eyes staring into mine. Like a slide show on repeat, I replayed the moments: the fight, the passion, the flood of desire, over and over and over. I watched, as if experiencing an out of body moment, as passion exploded from my every pore when I leapt into his arms. As I tried to soak in all that is Jacoby.

  The palpable heat from the moment consumed me, wrapping around my heart, and even hours later I can still feel it throbbing along with every life-giving thump.

  This is bad. So, so bad.

  The line between hate and love is so damn thin that without even realizing it, without a conscious effort, I flitted from one side to the next. I danced that silken thread too carelessly and my feet left the zone of safety and traveled into the unknown.

  Danger.

  Whereas, I thought I hated him, the passion inside me grew into an intense level until it had no choice but to release itself before I imploded. But that release wasn’t out of anger. All that came out was the love I’ve fought for years to keep restrained.

  I don’t hate Jacoby—not even close. I don’t think I ever did. But instead of the cliché static electricity, mind blowing, pulsing attraction I always thought I’d feel, my attraction to him was so thick, so suffocating that I mistook it and used it to fuel an imaginary annoyance. A fictional hatred I concocted to fulfill the notion that I am unlovable. I didn’t want to get hurt, so I tried to hurt him first. I only hope he can forgive me.

  Now, my body shudders as I wait for Jacoby to open the door, the September night holding an uncharacteristic deathly chill. When I hear his feet shuffle from the other side, my heart gives an involuntary leap into my throat. He opens the door, and his bright smiling eyes catch me off guard, sticking the words I was about to say behind my lodged heart. Those soft pink lips of his quirk up on one side, and I have to swallow several times before I can speak.

  “Hey,” is all I can seem to muster, anxiousness and embarrassment stealing my ability to think.

  He chuckles a soft, sexy cadence, opening the door wider to let me in. “Hey, come on in. It’s freezing,” he responds.

  As I cross the threshold, this feels different from the other times I’ve been here. The lines are both more relaxed and more restrained. We’ve crossed one boundary but how far are we going to take it? Was it enough to just acknowledge the attraction we have for one another? Is there even a chance for a relationship beyond that of teacher/student? The map of my moral structure has been so far skewed, I’m not sure I’m capable of making such a decision. Where is the line between right and wrong, and have we crossed the point of no return?

  “Where’d you go, Tatum?” Jacoby’s soft voice releases me from the questions bouncing around my head. How long have I been standing in his entry way while my mind’s been off in La La land?

  “Sorry, did you say something?”

  Jacoby brings his warm palm to my cheek, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin of my temple. A contented sigh bubbles within my throat. When he doesn’t speak, I raise my eyes to meet his, and the concern and warmth I see there is overwhelming.

  “You seem distracted. Are you alright?”

  I swallow against the emotion blocking my airway. This feels so, so…like something I don’t deserve.

  My chest constricts painfully, and I feel as though I’m not getting enough air. I nod my head to his question, desperate to keep the direction of my thoughts a secret. Jacoby doesn’t look convinced, but he smiles and nods his head anyway.

  “Come on, then. Come sit down with me.” He leans forward, kissing my forehead, before holding his hand out for mine. Tingles erupt from the contact of his lips, bathing my body in that electrical current I thought was broken.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tatum

  Once again I find myself sitting on Jacoby’s ridiculously comfortable sectional, except this time I’m in my own spot and not curled up in his lap. My hands fidget restlessly with the bottle of water he gave me, making an obnoxiously loud crinkling sound fill the silence of the room. I don’t know what to say; I don’t know what to do. Being here has so many emotions fighting inside my skull for dominance. I’m excited he’s asked me over, dying to kiss him again, terrified what this conversation is going to be about. I don’t even want to begin thinking about the text messages he read on my phone.

  But I have to start somewhere. The silence is devouring my nerves making them frayed and jumpy.

  Looking up at him I stare, my lips parting as I watch him take a hefty pull from his beer. The muscles of his throat work in perfect time to his swallows, the skin gliding up and down over his corded throat and the slight ridge of his Adam’s apple. It makes my own mouth dry up like a puddle in the desert, and I want to climb on his lap and taste him in order to quench my thirst.

  We’re close; not so close that we’re touching but within arm’s length of one another. So when Jacoby pauses with the bottle to his lips, catching me staring out of the corner of his eye and quirks an eyebrow at me, I know he can see the rapidly spreading flush covering the crests of my cheeks.

  His beer bottle hits the coffee table with a loud thunk, and I jump. I need to get control of myself before I scare him off. He drapes a long, tanned arm across the back of the couch and begins twirling a tendril of my hair around his finger, watching his movements as if it’s the most intriguing show on Broadway.

  “It’s so soft.”

  “What?” I reply, lost in the gentle tugs against my scalp, which feel surprisingly soothing.

  “Your hair. It’s silky soft.”

  I’d have to be blind to miss the hooded, soft look of his eyes as he continues playing with my hair. My stomach pirouettes in the most enticing way.

  “So,” I begin, stalling but knowing this conversation needs to happen before I bolt and catch the next plane to Florida. “You asked me to come, now I’m here. What do you want to talk about?”

  Jacoby’s hand never falters as he shifts his eyes from his ministrations to look at my face. He studies me for a moment before he speaks.

  “I think we have a lot to talk about, don’t you?”

  “Um, okay. But you start.” I press my palms together between my thighs to try to control the trembling of my fingers. I don’t know why this conversation has me so on edge, but I’m freaking the hell out.

  “You want to tell me what’s up with those text messages from your friend?”

  No, no I do not. He wasn’t supposed to find out about that. And I can’t even get pissed at Em, because she thought she was talking to me.

  “I’m guessing from this afternoon, you got the gist of it,” I mutter, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. I guess I can’t really be mad at him, either. His snooping invaded my privacy, but he was looking out for me from Wyatt.

  His eyes caress a heated trail across my face as he studies me.

  “I got the gist of it alright. But, Sweetheart, what I want to know is why?”

  My chin jerks down towards my throat. “Why?” I ask back, my brain not processing his question. It’s obvious, isn’t it?

  Two strong, beautiful hands attached to an even more beautiful man gently grasp either side of my head, his thumbs softly stroking the hollows of my cheeks. The feel of him, the soft concern reflected in the espresso pools of his eyes has a dizzying effect. I want to face plant in his chest and not move until I have to come up for air.

  “You aren’t getting it. You are safe with me. I won’t let anything, or anyone, hurt you. So having said that more than once, yeah, I’m asking you why? Why go throu
gh that danger, that trouble, when I’m here to protect you?”

  My saliva feels like sludge, thick and sticky in my throat, and it takes several tries to swallow it down before my tongue is unglued enough to speak.

  “Jacoby,” I whisper, overcome with a desperate need to have this man protect me. My heart is threatening to escape my chest with each rapid thump. But even feeling a desperation strong enough to bring me to my knees and beg for his protection, I know my body is stupid. It lies to me. Makes me feel things that I’m not allowed to feel. With each breath, I remember I’m all alone in this world, and I have nobody to rely on but myself.

  I try to soften my rejection, and my voice comes out winded when I tell him more of the truth than I intended.

  “I don’t need your protection. The only person I can rely on is me.”

  “Tatum—ˮ

  “No! Please listen to me.” Jacoby closes his mouth, but his eyes still watch me warily, as if he’s not sure I’m about to lay it on him or bolt from his house.

  “You saved me. If you hadn’t shown up last Friday, I can only guess what would have happened and what that would do to me. You were here for me when I had nobody. I hear you, okay? I hear what you’re offering me. But what you have to realize is that I’ve only ever relied on myself. I take care of myself and life has shown me that no matter how hard I want to believe someone else will be there to carry the load, when the time comes, I’m always alone.

  “I bought the gun as a precaution. Was it illegal and stupid the way I went about it? Yeah. I’ll admit that. But it’s not the first time I’ve had to put myself in danger in order to make myself safer. It’s a double edged sword. You’re here now, and I have no doubt you can keep me safe if I need it, but what happens next week? Next month? However long it takes for you to realize I’m not worth it and disappear? Where does that leave me?”

  My chest is heaving with the force of my speech, not only the words but the emotions this talk sends coursing through me. The truth rings out in the air around us, nearly as palpable as the couch we’re sitting on.

  I lift my hands to cover his still gently holding my head, and my eyes are locked to his. Then, forcing a fresh breath of air in my lungs, I whisper, “I need to protect myself from this shit with Wyatt, but the real reason for what I did is to protect myself from you.”

  Holding his gaze suddenly feels too heavy so I drop my eyes to stare at his lips. Now why the hell did I do that? The memory of his mouth pressed to mine streaks across my brain like a shooting star in the night sky. His lips are both full, the bottom slightly more so than the top. He has a perfect bowed arch, which makes his mouth sit in a perpetual pout when his face is relaxed.

  The hands cradling my head tense slightly, so I reluctantly lift my eyes back to his.

  “You’re not getting it,” Jacoby says softly. My brow crinkles in confusion.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’ll have to show you.”

  “Jacoby, I’m sorry but I don’t—ˮ

  One second I’m sitting on the couch, and the next, his hands release my face only to grasp me beneath my armpits and haul my body over to him where he drags me into his lap. As soon as I’m close enough, he releases me briefly to wrap a strong arm around my back, crushing me to his chest while his other hand slides my thigh over his lap so I’m straddling him.

  Once I’m secured where he wants me, and sure I’m no longer breathing out of pure shock, he moves his hand from my thigh to slide around the back of my neck, bringing my forehead to touch his. In order not to topple over, my own hands grasp onto the shirt covering his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into the sensitive skin of my palms.

  “Do you think after the past few days, most importantly this afternoon, that I’m going to just let you go?” he whispers, his lips hardly a fingers width from mine. His breath is like a warm tropical breeze against my parted lips.

  “I don’t think. I know,” I reply, wanting to squeeze my eyes shut from the knife plunging into my heart. It’s inevitable. We’ve never had a future, because we were doomed from the start. Isn’t that what he’s been telling me this entire time? This is wrong. We can’t work.

  “I don’t think you do. Because the second you leapt into my arms and kissed me like I was the air you needed to breathe, you became mine.”

  Duh-dum, duh-dum-dum.

  That’s the sound of my heart stopping dead in my chest.

  Jacoby doesn’t need me to respond. He puts pressure on my neck, bringing my lips close enough so he can capture them with his own. The kiss starts off soft and gentle, seeking and learning, tasting and being tasted.

  There’s no rush, no urgency to the way his tongue tangles with mine. Just the gentle sway of our heads switching positions, left, right, left, back again as we explore and search each other’s mouths. Discovering the way he responds when I gently lick the side of his tongue and the roof of his mouth. The way a soft moan rises from my throat when he carefully nips my lower lip before caressing the spot with his tongue.

  The first kisses we’d shared were full of dominance and power and proof. They were frantic and needy. We wielded our lips like weapons to drive a point. This time, it’s about the exploration and declaration of what is to come.

  I can feel when the calm exterior of our kiss begins to unravel, revealing the true desperation lying within us. It’s like opening a present, the excitement and anticipation begins to heighten the closer we get to the source of our desire. His hand slides down from my neck, the other leaving my back with a sudden chill as both palms come to rest on the soft curve of my ass, squeezing and pulling the most intimate parts of our bodies closer together.

  Jacoby is pulling moans from my throat like a magician pulls scarves from a hat. The kiss turns frantic and hot, teeth clashing, nips and licks. I throw my head back when he tears his mouth from mine, only to pepper the flushed skin of my throat with more of his lips, his tongue trailing along and burning a trail into my flesh.

  When his mouth takes the trip back to mine, the restraint is completely gone. A groan rumbles from his chest, which I both hear and feel, and I sink my fingers into the soft, thick strands of his slightly too long hair. Without a word, Jacoby lifts me up with his hands on my ass, and begins to climb the stairs leading to his bedroom. My heart rate kicks up several notches with the thrill of his hands on me and the knowledge of where he’s taking me. I want to scream words like yes, please, and oh God, but I don’t want to sound too needy, so I swallow them down with my next breath.

  We enter the darkness of his bedroom, the only light streaming in from the door which we came. He releases one hand from my ass to plant it on the bed, and using his momentum, he hoists both of us toward the middle with a soft thump. My body bounces a little, and Jacoby gives me a breathtaking grin before he follows me down to continue our kiss.

  Every inch of me tingles like little electric pulses are being shocked into my skin. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, I pull and guide it over his head, dropping it somewhere beside me. The need to touch, to see his beautiful skin, is too much to bear. He doesn’t wait long before doing the same with my shirt, tossing it to join his, before leaning back to take me in.

  I’m wearing a fuchsia colored bra with a trim of black lace around the edges. He hasn’t discovered it yet, but I’m wearing the matching thong. If he looks at me like this in just my bra, I’m going crazy with need to see how he reacts to the entire package.

  God, his eyes. So soft and warm, looking over my face and torso with a deep reverence reserved for worshiping an altar. Jacoby places his warm, slightly calloused palm against the fragile skin of my throat, his eyes following the movement and heating at whatever he sees there. There’s no reflection of disgust in his eyes as he peruses the horribly bruised skin beneath his hand. If I could guess, I’d say he likes what he sees when his hand is on me, his honey colored skin contrasting erotically with my creamy, pale flesh.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, his palm begins to
move like a soothing balm down my sternum, between my breasts, sweeping and caressing to my naval, across to one side, then the other. From there, his palm ghosts up my ribcage, across my chest and he repeats the movement again on the other side.

  We don’t need words to tell each other how good we feel, our hands speak for us in the language of need, and lust, and sex. I’m trembling from head to toe from his soft caress, and I lift my hands to his chest; the need to touch him nearly overwhelming me. His skin is deliciously smooth. The warmth heats my palms as I trace the chiseled valleys and hills of his pectorals, following the crisp sprinkling of hair along his sternum, and down, down to his abs and his little trail of happiness leading below the waistband of his jeans.

  “Christ, you’re going to ruin me,” he breathes as I slip a finger into the edge of his jeans in a slow back-and-forth caress.

  “Then let me,” I reply as I start to make work of the button. I get it undone, but before I can unzip the fly, Jacoby captures my hands in his and brings them over my head.

  “Hey, I was enjoying that,” I whine, seriously a little miffed at being stopped but curious as to the delay. I’m more than ready to get this show on the road, if the steady pulse between my thighs is anything to go by.

  Jacoby leans down, pressing a deep, wet kiss to my lips, and my thoughts fly out the window when his hands skate down the sides of my torso, where he begins to remove my jeans. He pulls the fabric down my hips before wrenching his mouth away from mine, and a soft whimper rides out my exhale.

  “Shh. I know. Hang tight, Sweetheart. I want to see you first.”

  Lifting my hips, I help Jacoby shimmy my pants down my legs where he stops to remove my socks before pulling them the rest of the way off. I can’t help staring at his position beside the bed, shirtless with his jeans halfway undone, looming over me with that sexy sweet look in his eyes. He could be the Angel of Death here to take me away to the burning lakes of hell, and I’d willingly accept my fate and scramble after him as fast as I possibly could.