“Jacoby,” I whisper, “we’re still at school.”
The word ‘school’ breaks the spell. He whips his head up so fast, he catches me in the chin, slamming my jaw shut, and I bite down on my tongue. The coppery taste of blood collects on my taste buds.
“Ow, shit!” I cry out from the pain exploding in my mouth.
“Shit, I’m sorry. Let me see.” He demands while sliding me down his body slowly, inch by sensual inch, until my feet touch the floor. His firm arms stay wrapped tightly around my waist, and I’m reeling that he doesn’t release me. What does this all mean?
I wave him off, wiping the blood from my mouth with my sleeve.
He cringes.
“It’s fine.” Now that I’m back on solid ground, I feel slightly embarrassed. I just made out with my teacher in his classroom. Can you say slut? But I can’t deny I loved it, and I’d do it again in an instant. Unfortunately, my surroundings remind me that I have to come back to reality.
“I need to get to work.”
Jacoby tears his eyes away from me reluctantly to glance at the clock. “Do you need me to drive you?”
When they return to my face, his eyes are bright, pleading, and I smile to myself. It’s because of me. I bite down on my lower lip to contain a shy smile, scraping my teeth along the surface. Jacoby’s eyes darken as he zeroes in on my tender, swollen lips. The look in his eyes is so damn hot, it has my blood simmering.
“I drove myself today. Thanks, though. I need to get going.” Before I lose control and leap back into his strong arms, I gather up my belongings, which are still sitting on my desk. I really, really don’t want to leave. I have a feeling Jacoby doesn’t either.
“Tatum?” He calls, and I look up from where I’m packing my bag.
“Yeah?”
“This conversation isn’t over. I want to see you after work. Come by my place tonight.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Late night conversations between us tend to leave nothing but destruction in their wake.”
His lips tilt up in a half smile, as if he’s remembering some happy memory. I hope it’s of me. Jacoby lifts his hand, swiping a rogue hair off my face before cradling my cheek. The tenderness in his touch seeps into my skin, settling deep in my bones. My skin ripples with a shockwave of goose bumps.
“My brave, crazy, ridiculous girl,” he says affectionately. “I need to see you again tonight.”
That’s more than enough convincing for me. I sort of need to see him too.
“Sure. I’ll call you when I’m done.” Turning my head, I press my lips against his palm before I reluctantly pull away. My cheek feels bereft from the loss of heat.
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.