Fuck.
We had to stop. I didn’t want to stop. But we were in his car, in a middle school parking lot, making out like a couple of teenagers. And yeah, the windows were tinted, but still.
Somehow I managed to wrench my lips off of his as I slid back into my seat, away from his hands and his mouth.
A minute passed, and still the time did nothing to clear my head or give me any idea of where this was headed or where I wanted it to go.
Gray glanced down at his watch and winced. “We’re fifteen minutes late.”
I looked away, staring out the window, wondering what happened next.
“Blair.”
His voice groaned over my name, as if it hurt to speak it. That one word contained so much—regret, want, need.
“I’m sorry I did that,” I whispered, my voice cracking. I felt like crying, and I wasn’t sure if it was because we’d kissed, or because we’d stopped, or because he’d given me a glimpse of something I couldn’t have. I wasn’t even sure what I was sorry about.
“Don’t apologize. If anything, it’s my fault.”
I turned and stared at him, incredulous. He looked down at his hands, his jaw clenched.
“I’m pretty sure I was the one who asked you to kiss me,” I corrected. Begged him to kiss me. Practically jumped him.
He grimaced. “I’m your professor. I’m older. I know better. I’m a fucking mess, and believe me, you don’t need my shit.”
He was right. Those were all thoughts that had run through my mind at one point or another. But as soon as he said it, something inside me rebelled. My entire life people had told me how to dress, how to act, tried to tell me how I should feel. Not him. Not after that kiss.
“For starters, you’re a whole seven years older than me. And yes, you clearly have been through some things in your life, but who hasn’t. And it’s not like we’re getting married. I’m not asking you to love me forever, not asking you to be my boyfriend,” I replied, my tone dry. “It was a kiss. Okay, two kisses.” I swore I could still feel the imprint of his mouth on my lips. “You’re not going to make this something tawdry and cheap by pretending you’re some lecherous professor preying on a young, virginal student. I may have been having bad sex, but I’m far from a virgin.”
He swore under his breath. “And the part where I’m your professor?”
“Are you going to give me a higher grade because I kissed you?”
“No.”
“Okay, then. I’m not exactly worried about you taking it easy on me. You taking it easy on me would probably mean that you’d only call on me every other week.”
Silence filled the car.
“I’m going to have someone else grade your final exam. The dean is already planning on checking all of my finals since it’s my first time teaching, but I’ll get one of the other professors to read it as well. Sometimes professors get second opinions if a grade is on the line. I don’t want there to be any question of favoritism for either one of us.”
I knew he was right, didn’t know how Hannover would handle it if they found out. There were rumors about a couple of faculty members dating students, but they weren’t students they taught. And Gray was a new professor, it wasn’t like he had tenure or anything. I didn’t want to get him in trouble and I couldn’t afford to screw up my academic future.
The fall semester was over in less than two months and I wouldn’t have him for torts in the spring. Did it matter?
Gray’s voice got tight. “I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t want you. That I’m not hard as a fucking rock sitting here, imagining taking your mouth again. But this isn’t right. I don’t want to take advantage of you—”
Fuck that.
“I kissed you because I wanted to,” I answered, anger threading through my voice. “If anything, I’m the one who owes you an apology.” He looked at me like I had three heads. And just like that, my earlier regret fell away. “I’m not going to, though. I take it back,” I said, my voice going soft. “That was the best kiss of my life, hands down, no comparison. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sit here and bask in the fact that I made someone who looks like you kiss someone who looks like me, like that.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“That you look like a bloodthirsty warrior on your nice days, and I mean that in the best possible way.”
“I don’t know what that means.” He choked the words out, his expression somewhere between pain and amusement.
“It means you’re hot in the kind of way that makes lady parts stand at attention. In a completely wild, unrestrained, sexy sort of way . . .” My voice trailed off.
“Jesus. And I thought you were shy.”
I couldn’t let that one slide either. “No, you didn’t.”
Another choking sound. “I didn’t?”
“No, you didn’t.”
I didn’t know what it was, but somehow I’d completely wrested control from him. He just sat there in the driver’s seat looking poleaxed.
Maybe it was anger that drove me. Or more than that, the desire to make him see me. Not as some fucking stereotype, but as a girl who liked having his hands and mouth on her. A girl who was done playing by the rules. A girl who was apparently courting trouble.
“Why do you call on me every week?”
He was silent for a long time, and I wondered if he was just going to ignore me, if I’d shocked him into silence. And then he spoke, and every single lady part of mine stood the fuck up.
“Your eyes.” He forced the words out. “Because when you looked at me, I saw the real you. The girl behind the polite smiles, and the knee-length skirts, and the clothes that should make you look like some sort of middle-aged society wife, but instead make me want to fuck you in nothing but pearls. White, gleaming, round. Shining against your tits.”
Oh my god.
My voice shook, but I still managed to get the words out. “You knew what I was and what I wasn’t.”
He nodded, his jaw tight as I pulled the admission from him.
“Then don’t make me something I’m not.”
Silence filled the car, neither one of us looking at the other.
“I’m not the hero here, Blair. You don’t want to believe that I’m a villain, fine. But don’t be stupid. I’ve done things you couldn’t imagine. There’s filth under my fingernails, and no matter what I do, I can’t get clean. I’m not a good guy. I grew up trash, and no amount of money will ever change that. Don’t try to make me your hero.”
God, his words slayed me. I didn’t find bad boys sexy, and there was nothing hot about the words coming out of his mouth. It was sad. So fucking sad. I didn’t see a dangerous guy in front of me, I saw a man who had been beaten down by his past.
Given what he’d told me, I couldn’t deny that he was probably responsible for most of what had transpired. I wasn’t sad for what he’d lost, but for the life he seemed to have resigned himself to. As if he didn’t deserve to be happy. And that was bullshit. I couldn’t fix him, and I didn’t want to; I had enough problems in my own life—
But in that moment, with that haunted look in his eyes, I decided to offer the one thing I could give.
I reached out, ignoring the tension coming off of his body which screamed, run. I clasped his face in my hands, holding it in place. He shuddered, his eyes slamming closed.
When I was a kid, my father had done a fundraiser at an animal shelter. It had been a photo op for the family—a chance to get pictures of me and Kate playing with our parents and cute puppies, ribbons in our hair.
There had been this one dog in the back, a mix of some sort, who had stayed huddled in the corner, terrified of the cameras and people. I’d coaxed it out with treats, my mother snapping at me to pose for pictures. I’d ignored her, all of my attention focused on that dog, until finally it came over and sat in my lap, and its entire body relaxed into me, as if the act of someone petting it, holding it, giving it the love it deserved, was all it had ever wanted.