Epilogue Ella
One week later…
My body jerks forward under Rissa’s shoulder check as she barrels past me in McAlister High’s front hall. I stumble and barely manage to catch hold of my backpack before it drops to the floor.
“Watch where you’re going, loser,” Rissa calls over her shoulder, laughing as she leans against Jace Pratt, McAlister’s quarterback, who looks back at me with a frown. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy to me, but then again, he also doesn’t say a word as he and Rissa continue walking.
With a deep, tired sigh that I feel all the way down to my bones, I head off in the direction of my next class.
Each step makes the skin over my shoulders beneath my thin white T-shirt draw tighter and tighter.
He hasn’t been back in a week. Not since before the long weekend celebrating the end of summer and … that night.
Reaching up, I feel over my lips and the cut I’d left with. It’s practically gone now, the last reminder of the night I lost my virginity to Jacob Colton healing over.
Entering the classroom, I find my chair in the farthest row, dropping my bag down and ushering my hair forward over one shoulder before I feel comfortable enough to peer up and see if he is, in fact, back or if we’ve got another day of confused substitutes and dull PowerPoints.
Spying the tall, dark-haired man standing at the front of the classroom is like taking a punch to the gut.
My mind short-circuits as he leans against his desk with a stack of papers in hand, casually flipping through them as others enter, saying hello and taking their seats.
Sweat beads pop up along my spine. It’s fine, I tell myself. He doesn’t know who I am. He never saw me without the mask.
Despite that, I can’t help but reach back and pull more of my hair forward to hide my face.
Unlike the night I’d gone to the Coltons’ annual end of summer masquerade, my hair is duller without the shine of powdered makeup.
The bright yellow gold of the glittery hair mask I’d worn to slightly brighten my normal dishwater blonde is gone.
The bell rings, making me jump in my seat. Jacob slaps the stack of papers down and crosses his arms over his chest. “Good afternoon, students,” he says, eyes scanning the room. “I’m happy to say that the subs reported good behavior from you all during my absence.”
Those crystalline blue eyes pause when they get to me and I sink farther into my seat. My heart races against the inside of my left breast. Closing my eyes, I can feel the ghost of his fingers over my body, his mouth on mine, moving down … down … toward…
“Because of that—” I blink my eyes back open, not even realizing that I’d shut them as Jacob Colton continues. “—I’d like to offer you guys a reward.”
The class cheers, hands clapping, shouts sounding out.
“No homework?” someone asks.
“Pizza party?” someone else suggests.
“Free weed?” That last comment receives a raised brow from Jacob and a shake of his head.
God, he’s beautiful. Gone are the lace-up trousers, peasant shirt, and matching brown coat from the masquerade.
He’s now dressed in modern clothes, dark navy blue slacks and a cream button-down beneath a dark brown sweater vest. The muscles of his biceps stretch the fabric of the shirt, and I recall what it felt like to sink my nails into them as he thrust into me.
Clenching one hand into a fist and pressing it to my lower belly as if that’ll stop the needy sensation of wanting him inside of me again, I use my other hand to grip the side of my scarred desktop.
“No weed,” Jacob says, sounding amused by the mere suggestion.
A lone lock of dark brown hair curls over the side of his forehead.
The aristocratic bridge of his nose is slightly crooked, but he’s no less beautiful for the slight flaw.
I stare ahead, half wanting to sink into the floor and half hoping that he’ll notice me, that he’ll know me.
That, however, would cause all sorts of problems.
“Gabriella?”
It takes me several moments to realize that my name has been called. Not until the person to my right reaches over and nudges me do I comprehend that the sound of Jacob saying my name—my real, full name—isn’t a fantasy. It’s real.
My head jerks up and my eyes meet his. He lifts his hand to his face and scrubs it over the side of his unshaven jaw. His thumb touches his lower lip in an unconsciously sexual motion.
“Any idea what it could be, Miss DuPont?” he inquires.
He doesn’t know. My shoulders slowly sink back from their raised position. “Movie day?” I guess at his prompting.
With his thumb still on his lower lip, his mouth stretches into a full-blown smile. Oh, ouch. Seeing it fucking hurts.
“Correct,” he says as the door opens and Alyssa Kale, student teacher for Mr. Beaufort, the media and communications instructor, backs in with a giant black television on a rolling stand.
Whatever small amount of hope I might have had dies as she flashes Jacob her ultra-perfect smile. Putting my head down against the desk, I blink back tears as everyone starts talking at once, excitement over a movie day versus an actual day of learning taking over.
I don’t know how long it takes for them to set up the old-school television but when the lights go out, I lift my head just as the starting credits for Freedom Writers begin.
Sitting back in my chair, I try to focus on the screen, only to have my attention scan over to Jacob again and again. He’s not watching me, though. Because he doesn’t know who I am. Of course not.
It’s time to get back to the real world.
The seventy-five-minute block of time for this class crawls by. My back and neck are both sore and stiff by the time Jacob hits the lights and pauses the movie. “All right, folks,” he calls out, “we’ll pick this back up tomorrow. Have a good afternoon.”
I move slower than I should, reaching for my backpack and lifting it up and over my shoulders with such sluggishness that I feel almost as if I’m screaming for him to notice me, to see me.
Half of the class is already out of the room before I even stand up from my desk.
Hitching my bag up higher, I place one foot in front of the other and make my way toward the front.
“Not you, Miss DuPont.” I freeze at Jacob’s words.
A few students glance at me curiously, but none of them linger. Why would they? There’s no reason for anyone to suspect what I’ve done.
Turning to face him, I push a lock of my hair back and hook it over my ear. “Yes, Mr. Colton?” I ask. Mr. Colton … not Jacob.
The second bell, warning other students to hurry to class lest they be late, rings out. I glance at the door. “I’m going to be late,” I say when he still has yet to reply to me.
“I’ll write you a pass,” he says as he reaches down and lifts a satchel bag onto the top of his desk. His hand disappears inside.
No more students come through the door of the classroom, but I know why.
I know everything about Jacob Colton. His schedule.
His wealthy, well-respected family. The way he feels when he’s angry-fucking a girl who gave him her virginity.
He doesn’t have a class coming because this is his planning period, and no one will notice my absence in calculus. No one ever does.
“I believe you lost something,” Jacob says, straightening and pulling his hand free from the bag. My breath catches in my throat and I nearly stumble as I jerk back and smack into a desk. Jacob comes around his desk, still holding the mask I’d left behind.
“I-I don’t know what—”
Jacob comes forward, striding until he stops in front of me, barely a few inches away. My heart pounds, ricocheting against my chest as if it wants to rip free of my body and flee. I don’t blame it. With exacting movements, he sets the mask down on the desk and leans into me.
“Only one person I know smells like lavender, vanilla, and lemon,” he whispers against my ear. My eyelids slip down as the soft, deep vibrato of his voice slides over my eardrums. It’s like audible chocolate—sweet, heavenly, addictive. Then his words hit me and my eyes pop back open.
Dark, sapphire eyes bore into me and his upper lip curls back as his hand reaches around and cups the nape of my neck. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out who you were, Gabriella?”
The kiss he gives me is just as punishing as the sex was. It’s volcanic with its heat and deliciously wicked. His mouth drags against mine, teeth nipping, violence stirring. It was foolish to ever think of him as sweet and heroic.
Jacob Colton is no prince.
He’s the beast, and he’s come to eat me.
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