Curveball(17)

“I haven’t told a single person about us.” I slip my hand further beneath her shirt, running my fingers over her hip bone. “If you’re afraid I’m going to tell people, you don’t have to worry. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Bending down to kiss her neck, I palm her ass in one hand and rub between her legs over her spandex yoga pants with the other.

“We can’t do this,” she whispers, fighting and then losing the battle as my thumb circles her clit.

Even through her pants, I have the ability to make her wet, so fucking wet that I can’t stand to have these layers of clothing between us.

“Yes, we can. Get in,” I command.

She hesitates, biting down on her lip, but then she follows my request. I crawl into the backseat behind her and close the door. Then, I pat my knee for her to come closer. As she slides across the leather, her teeth chatter. I reach over and run my hands down her arms and then her legs to warm her up.

“You could at least turn on the heat,” she mutters, her voice shaking from the cold weather, as she hands me the keys.

I flash a Joker-like smile. “I’ll keep you warm.”

Instead of listening to her, I grab a fistful of her hair, press my lips to hers, and slip my tongue inside, craving more with each second that passes. Her kisses are passionate and hungry, her desire for me overwhelming.

We both know this is wrong. But, right now, the wrong thing feels so damn right.

She breaks away from my lips and sits back on her heels. “When it comes to ethics, there is only right or wrong and good or bad, and even though there are gray areas that some would consider morally acceptable, depending on the circumstance, I know that dating a student is one hundred percent wrong.”

“No one will ever know. I graduate in a few months.”

She frowns. “Your friends already know. I’m sure it wouldn’t be long until your entire frat house knew about us. I can’t go back to being a trial lawyer—or any kind of lawyer for that matter.”

“You won’t have to.” Now, I’m curious, so I have to ask, “Why can’t you be a lawyer?”

She turns her head away from me and looks off into the parking lot. “It’s complicated. Teaching is my new career, and in one year, I will hopefully have enough money to stop working at the club. But I can’t go back to being a lawyer.”

I rub her cheek with my thumb to get her attention, and her focus shifts back to me, her blue eyes bright in the dim light.

“Lawyers make tons of money. You don’t need to slum it in some sleazy club to get paid. My friend’s father has connections that he could use to get you a job that would pay enough, so you wouldn’t have to dance anymore.”

“My last case…” Her voice trails off, and her face goes blank, unreachable. “It was bad. Let’s just leave it at that.”

She cuts off our conversation as her lips crash into mine. My hand travels up her back, my fingers digging through her hair, deepening the kiss. She fumbles with the button of my jeans as my hand travels beneath her shirt and under her bra to pinch her nipple between my fingers.

Completely lost in the moment, I don’t even care that my fingers are numb and that my teeth hurt from the cold. But she must care because she stops kissing me long enough to look into my eyes, and she rests her hands on my shoulders. “Let’s take this back to my place.” Her body trembles, despite my best efforts to keep her warm.

I nod, and she hops off my lap. “I’ll meet you there.”





Chapter Eight





Olivia





I made a horrible mistake. I fucked my student—this time, knowing he was my student—and I liked it. A lot. We had mind-numbing, toe-curling sex. With the show Mark put on last night, it was like the sex Olympics. I should put an end to our relationship. But I won’t—not when it feels too good to stop.

I am the adult, and I have to act like one. So, when his text comes through, asking me to see him after I get off work, I shove the phone into my pocket and meet Donna at Broad Street Beans for coffee, desperate for a couple of shots of espresso and my favorite brownie cheesecake.

Most of the students and staff recharge at the on-campus coffee shop between classes. I usually avoid coming here unless I have a lunch date with Donna because eating lunch with my students does not appeal to me. But Donna likes their coffee, and the desserts here are amazing.

The place is packed to the brim, the tables crammed with groups of kids in Strick U shirts, some who are wearing shorts and sandals in the middle of winter. I pass by a few students who are in my afternoon class. When they notice me, I give a quick wave and keep moving toward the back of the shop.

When I find Donna at our usual table, she already has my drink waiting for me, and she’s eating my food.

“You could have ordered one for yourself, you know,” I say, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “I’m starving, and that is not enough for us to share.”

“Oh, I bet you’ve worked up an appetite.” She snorts when she laughs, sets the fork down on her plate, and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “You look like you had about ten minutes of sleep last night.” After chugging half of her coffee, she smiles, passing it to me from across the table. “What are you doing later?”