Chapter 11 - Isaac
I’m well aware of the rumors that have circulated around this town and this school about me and Dylan. While it’s not the main reason I’ve never left, it’s one of them. I knew they’d follow me no matter where I went, but at least here I have a job and a home.
No one seems to know if Dylan and I were academic rivals or family enemies or forbidden lovers. One common similarity between all the rumors is that something bad happened to him.
That I did something bad to him.
While I’ve gotten used to the rumors whispered around me and the lingering stares I sometimes get, hearing the suspicion and accusation in Jackson’s voice tips me over an edge I didn’t even realize I was close to.
“You want to know what I did to Dylan?” I ask, keeping my voice low as I slowly move away from the door.
He swallows hard, his eyes wide. He shakes his head as though he’s changed his mind after seeing how his question affected me.
“Are you sure?”
As I stalk across my office toward him, there’s fear in his eyes, and that should be a deterrent. For me, it’s not. Instead, it pushes my feet forward until he’s taking steps backward. When his back hits the wall, I stop in front of him.
“Maybe,” I start, placing the tip of my finger against his chest before trailing it slowly down, “I cut him open. Dissected him.”
His chest starts to heave beneath my touch, and his gaze hasn’t faltered from mine for a second. I tower over him by only a couple of inches, but right now it feels like more as he presses himself tighter against the wall, making himself smaller.
“Or maybe I strangled him with my bare hands and buried him in my backyard. Maybe I drowned him out in the lake and left him to swim with the fishes. Maybe I cut him into teeny tiny pieces and stored him in the freezer in my basement.”
Should I be purposefully scaring the boy? Should I be steering into those damn rumors?
Should I be touching him?
Definitely not to all of the above.
However, I’m so tired of being trapped by it all, of being the bad guy. Of wondering if I really am the bad guy in the end.
I might also be enjoying the feel of Jackson’s chest moving beneath my finger, the sight of his green eyes somehow glowing even brighter.
He says nothing, just stares at me with all that fear and confusion swimming in his gaze.
His body is trembling the slightest bit, and I decide to have mercy on him before he has a fucking panic attack.
I smirk, wondering how he’ll translate it. Were one of those the truth or was it all a fucked up joke?
Dropping my hand and stepping back, I tell him, “Get the fuck out of my office.”
I turn my back on him to return to my desk, but his recent habit of being a smartass and talking back must beat out whatever fear he was feeling a moment ago.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather force me to my knees again?”
I can’t explain what happens next or why. Rage flares hot in my veins. Maybe because after everything I just said…that is closer to being the truth?
Spinning back around, I close the distance between us and make yet another mistake, wrapping my hand around his throat before I can stop myself. Before the voice of reason in my brain has time to wake up and scream some sense at me.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
His eyes flash with something other than terror, which shocks me considering I just told him I might have strangled a man with my bare hands.
“You were hard,” he says breathlessly, his warm breath fanning across my face.
I flex my fingers around his throat but barely resist the urge to squeeze. “Is that what you think?”
“I know you were.” His brows dip down like he’s second-guessing himself, but his next question still comes out snarky as hell. “Or was it Professor Grant you were hard for?”
Considering I’m hard right now, I could easily prove it wasn’t.
But I find myself at a crossroads. I shouldn’t have taunted him.
I shouldn’t have touched him. My hand should definitely not be around his throat.
After all of that, I’m hard as a fucking rock, and I want nothing more than to grind against him so he can feel that it’s him I’m hard for.
When I say nothing, he swallows, and I can feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath my palm. His voice comes out more uncertain than before. “Sir?”
It’s chemistry. Or biology or psychology or some shit. Whatever it is, I can’t stop it. At that word on his lips and the feel of his throat in my hand, my cock jerks, and a groan rips up from deep in my chest.
He knows he has me.
He knows exactly what’s going to make me snap. I can see the knowledge in his eyes just before his gaze dips down to my mouth and gets stuck there. The tip of his tongue darts out to lick across his bottom lip, and I know what he’s thinking. I can see that too.
“You don’t want to do that,” I tell him, my voice coming out even deeper.
Without moving his gaze, he whispers, “I think I do.”
And here I am, forced to choose which path I’m going to take.
“Beg me for it.”
I’ve never been great at choosing the right one.
His lips part, and he inhales a breath. “Fuck,” he mumbles as though he likes the idea of that as much as I do. “Please. Please, I want to kiss you.”
“Why?”
I’m not entirely sure what I’m asking. Why does he want to kiss me? Why should I let him? Or am I asking myself why the hell I want nothing more than to kiss him too?
When his eyes finally find mine again, they’re dark and hooded. “Because I’ve wanted to kiss you since the second week of class.”
I’m weak. I’m so fucking weak.
Because I’ve wanted to kiss him since the second day of class.
Moving my hand from his throat, I thread my fingers through the hair on the back of his head and bring his face to mine, crashing my lips against his as a wave of relief crashes straight into me.
After months of fighting against my attraction to Jackson, of not even permitting myself to fantasize about him, to not think about him in any way other than as my student, I’m finally allowing myself this one moment of weakness. One. A single moment. Because that’s all this can be.
I’m about to pull away when he grabs me by the front of my vest and pulls me close until my body is flush with his. His erection nudges against mine, and his lips part on a moan. I take the opportunity to slip my tongue into his mouth.
At the first taste of him, I begin to come apart.
Not breaking, but unraveling gently and willingly.
The world loosens its hold on me, and I let it.
I am undone, and all I want is more.
But I know I shouldn’t.
“Fuck,” I growl the moment my lips break from his. When I drop my hand and go to take a step back, he tightens his hold on my vest.
“Don’t stop.”
I narrow my eyes, fighting with every last shred of goddamn self-control I have to resist the sound of his begging.
“Please, Sir.”
One little faux pas on my part, and he already knows how to make me bend the knee to my own desires.
Invading his space once more, my hand returns to the back of his head, this time gripping his hair tight by the roots, tilting his head back. I skim my lips up his jaw and whisper into his ear, “Trying to manipulate me, Jackson? So fucking needy, aren’t you?”
His body shivers against mine as he lets out a quiet whimper and nods his head as much as he can.
“Maybe corporal punishment would’ve suited you better than those essays.”
“Oh, fuck,” he groans as he thrusts his hips forward, rubbing his cock against mine again.
I smirk as I pull back to look into his face. “If you think you know me so well already, then what is it I really want to hear?”
“Please,” he says immediately, proving just how quickly he learns. “Fuck, please, Sir. Punish me.”
“It’s not really a punishment if you enjoy it, is it?”
It was meant to sound like a warning, and judging by the brief flicker of fear that returns to his eyes, that’s the way he takes it.
But I’ll make sure he does enjoy it.
Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, I step back and spin him around before shoving him backward. “Pants and underwear down. Lean over the desk. Ass out.”
His trembling hands go to the button of his jeans, but before he can undo them, I grasp his wrist and twist it just to the point of pain until he lets out a delicious cry.
“When I tell you to do something, I expect a response.”
With his face screwed up in a grimace, he nods. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good boy.” I release him and step behind him with my chest nearly touching his back. “Continue.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He really is a fast learner.
As he works at the front of his jeans, he trembles slightly. His chest heaves, his cheeks beautifully flushed.
I’ve silenced all those alarm bells going off in my head, pushed all those scolding voices warning me how bad of an idea this is into the furthest recesses of my mind where they’re barely more than whispered echoes.
It’s been so long since I let myself have something like this. I’m so tired of punishing myself.
I peer over at the door. It’s not that I forgot if I locked it or not. I wouldn’t have let things get this far if I wasn’t sure. I just need the confirmation.
I’m weak, but I’m not careless.
But, when it comes to Jackson, I fear I may be doomed no matter how careful I am.
Maybe I am the bad guy after all.