Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 35946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
“Ethan, stop. People might—”
My hand takes hers, pulling her into me as I step forward, and she whimpers as she falls against my chest.
“You need to go away,” she whispers.
“What I need is you, Emily,” I growl.
“This can’t happen.” She shakes her head. “This can never happen again. You’re a student for fucks sake!”
“I’m eighteen, and I was eighteen that night,” I hiss back.
She swallows.
“You know, when you made a man out of me for the first time that night.”
Her eyes go wide, the shock so real on her face that I can’t even try to keep the joke going. I laugh.
“I’m kidding. That wasn’t my first time.”
“That’s not even funny.”
“I wish it had been, though,” I growl. “That’s for sure. My first time I mean. Don’t know what the fuck I’ve been doing, but it’s not what we had the other night, Emily,” I growl.
She blushes fiercely, still glancing around.
“We’re not talking about this.”
“Still on that, huh?”
“What?”
“Pretending this isn’t happening again.”
“It’s not.”
“It just did, two days ago in your classroom.”
She blushes fiercely.
“That was a mistake.”
“Was it now?”
“Yes.”
I growl lowly as I press into her, her back to the door of her cottage and her hands on my chest. Her big dark eyes look up at me, her soft pink lips parting as a soft gasp falls from them.
“Emily,” I growl, leaning down, our lips inches apart before suddenly, she snaps. She gasps, suddenly shoving me back hard. I scowl, but she just shakes her head, her lips tight.
“Goddamnit, no, Ethan!” She spits, anger rising in her voice as my eyes narrow.
“This is wrong, and what happened was fucked. You’re a kid, for Christ’s sake!”
“Do you seriously think I’m a fucking innocent little child?” I snap back.
“We are not doing this, Ethan! Not now, not ever again! What happened was the worst mistake of my life, okay?!”
My mouth goes tight, just as I see her face fall.
“Fuck, Ethan, I’m—that’s not what I—”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” I spit back venomously, my jaw grinding. “You’re right, Ms. Hayes. I think we’re fucking done here.”
I turn, my pulse thundering as I storm back to my bike, swinging my leg over, revving the throttle, and roaring out of the parking lot as the dark clouds start to build over the horizon.
7
Emily
Rain slams down in sheets across the road as I drive through the backroads of Southworth. The downpour thunders down on the roof of my old Grande Wagoneer, deafening me as I scan the road ahead.
What am I doing?
I tell myself I’m worried about him on a motorcycle, out in this weather and obviously angry. But it’s more than that that. Me looking for him isn’t altruism. Well, not just altruism.
…It’s hunger.
It’s a need I can’t get rid of. A desire that just won’t go away, no matter how much I tell it. It’s a heat that draws me, and only burns fiercer the more I tell him to get away from me. And I lasted all of nine minutes after telling him to go away before I ran out into the sudden downpour of rain to go find him.
I know this is wrong. I know the stakes are too high, the consequences too real, and the fallout too huge for me to have anything to do with Ethan Scott. He’s too young. He’s my student. His stepmother is a billionaire businesswoman and on the fucking school board, for God’s sake. But even with all of that—even with all of those blinking, neon warning signs, I still can’t say no. Not for longer than nine minutes, anyways, apparently.
The thunderclouds have been building all day, but it was the minute he drove off that they started to break apart. And now, it’s raining like it’s the end of the freaking world.
I pull around a bend, and it’s then that I spot his motorcycle, parked under the train-track overpass. I drive down under, the rain hammering the top of my car suddenly going silent as I pull under shelter. But when I glance around, I don’t see Ethan. Just the bike.
Shit.
I drive out the other side, the rain pounding back down in sheets and my eyes scanning the road as I slow to a crawl. And then, suddenly, I spot him. He’s walking on the shoulder of the road, his jeans and white t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin, his hands jammed into his pockets. He’s soaked, but goddamn is he hot.
I blush at the thought, knowing full-well how thirsty it makes me sound, but I just don’t care. Ethan Scott is pure, dripping wet sex walking down the side of the road in a see-through wet white t-shirt, his muscles clenching and his tattoo ink rippling. I pull the car up next to him, and he stops for a second as he realizes who I am. I swallow, my eyes dancing over the way the soaked shirt clings to every groove of is abs, before I tear my eyes up to his face. He furrows his brow, his jaw clenching before he turns and keeps walking.