Dark Notes(117)

I pull from the warmth of her body, knowing I’ll be back in it by the end of the day. “We only have twenty-four hours. Time to see the city.”

By way of the limo, I give her a whirlwind tour from Central Park to the Statue of Liberty. We walk the crowded streets of Times Square. We dine at a fancy restaurant I had to book two months in advance. Not my thing, but it’s something I wanted her to experience.

Late that night, we lie nude in bed in the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons Hotel. I’ve been inside her for so long my dick’s numb. But in about twenty minutes, I’ll be ready to go again.

She watches me with heavy-lidded eyes, her arms extended above her head, wrists bound together with my belt. She doesn’t bother moving them or asking me to untie her. I’m not sure she has the energy to speak.

I slide down her curves and kiss her hip, nipping at the bone with enough pressure to make her tremble.

“How did you get into…” She twists her wrists in the shackle of the belt. “This?”

Crawling back up her body, I undo the strap and massage her arms. “When I was fifteen, I found some books stashed away in my dad’s office.”

Her eyes widen, waking with alertness. “Like dirty sex books?”

I curl my fingers around one of her tits, trussing it up to roll my tongue around the nipple. “BDSM books. Kink. Master/slave stuff. I was instantly”—hard as a f*cking rock—“intrigued. The next few years, I researched it. Obsessed about it. But I wasn’t bold enough to try anything until I went to college.”

The vein in her throat pulses. “With a girl here in New York?”

“No one important.” I don’t even remember her name.

She relaxes against the soft sheets, her fingers mindlessly combing through my hair as I lick, kiss, and caress her tits. She’s so damn beautiful I can’t keep my hands off her.

Her fingers still in my hair. “What risks did you take today? If I would’ve accepted a spot at Leopold, what would’ve happened with your job and the dean?”

“The risks are null. I want you to focus on graduating.” I give her a steely look. “Trust me.”

“Okay.”

Bringing her here didn’t put her education at risk. I knew the judges would accept her. If Beverly Rivard is double-dealing behind my back, it won’t prevent Ivory from graduating from Le Moyne or achieving the future she wants.

There’s only three weeks left of school, and Beverly believes I’ve already pushed Prescott’s enrollment past the application process. I haven’t, and I’m not going to. He’ll get into a conservatory. It just won’t be Leopold. By the time Beverly learns this, Ivory will be graduated and I’ll have my resignation turned in.

I’ve done a lot of soul-searching over the past few months. Ivory wants to learn, and I want to teach. We’ll get those things from each other. Then?

She has a very specific image of what her end goal looks like… The lights, the audience, the music. My aspirations aren’t much different.

I know exactly how I’ll make our dreams align.





The Monday following our New York trip, I find myself sitting in Beverly Rivard’s office, exchanging glares with her across the desk. I have no idea why I’m here, only that I was summoned after second period. Is this about Leopold? Andrea Augustin? Prescott? Every possibility is a vindictive intruder trying to penetrate my defenses and steal away my future with Ivory.

The eight months that I’ve known Ivory have been a goddamn war, the entire world against her and me. But Shane is located—working as a grunt for a construction crew in Tennessee. Lorenzo is still MIA—my PI is embarrassed to report the trail went cold.

I’ve been waiting for the final shoe to drop.

Beverly draws out the silence, watching me with sharp eyes, probably an attempt to make me squirm.

I’m fighting a high-adrenaline battle on the inside, but I hold my posture loose and force a bored look on my face.

She straightens the long sleeves of her suit jacket and pats at the gray-blonde bun at her nape. When she finishes her preening, she looks down her nose at me and sniffs. “I have some unfortunate news.”

Whatever it is, she seems downright smug about it. That doesn’t bode well for me.

I settle back in the chair with exaggerated casualness.

She unlocks the tablet on the desk and meets my eyes. “One of your students was expelled this morning.”

I have dozens of students, but deep down I know, I f*cking know who she means, and it’s an excruciating punch in the gut.

The second punch comes when she rotates the tablet and slides it across the desk.

A soundless video plays on the screen. It’s grainy and dark around the edges, but the Le Moyne theater stage shines beneath the overhead lights. Front and center is Ivory, rising from the piano in a yellow and white daisy printed dress.

I watch in horror as she steps off the stage, walks to the edge of the screen, and kneels between a disembodied pair of legs. Darkness shrouds everything in front of her. The face, clothes, shoes, nothing identifies the person sitting in the shadows of the front row.

But I remember the seductive look in her eyes before the video shows it. I remember her words before her lips move silently on the screen.

I will crawl to you. Bow to you. Whatever you want, I want. Just…give me this.