Dark Notes(63)

He comes with a strangled shout, his body jerking as he rolls halfway on top of me and captures my mouth in a breathless kiss. His weight slouches against me, and the rocking of his hips ebbs into a lazy roll. His hand slips from between my legs, his chest heaving hard against mine. But his movements are slow, reverently gentle as he cups my jaw and kisses me into a languid, dreamy cosmos.

I died somewhere between my release and his. And now I know how it feels to be alive.

I can’t seem to move the muscles in my face to kiss him back. My skin is hot and slippery with perspiration, but who cares? Every inch of me is luxuriously numb, listless, and happy.

He holds my gaze, his eyes wide and mesmerizing as he chokes a jagged sound against my lips. “Now I know why you’re illegal.”





I lift Ivory’s beautifully exhausted limbs, molding my hands around her flexuous curves and touching more than required to slip the shirt off her arms. “Still with me, sleepy girl?”

Her hooded brown eyes make a sluggish climb over my mouth before meeting my gaze. “Mm.”

My smile is so deep I feel it in my lungs like a nourishing breath. There’s no limit to what I would do to put that look on her face every night. But what are her limits? What is she willing to gamble? Her education? Her future?

If she’s caught in my house, I’m the one at risk. I’m the adult, taking advantage of a student, a victim. While I might end up fighting a legal battle, she would be safe from all blame.

When I pull my head together, I’ll figure out a plan. But right now, her safety far outweighs the consequences I might endure.

I remove the rest of her clothes. When I toss the final scrap to the floor, I’m left with a view so f*cking tantalizing I couldn’t have dreamed it—and hell knows I tried for weeks.

Sprawled in my bed, her nude hourglass figure beckons every masculine nerve, organ, and connective tissue in my body. From her wet mouth and the slackness in her muscles to her abundant chest and flushed clit, she draws me in and holds me in mindless fascination.

She hasn’t said a word since she came on my fingers. She seems to be in shock. Or soaring in bliss. Definitely in awe, given the widening of her eyes as she slides a hand between her legs and feels the swollen flesh of her *.

Christ almighty, she’s innocence wrapped in sin.

The innocent part rattles me the most. Not only have I crossed the line as her teacher, there’s a ten-year age difference between us. Add to that her abusive past and the ruthless dominating way I f*ck, and we’re navigating a land mine. If I move too fast or make the wrong step, the consequences will be devastating.

I run my fingers over hers, brushing the dark curls on her cunt. “Don’t shave this.”

She glances at our hands and returns to my face. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to feel like I’m—” Touching a little girl. “You’re young, Ivory. I don’t need any more reminders.”

“I’ve been with a lot of guys older than you.” Her cheeks bloom with heat, and she pulls her hand away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

The impulse to demand she never mention other men burns in my throat, but I bite it back. “If you need to talk about it, about them, I want to be the person you turn to.” I kiss her lips and trail my finger over her *. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She grips my wrist and squeezes. “Thank you.”

I slip off the bed and swat her thigh. “Up.”

Ten minutes later, steam drenches the bathroom, fogging my reflection in the mirror as well as the shower door behind me. The splash of water against tiles broadcasts her movements as the woodsy scent of my shampoo infuses my inhales. There’s something deeply satisfying about her using my things, smelling like me, and making herself at home in my space.

While she showers, I wash my dick at the sink, both appalled and riveted by the fact that I jizzed in my briefs. I haven’t done that since high school. But it shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve been jacking off like a f*cking fiend for weeks.

It takes every ounce of restraint I have left to not join her in the shower. I want to f*ck her thoroughly, completely, and in every way imaginable, but I have to prove to her I’m not like the others. Every step with her is a risk, and there are still so many unanswered questions.

I clean my knuckles and lather them in antibiotic cream from the supplies beneath the sink. “Are you on birth control?”

Her misty silhouette freezes behind the shower door. “No.”

I turn to face her, straining to make out the shape of her body in the curl of steam. “Do you use condoms?”

She presses a palm against the glass door, as if to steady herself. “When I can.”

My fist clenches, but the next thing I punch should be my own stupid mouth. Could I be anymore heartless? Of course, she doesn’t always use condoms. If a man doesn’t stop at no, he’s certainly not pausing to wrap up.

I manage to hold my temper in, but the rapid-fire of my pulse and the rage scorching up my spine propels me out of the bathroom.

“I’ll set out something for you to wear,” I shout from the bedroom. “Meet me in the kitchen.”

Tossing one of my t-shirts on the bed for her, I strip my clothes and drag on a pair of flannel pants.

On my way out, I grab my phone and make a call to my dad’s clinic. As expected, it goes to voice mail. My bare feet pad down the carpeted stairs and into the kitchen as I tell the recorder who I am and what I require.