Chapter 13 - Isaac
I haven’t been able to get Jackson out of my head all weekend. Every time I tried to get some work done, his face crept into my mind, the look in his eyes right before everything tipped over that line I swore I’d never cross again.
I’d read a paragraph, stare at the page, and realize I hadn’t processed a single word. My thoughts would drift back to him. To the way he looked at me like I was both salvation and sin.
I had to take too many breaks from grading papers to relieve the ache in my cock every time I pictured him on his knees or bent over my desk, and now I’m behind.
I’m scrambling to get at least a couple more finished in my office Monday morning before heading to class, trying to pretend I’m still the sort of man who keeps control of his life.
Of course, that’s even more difficult considering this is where the act of my transgression occurred.
The memory plays in fragments. The soft hitch of his breath. Every time he called me Sir and melted from my praise. The red of his ass from my hand. His soft cries and his beautiful tears. The way he fucked back on my fingers, his tight hole begging to be filled.
It’s all burned into me.
As much of a distraction as my memory of that evening has been, it’s much more welcome than the guilt that comes with it.
I shouldn’t have let it happen.
What’s worse is my regret that I let myself want it.
I might’ve been a bit more intense than I should have been.
But it’s been so long since I had the opportunity to Dom, since I had a man who was as perfect a sub as Jackson was.
I know he recently came out as bisexual, so it’s hard to imagine he’s had experiences like that before. It’s more like he was a natural.
Perfect.
If I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t had that kind of connection with someone since Dylan. I’ve gone to a club out of town a few times, but I always left feeling less than satisfied. Those clubs can be fun, a good way to let off some steam, but I’ve always preferred to have a sub of my own.
It’s been years since I let myself want someone in that way, since I let desire and loneliness and curiosity twist themselves into something dangerous. Since I’ve let myself cross that line.
But Jackson…He makes me forget why rules exist in the first place.
Not just the school’s but my own.
And then there’s the whole issue of…can I even trust him? Even though my doubts about that have eased somewhat after what happened between us, the suspicion is still there. It’d be reckless to let it go completely.
By the time I head off to my first class of the day, I’m still incredibly behind and feeling off balance. I’ve already lost control once, and I’m not convinced I won’t again.
When I stand at the front of the lecture hall, the quiet hum of the students settling in usually steadies me.
Teaching is the one place where I feel sure of myself, where I can drown out the chaos of my mind by focusing on the sincere passion I have for the things I teach.
Where I can hide behind my role of professor and mentor and academic.
It’s safe.
Today, however, the words feel foreign in my mouth. My lecture flows automatically, muscle memory carrying me through as my mind lingers on the one student who isn’t in the room.
My first class ends, and my nerves are shot knowing that I’ll be seeing Jackson in the next one.
I don’t bother going back to my office for the next forty-five minutes, knowing damn well I won’t get any work done there.
I actually manage to get a few papers graded at my desk in the classroom between lectures.
When the students for my next class start milling in, I swear I can sense Jackson’s presence. I peer up from my work and am almost unnerved to see my sense was right.
And fuck if he doesn’t look even more beautiful to me now.
He walks in like nothing’s wrong, his book bag slung over one shoulder, that half smile tugging at the corner of his full mouth.
His eyes—those sharp, searching green ones that sparkle just like emeralds when the light hits them—find mine from across the room, and for a second, I almost forget how to breathe.
Guilt twists in my gut again.
He’s changed since the start of the semester. There’s something different about him now, something stronger, more self-assured. It should make it easier to distance myself, but instead it just draws me further in.
This time, it’s a bit more difficult to focus entirely on my lecture. My eyes keep landing on Jackson no matter how many times I correct them. Every time he leans forward to jot down notes, I catch myself staring. Every time he looks up, it feels like he knows.
All I want to do is look at him. Touch him. Make him come undone for me all over again.
But I can’t.
After I end class, I watch as Jackson stands from his seat. The moment he takes one step toward the front of the room, toward me, I know I have to stop him.
“Mr. Ellis.”
He halts in his tracks.
“See me in my office at the end of the day.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Yes, Sir.”
I’m so fucked.
The day crawls by, each class bleeding into the next.
I barely remember what I lectured on, what questions were asked.
Like those times you’re in your car and your mind is so full that you blackout and forget part of the drive.
Every moment is flashes of colored light, that knowledge that Jackson will walk through my door again.
When the knock finally comes, my pulse spikes.
“Come in.”
The door to my office opens, and Jackson steps inside. He closes the door softly behind him, and I watch as his hand hovers over the lock for several seconds as though he’s trying to make a decision. Relief settles in my chest when he turns away without locking it.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Take a seat.” I keep my tone steady and gesture to the chair on the other side of my desk.
He slowly crosses the room, appearing a little more unsure of himself than I’m used to seeing him as he settles in the chair and shifts uncomfortably. It only heightens my unease.
“I apologize that I didn’t reach out over the weekend. I should’ve checked to see how you were doing.”
That seems to alleviate some of his tension. “I’m okay. It kind of hurt to sit down the next day,” he says, his mouth twitching into a faint, uneven smile. “But I’m okay.”
“Good. Listen, Jackson…” I sigh and lean back in my seat, lacing my fingers together over my stomach, peering at him over the desk. There’s so much uncertainty in his gaze, but the briefest glimpse of hope has my heart in my throat. “You know that can’t happen again, right?”
His smile slips, but he quickly covers it up with something that turns into a half grimace, half sad smile. “I figured you’d say that.”
“It’s not…” I clear my throat, stopping myself before the words that I don’t want to can escape. “You understand why?”
He nods. “It’s against the rules. I get it. I’d never ask you to risk your career.”
I take a breath, wishing that made this easier. “Thank you.”
“I could withdraw. From your class, I mean.”
“Absolutely not. It’s already halfway through the semester, and you’ve worked too hard.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I said.”
“There are still two more months left, and I—” He cuts himself off and casts his eyes down, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath as he struggles with whatever thoughts are running through his mind.
“It’s just one class. I don’t need it to graduate.
I can take a different one to fulfill my last English requirement next semester. ”
“I said no, Jackson. You deserve the credit for this class, and I won’t let you throw away the work you’ve already put in.”
He peers back up at me, his jaw set. “So we just pretend it never happened?”
I wish I could lie and say yes, say that would be easy, that that’s what I want. That maybe that would even keep us both safe.
But I’ve already learned how fragile denial can be.
“No. We just can’t let it happen again.”
“And after the semester’s over?”
I want that so fucking badly.
I feel every last ounce of control I’ve been clinging to start to slip.
Even after the semester’s over, am I willing to risk everything again? As much as I want Jackson, would I just be tempting fate? Would history repeat itself? Would I be left more battered and bruised than I was last time?
Before I can respond, his eyes flash with something wounded and sharp, interpreting my hesitation for rejection. “Did it just mean nothing then?”
While I’ve felt shame for defying the university’s rules against having a relationship with a student—whether it was one time or not—this is where the crux of my guilt stems from.
I never wanted to hurt Jackson.
Of course it meant something.
But I don’t fucking trust myself enough to say that.
“That’s not at all what any of this means.”
His jaw ticks as he clenches it tighter. His gaze turns even harder as the tense silence stretches on for several seconds, while I’m left wishing I could say something to make this better, easier.
“So is this what you did to Dylan?”
All the air rushes out of my lungs as the question hits me like a physical blow. “What?”
“Fooled around with him. Made him think you wanted him, then came up with excuses not to be with him. Made it all feel cheap and worthless. Made him feel worthless.”
The way his voice trembles fucking guts me.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not.” His voice is tight, trembling with hurt and anger all tangled together. “But I do know what it feels like to be made into a mistake.”
“Jackson—”
“No, it’s fine.” He stands, his chair scraping against the floor, and looks at me with eyes that are no longer sparkling. They’re just empty. Void. “It was just one time. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Jackson!”
I stand too, but he’s already at the door.
He opens it and disappears into the hall while I force my feet to stay in place.
As much as I want to go after him, to tell him I do want him, I can’t bring myself to do it.
I can’t bring myself to break the rules, to give him hope when I’m not sure if I have any myself.
The silence that follows is deafening. I stand there for a long time, staring at the open door, unable to move. The office feels colder now. Emptier.
Once again, it’s not him I was protecting when I should’ve been.
It was myself.
And I’m not sure there’s a version of this where either of us makes it out unscathed.