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 thighs 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.
I just wish my dick would get on the same page as my head. My heart, though? An ache forms in my chest knowing she’s probably crying in bed this very moment.
My heart is a wildcard.