Chapter 40
Chapter
Forty
FALLON
I'm so relaxed, mind drifting somewhere between sleep and waking, when I think I hear a motorcycle. The distinctive rumble. I shake the thought away immediately. Just my imagination playing tricks, conjuring him because I want him here so desperately it physically hurts.
I grab my loofa from the edge of the tub and pour body wash onto it, working the soap between my hands until thick lather forms. The peach scent fills the steamy air as I start washing my body, trying to focus on this instead of the ache in my chest.
A loud bang shatters the quiet.
I jump, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. What the fuck was that?
Then I hear it again—pounding. Someone is knocking on my door. Hard.
I scramble out of the tub, nearly slipping on the wet tile, and grab my robe off the bathroom door. My heart hammers against my ribs as I rush through the house, leaving a trail of water behind me like breadcrumbs. The pounding comes again, three sharp bangs that echo through the empty rooms.
I reach the front door and peek out the window.
Kade stands on my porch, and I've never seen him look like this—wild, barely controlled fury radiating from every line of his body.
I rush to open the door, thanking God we don't have a Ring camera.
"What the fuck," he growls, walking into my house the second the door opens.
I move backwards on instinct, my body responding before my brain catches up. He looks crazed, green eyes burning. He kicks the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle the frame.
"You just fucking left." His voice is raised but not yelling, somewhere between anger and hurt.
I still flinch. Can't help it.
"I'm sorry—"
He stops moving immediately, eyes softening when he sees my reaction.
"Listen to me very carefully." His voice drops low, controlled. "I am far from a good guy, but I will never fucking lay a hand on you. No matter how pissed I am. No matter what you do. I will never hurt you in any way." He takes a breath. "But fuck, I am so pissed at you right now."
"I'm sorry," I repeat, the words barely audible.
He takes a step closer, testing. I stay planted, forcing myself not to move. Then he closes the distance between us completely.
"Why did you leave while I was sleeping?"
"I didn't want to say goodbye," I admit, the truth spilling out.
"Peaches." The nickname sounds rough in his throat. "You know this is not the end, right?"
I look down because how could it not be? This is wrong on so many levels—teacher and student, married woman and teenager, every line crossed and destroyed.
His hand catches my chin, tipping my face back up to meet his eyes.
"We are far from over," he says, each word deliberate. "I just need a little time to figure a few things out, and then I'm coming for you. You're fucking mine. Do you understand me?"
"You really want this?" I ask, searching his face. "Like, for real?"
"Fuck, Peaches." His grip on my chin tightens slightly. "I've never wanted anything more, and I'll take you home right now if you let me."
I shake my head. "No. We have to figure something out. I'm not kidding—he will kill me if I try to leave."
His jaw clenches, that muscle ticking. Then he lowers his head down to mine, close enough that I can feel his breath.
"Alright, then let me figure it out. Okay?"
"Okay," I whisper.
I push up on my tiptoes and bury my face against the warm curve of his neck, breathing him in.
My arms wind around him as the question spirals through my mind—could this actually happen?
Could I really get to have this? To have him?
Not stolen moments in empty classrooms or hurried kisses in parking lots, but something real and lasting and mine?
The possibility feels too fragile to examine too closely, like it might shatter if I look at it directly.
His arms come around me immediately, bands of solid muscle pulling me flush against his chest. The contact makes my breath catch—he's so warm, so solid, so very real.
His chin hooks over the top of my head, and I feel the rise and fall of his breathing, faster than normal. Like maybe he's affected by this too.
"Don't ever do that shit again," he mutters into my hair, voice rough with something that might be fear. "Sneaking out. Making me wake up alone."
"I won't," I whisper back against the hollow of his throat. "I promise."
His hand slides down the curve of my back, slow and deliberate, until it reaches my ass. He squeezes—possessive, claiming—and heat floods through me despite everything. Then both hands grip me firmly, fingers digging into flesh, and he lifts me up in one smooth motion like I weigh nothing at all.
My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, the silk robe falling open completely now.
I should care about that. Should care about the exposure, the vulnerability.
But God, I love when he picks me up like this—makes me feel weightless and safe and desired all at once.
Makes me feel like something special instead of something broken.
I press my lips to the side of his neck, tasting salt and skin and that faint sweetness that's uniquely him. My tongue traces the line of his pulse, feeling it jump beneath my touch.
He groans, low and rough, the sound vibrating through both our bodies where we're pressed together. His fingers tighten on my thighs, hard enough to leave marks I'll treasure later.
Then his mouth crashes against mine and we're moving—he's moving us, walking somewhere with my body still wrapped around his.
I can't concentrate on anything except the way his lips claim mine, demanding and desperate, tongue sweeping inside to taste and possess.
The world spins or maybe that's just my head, drunk on the feel of him.
Something solid hits the backs of my thighs and he's laying me down on a hard surface. Cool wood against heated skin.
He pulls back and I blink, trying to focus. The dining room. I'm on my table, the one Daniel picked out last year because it looked "distinguished." Kade towers over me, green eyes dark with hunger, and my breath catches at the raw want on his face.
His hands go to the button of his jeans and I watch, transfixed, as he works it open. My thighs fall wider without conscious thought.
"I don't know how I'm going to go a single day not being able to be inside of you." The words come out rough, almost angry, as he unzips his pants and pulls his cock free.
A whimper escapes my throat. God, he's beautiful—hard and thick, already leaking at the tip. I raise myself up on my elbows because I need to watch, need to see everything.
He wraps his fist around himself, stroking slow, and I want to lean forward and lick that bead of precum glistening at the head. Want to taste him, feel the weight of him on my tongue.
"Please, Kade."
The words come out breathy, needy. I don't care.
"Are you ready for me, Peaches?"
Before I can answer, he slaps his cock against my pussy and pleasure sparks through me sharp enough to steal my breath. I moan, and he does it again, the contact hitting my clit perfectly.
Then he slides the head up and down through my lips, collecting my wetness and smearing it everywhere. I catch sight of a little blood mixed in—not bad like the first time, something primal in me loves it.
He pushes into me just a little, barely breaching my entrance, then pulls back out to rub against my clit again. The tease is exquisite torture. He repeats the motion—in just slightly, back out, pressure on that swollen bundle of nerves—until I'm squirming underneath him, desperate.
"I'm so close." The words tear from my throat. "Please fuck me, Kade."
He groans deep, the sound vibrating through both of us, and then thrusts into me fully in one hard stroke.
I gasp and moan, back arching off the table as he fills me completely. Then he's moving, fucking me hard and fast, and the pressure builds so quickly I can barely breathe through it.
I move one hand down between our bodies, fingers finding my clit, rubbing frantically. Need crashes over me in waves.
Seconds. That's all it takes—just seconds and I'm coming apart, screaming his name as pleasure explodes through every nerve ending.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you come on my cock."
His voice sounds wrecked as he fucks me through the orgasm, drawing it out until I'm shaking with aftershocks.
When I come down enough to think again, I want more. Want to give him what he's given me.
"Sit down in the chair."
He stops thrusting but doesn't pull out, and for a second I think he might not listen. Then he just picks me up—still impaled on his cock—and sits in the chair. Daniel's chair. Bringing me with him into his lap, never separating us.
The symbolism isn't lost on me. Fuck Daniel and his chair and his rules and everything he's destroyed.
Kade kisses me so deep and desperate I can't tell where I end and he begins. I start rolling my hips, grinding down onto him, dragging groans and moans from deep inside his chest that make me feel powerful.
We never stop kissing as I move faster, harder, chasing something neither of us wants to end. His hands grip my hips, guiding my movements, and the new angle hits somewhere inside me that makes stars burst behind my closed eyelids.
"Fuck, Peaches." His voice breaks on my nickname. "Gonna come."
"Yes," I breathe against his lips. "Please come inside me."
That does it. His whole body goes rigid beneath me, cock pulsing as he fills me, and the sensation triggers another orgasm I didn't know I had in me. Smaller but no less intense, rippling through my core as we cling to each other.
We stay like that for long moments, breathing hard, hearts racing against each other. His forehead drops to my shoulder and I thread my fingers through his hair, memorizing the feel of him.