by K. Webster
Your friend’s daughter.
Worse yet, she’s your student.
A groan rumbles from me.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her head tilting up.
I’m once again struck by her exotic beauty.
Kiss her.
Fuck, how I want to.
Her lips part and her brown eyes twinkle with anticipation. My hands cup her cheeks of their own accord. Touching her feels right. It shouldn’t, but it fucking does. She flutters her eyes closed before letting out a tiny sigh. I lean forward and run my cold nose against hers.
“Adam,” she breathes.
A plea.
She wants me to kiss her.
Fuck, how I want to.
“Elma…”
She stands on her toes as if to reach me easier.
One kiss.
Just one little kiss.
It’s just us. Two people. A man and a woman. Easy.
But then I begin to wonder what an outsider would see. Would they think I’m taking advantage of her?
Mateo would beat my ass to a bloody pulp.
I can’t fucking kiss her because if I do, I won’t stop. I’ll take and fucking take until I own every part of her.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I mutter before tilting her head down. I kiss her forehead instead.
A tiny sound of irritation escapes her.
“We need to get you inside,” I say in defeat.
Crack!
A limb nearby, heavy with ice, careens to the forest floor. It’s then I hear more cracking. Fuck. Things are about to get more interesting.
“What do we do?” I ask in horror. When it sounded like the forest was breaking all around us, Adam rushed us inside.
Ice.
The ice is breaking the limbs left and right.
And apparently, it’s the source of our sudden power outage.
“We ride it out until the power company gets it restored,” he grumbles.
I’m soaked from the snow and shivering. Without the blaring heater on, it’s drafty in the cabin. No heat. This is the worst.
“Take your clothes off,” he demands, his voice husky.
I snap my attention his way as he tosses logs into the fireplace. “W-What?”
“Get out of those wet clothes, Elma. You’ll catch pneumonia.” His back is turned to me and I’m embarrassed I’d assumed his words meant something else altogether.
I fumble through the fairly dark cabin until I get into the bedroom. My phone is lit up on the bed and I snatch it up. With frozen fingers, I read through the many texts from my old friends. I find one from Zane that has me smiling.
Zane: Where do you live? My dad has ATVs. I could come get you.
Yesterday, I never mentioned to him I’m living with our principal. For some reason, I wanted to keep that information to myself.
Me: Outside of town by the lake. It’s too cold anyway.
He replies instantly.
Zane: Wussy.
I stick my tongue out at the phone but then notice my battery life is depleted after Rita’s incessant texting. Apparently she’s having a boy crisis. Or boys crises. The one she kissed last night saw her kissing someone else between classes earlier this morning. Now, the boy from yesterday called her a slut.
Rita kind of is a slut.
I snort and reply to her.
Me: Sorry, honey.
Rita: Late much? Were you ignoring me?
I roll my eyes. Rita is demanding.
Me: No, we had a snow day here. I was playing outside.
Rita: Ew. No. We’re going to the beach later today.
I have a pang of jealousy that I won’t get to go swimming with my friend, but then I realize hanging out with Adam isn’t the worst.
Me: Have fun, babe. Talk later.
I toss my phone on the bed and worry that if we don’t get the power restored soon, I won’t have any link to the outside world. I’ll be stuck in this cabin with Adam as my only source of entertainment.
Heat surges through me.
Again, not the worst thing to happen to me.
Quickly, I shed my soaked clothes and throw on something warmer. I’ve just slipped out of the room to find Adam standing in front of the fire with no shirt on. I stare in shock. His back muscles are flexed and decorated in colorful ink. The sweatpants he dons are hanging low on his hips. A shirt is fisted in his grip and the other hand reaches for the blazing flames.
“Hey,” I squeak out, my eyes glued to his perfect body.
He turns and I get a glorious view of his chest. More tattoos. Muscles galore. What has me speechless, though, is the way his oblique muscles seem to make a path pointing straight to the bulge in his sweatpants. The same bulge that was hard earlier this morning when it was pressed against me. I bite my bottom lip and meet his gaze.
“That doesn’t look very warm,” he grunts and runs his fingers through his hair. His bicep flexes and I wonder about what it’d be like to lick it.
“I could say the same.” I motion at his bare chest with my palm.
He yanks his shirt on over his head and before I know it, his perfect torso is no longer on display. Stupid me and my stupid words.
“You need pants on.” His jaw clenches as he pins me with a hard stare.
“Shorts are fine. I have long socks on,” I argue.
He rolls his eyes and saunters over to a bag in the corner. When he bends over to rummage in it, I get a prime view of his hard ass. I stare at it, suppressing a moan. My drooling gets interrupted when he tosses sweatpants at me.
“I’ll put them on if I get cold.” I flash him a fake smile before prancing over to the fireplace and warm my hands in front of the flickering flames.
He walks up beside me and mimics my action. Our arms brush against each other. I shiver, but it’s not from cold. It’s from anticipation. He misunderstands, though, and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Put the pants on.”
“I’m fine. You’re bossy.”
I expect him to argue but instead, he wraps an arm around me and pulls me to his side under the guise of warming me up. I settle against his solid body, inhaling his manly scent.
“How are you holding up?” he asks suddenly.
I stiffen at his question. “I’m good.”
“Not…not about being here.” His fingers tighten around my hip. “About your mom.”
A choked sound escapes me. All it takes is one mention of her and tears are stinging my eyes. My chest physically aches as though the pain is all trapped up inside without any chance of escape. Some days, I just want to cut it out of me. “It hurts.”
I’m surprised I uttered those truthful words. Dad has asked a few times, but I always put on a brave face for him because I know he’s hurting too. With Adam, it’s safe to just let it out.
“I’m sorry, Elma.”
A tear slips from my eye and slides down my cheek. I sniffle and shrug. “It’s okay.”
He pulls me to him for a real hug. Being in his strong, sweet embrace does something to me. I feel a crack. Right down the center of my chest. As though, if I’ll let him, he’ll have the power to crack me right open and help pull the pain from me. A sob chokes me and he squeezes me tighter. His fingers run through my still wet hair and he kisses the top of my head. It’s all so intimate and gentle. Since I’ve met him, I’ve seen him go through a myriad of emotions. Mostly, he tries to keep his distance with growls and frowns. But sometimes, he surprises me with bright smiles and glimpses of his vulnerability.
Instead of feeding me words that don’t help anyway, he simply holds me. I melt in his arms and pray the moment never ends. It’s been forever since I felt secure and cared for. Mom is gone and Dad has mentally checked out. Adam fills a hole that has been empty for some time now.
“Have you ever thought about playing softball?” he asks, his voice gruff but gentle.
“I used to play when I was in middle school but…” My chest aches.
“But what?”
�
��I started playing volleyball in the ninth grade. It was our thing. Me and Mom. She was like the honorary team mom. Everyone loved her.” My words come out as a whisper. Now that I’m talking about her, I don’t want to stop. Tears steadily stream down my cheeks and I know I’m soaking his shirt with them.
“She was lovely. The few times I met her, I thought she was an amazing woman. Much too amazing to be with the likes of your daddy,” he teases with a chuckle.
I let out a small laugh. “Daddy always said she was too good for him, but he just got lucky. He’d tease that she was the one with the bad luck.” My smile falls. “Turns out he was right because she got cancer.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
I cry softly against his chest. I feel stupid, but the release of all the pent-up pain inside of me is freeing. Rita never wanted to talk about my mom because she said it was depressing. To satisfy her, I didn’t talk about how sad I was around her. She, being my best friend, tried to distract me with boys and jokes and trips to the mall.
“I miss her,” I say, my voice cracking.
He strokes my hair. “I know you do.”
Once I’ve calmed and all that can be heard is the occasional hiccup from my crying, he speaks again.
“Did you leave volleyball back in Florida?”
My heart clenches. “It didn’t feel right without Mom on the sidelines.”
His fingers tangle in my hair and he tugs until I’m staring up at his brutally handsome face. With the light flickering on the side of his face, I can see the scars better. The flesh is slightly mottled and shadows dance in the indentions that aren’t as noticeable during the day. I can’t help but reach up and palm his cheek. He flinches and closes his eyes.
“What happened?”
His eyes reopen and a pained expression is etched on his face. “The past. It tried to kill me. I won.” He clenches his jaw and looks away.
My heart stutters and aches. I’ve just bled out feelings in front of him, but he isn’t opening up at all. “I see.”
His hand wraps around my wrist and he pulls my hand from his face. “It’s a story you don’t want to hear. But I owe him.” His green eyes blaze into mine. “Everything. I owe him my life.”
I blink up at him. “Who? Daddy?”
As if being showered with a bucket of icy water, he shudders and jerks away from me. “Yeah,” he grunts. “You hungry?”
My shoulders slump in defeat. It turns out I’m not the only one guarding their heart. I wonder if I’ll ever get to hear that story.
I’ve fucked up royally.
I can’t keep my hands to myself for one. But I’ve been treating her like she’s my girl. She’s not my girl, though. She’s the daughter of my friend. I need to calm the hell down and keep my distance.
Yet, I can’t.
All day, she’s been avoiding me. Completely shut down. It wasn’t fair. I probed her about losing her mother, but I couldn’t even share what had happened to me. I took from her and gave nothing in return.
After dinner, she sat in front of the window and stared out into the darkness. Her melancholy mood is screwing with my head. It makes me want to haul her back into my arms and comfort her.
“You should come sit in front of the fire,” I tell her, my voice gruff.
She shivers and shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
Irritated, I stalk over to her. “You’re not fine. You’re cold.”
When she makes no moves to get up, I squat and slide an arm around her. She lets out a surprised squeal when I lift her up. I ignore her protest and squirming. With her in my grip, I sit down in front of the fire. She’s stiff in my lap for a moment but then relaxes her back against my chest.
“Do you have to do that?” she whines.
“Do what?”
“Touch my stomach like that.” She lets out a huff. “I’m fat.”
I laugh at her words. “You’re what?”
“Oh my God. Stop. You know exactly what I mean.”
My palm is over her stomach through her hoodie. She has soft curves that I’m growing steadily addicted to. The girl’s crazy if she thinks they’re a problem.
“You don’t like this?” I ask, toying with her as I squeeze her through her shirt.
“Ugh,” she groans. “It’s gross.”
I tickle her through her shirt and she screams, her entire body thrashing. Once I stop, she settles and it’s then I notice my palm has slipped beneath her hoodie. I run my thumb absently over her skin on her stomach.
“I like it,” I murmur.
Her breathing is heavier, but she’s not telling me no. I should be telling me no. Instead, I caress her stomach in a reverent way. What she’s embarrassed of feels soft and sweet to me. I’d love to get my mouth on her stomach and show her how a real man appreciates everything a woman has to offer.
“You’re lying.”
“I don’t know what rock you’ve been living under for the past couple of decades, but curves are hot.”
As soon as the words are spilled from my lips, I regret them and pretend I never spoke them. If she were just some woman I’d met, I’d tell her all of these things and more. But she’s not just some woman. She’s my student. I’m charged with taking care of her.
Images of her naked and sprawled out beneath me take over my mind.
I’d love to take care of her all right.
“Elma,” I murmur, my chin resting on her shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, you’re going to get me in trouble.”
“Trouble, how?”
I close my eyes and imagine so many ways I’d love to get into trouble with her. “I could lose my job. What we’re doing now would get my ass fired so fast I wouldn’t know what hit me.”
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” she breathes.
My thumb runs along the underside of her breast. “We are. So wrong, Elma.”
“I like it, though.”
“Please don’t encourage me,” I groan. “I’m fucking everything up right now.”
She lets out a heavy sigh but doesn’t press me any further.
“I should make you a bed out here in front of the fire so you don’t get cold,” I tell her, my voice husky.
Her head turns and our faces are inches apart. “Just stay a little longer like this. Please.”
The tension in my shoulders relaxes. “A little while longer.”
“He’s bleeding out!”
“Someone hand me my fucking bag!”
“Mueller’s been shot too. In the face. He didn’t make it.”
“They’re still shooting!”
“Someone put that motherfucker down so I can focus!”
“He stopped breathing!”
I wake up screaming and thrashing. The pain is as real as it was that day. Fear of dying hangs heavy in the air, suffocating me.
“Breathe.”
The voice is soft. Angelic. Sweet. I seek her out in the darkness. I’m cold as fuck and I wonder if death is coming for me. It isn’t until warm thighs straddle my waist and her palms splay out over my chest that I actually settle.
“Adam,” she murmurs. “You’re safe.”
I’m desperate to touch her back and I blindly grab for her. My palms connect with skin. Smooth, silky skin. Her thighs are perfect. I can’t help but run my hands up and down along the outside of her legs. She shivers against me.
“Want to tell me what you were dreaming about?” she asks.
My chest aches and I shake my head even though she can’t see it in the dark. “N-No,” I rasp out.
She lets out a sad sigh and starts to climb off me. Panic slices through me. Her comfort is much needed right now. I can’t let her leave me just yet.
“Don’t go,” I plead.
When she relaxes, I pull her to me. Her tits are barely contained behind her thin T-shirt and her hardened nipples press against my chest. She nuzzles her face against my neck, her hot breath tickling me. My hands slide up her thigh
s to her hips. With her barely clothed and straddling me, my thoughts quickly flit to dirty ones. Images of her completely naked as her tits bounce while she rides me is my favorite and I let that one roll over and over on repeat in my mind. It isn’t until she lets out a mewl that I realize I’m hard as a fucking rock.
“Elma,” I groan, my self-control holding on by a thread.
She grinds herself against me, making us both let out a sharp hiss of air.
“We have to stop,” I growl. But stupid fucking me doesn’t want to stop. My fingers dig into her hips, but I don’t move her away from me. She’s a fantasy come to life pressed against my aching cock.
“I don’t want to stop,” she breathes. Her hips work back and forth as she rubs herself against me in a way she must enjoy as well based on her tiny moans.
“We need to.” I let out a groan. “Elma.”
“This feels good,” she whispers, as if the confession surprises her. Hell yeah, it does. I could show her many other ways of pleasuring her, all of which involve my tongue.
“Why do you have to be so goddamn beautiful?” I grit out, my hips slightly bucking. “You’re making this impossible to resist you.”
“So don’t resist.” Another moan. “Just see where it takes us.”
It’ll take me straight to the unemployment agency.
“Oh God,” she whimpers. Her body shudders against mine.
Fuck.
Holy shit.
She just came by dry humping me.
My cock seems impressed by that notion because without warning, I come with a snarl. Hot semen spurts out and soaks my boxers. She continues to rub against me, drenching her already wet panties. What a literal fucking mess we are.
“Elma. Fuck. That was—”
“Amazing.” Her voice is dreamy and sexy.
“You need to go to your room,” I rumble out, shame coating my words. “Now.”
She stiffens and sits up. “But—”
“Now, dammit!”
As soon as she jerks away from me, I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. I hear soft thuds as she runs off and then my bedroom door slams shut.
Jesus Christ, I’m so stupid.
I have got to nip this shit in the bud or I’m going to do something we’ll both regret like fuck her. I’m not one of the teenage boys she sleeps around with back home. I’m her goddamn principal. I have a responsibility here. There will be no casually fucking my student. End of story.
