Tristan
SHE WAS LIKE a drug. With each glance she gave me, I wanted to take more; with each word she shared, I leaned in. Something about her was dark. I wasn’t one to normally be attracted to that sort of thing. I was the golden child, after all. But it was fun — in that single stolen moment — being myself and wondering what if I didn’t have to worry about the journals, or Taylor, or Lisa? What if it was just me in this moment with this stunning woman?
What would I do?
I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against hers. A shaky breath escaped her lips. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Are you trying to prepare me or ask permission?” she whispered, her voice beckoning me like a siren’s call.
“Both.” My lips hovered near hers. “I figure it’s only fair.”
“Fair?” She pulled back slightly. “How so?”
“Ten thousand.” I angled my head and watched the pulse jump on her neck. “That’s how many nerve endings, on average, are in your lips. Consequently, when your body anticipates pleasure, the build-up is the best part. Imagine, those ten thousand nerves are swelling, allowing blood to surge through them in anticipation of… what?” I swept my tongue across her lower lip and whispered, “Of being touched. I ask permission, not because I’m being a gentleman. It’s actually the complete opposite. I ask permission so your brain anticipates the pleasure before I’ve ever even touched you.”
I tasted her lower lip again and abruptly dipped my tongue into her mouth. Then just as quickly retreated. “The human body is an instrument. Know how to master it… and well…” I let my voice drop as I moved my hands slowly to her shoulders and tugged her body flush against mine. Our mouths met softly at first. I deepened the kiss, memorizing her taste, knowing I wouldn’t experience a kiss like this again in my lifetime. The way her scent, her soft moans destroyed my body, wrecked me from the deepest part of me, was nothing short of life-altering.
And I’d like to think I’d kissed a lot of women.
I’d studied the psychology of sexuality.
I was an expert in pleasure.
But she was schooling me, absolutely wreaking havoc on every logical thought as her soft whimper cascaded over me. Blood surged through my body as it tightened with awareness at her proximity.
She pulled back, her lips swollen. “That was… not a good enough warning.”
Laughing softly, I cupped the back of her head and gently drew it toward mine and kissed her again, angling my lips differently, searching her, consuming her, drawing pleasure from her lips as if it was my life goal to discover every single secret she owned.
Her arms wrapped around my neck. She was shy; she didn’t push against me, didn’t wrap her legs around me or moan into my mouth like I was having sex with her rather than kissing her.
My hands moved down her corset to her hips, and I lifted her into the air and walked her backward toward the brick wall. The whole time, our masks collided. In frustration, I ripped hers off, then mine. The shadows of moonlight hid our faces as I kissed her harder, losing myself in her.
Her nails dug at the back of my neck as she jerked my head harder. Groaning, I let her fall to the ground as I placed my hands on the brick wall to keep myself from ripping the dress from her body.
Shouting started from the ballroom.
“Ten, nine…!”
“Eight,” I whispered against her mouth. “Seven.”
“Six.” She sighed, her breathing labored as her tongue found mine again. “Five.”
“Four, three.” I pulled back and trailed kisses down her neck.
“Two.”
We broke apart, both breathing heavy. “One.”
People burst out onto the balcony as the fireworks started, lighting up the sky. And our faces.
And the only thing I could say as she gasped in horror was “Oh, shit.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The pain completely stopped that night. I remember falling to the ground. I was smiling like a damn fool, and she was sobbing. I kept whispering, “Your fault, your fault…” when really I knew I was the one who’d taken the pills. But I also knew if she ever left me? I was as good as dead anyway. I needed to keep her with me at all costs. Even if it meant hurting her. See? I really did have to protect her from me¸ but in the end, I didn’t really want that. I was too selfish to want that. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
I COVERED MY mouth with my hands and almost passed out on the spot. Mystery man was my professor; professor was my mystery man.
The very same person.
Mr. Blake.
Or Mr. Freaking Blake.
Holy crap. I needed professional help. The one guy I was able to kiss in over two years without wanting to puke, and it’s my professor? REALLY?
The one who hates me. Oh no, I even told him my professor was a prick.
Tristan’s eyes turned murderous as he whispered, “Oh shit,” then looked down at the ground, then back up at me.
My mouth was still hanging open, and lucky me, my lips were still swollen and tingling from our kisses.
Could I get kicked out of school? Could he lose his job?
“I should…” He shook his head. “…go. I should go.”
He looked like he wanted to stay, like he wanted to say something, but when he opened his mouth again, all that came out were more curses. Funny, the mask had protected me, given me one night as the innocent princess who could have a kiss with a prince.