Chapter 14
ISABELLA
It’s done. The line is crossed. The forbidden fruit is eaten. I thought I’d feel different. I thought I’d regret what we just did. Waiting for a surge of guilt that never arrives.
Instead, something else. A quiet sense of peace and rightness settles over me. A silence of my worries, fears, and doubts. Being here with him, like this, on his bike, clicks something inside me.
It’s an odd feeling.
Expecting something that doesn’t come and not expecting something that does. If this were a chemistry experiment, it would be called an anomaly, a deviation from the norm. But this isn’t a lab, and I can’t measure or predict the variables at play.
His light curse fills my ears as he suddenly pulls away, slipping from my body and exposing my sweaty back and wet pussy to the cold air.
It sends goosebumps over my skin and a shudder through my body.
It’s another couple of seconds before he’s reaching for my pants, tugging them up with a surprising hastiness.
Pushing myself up from being draped over his bike and the steel no longer digging into my knees, I groan at the soreness from both him and my accident.
I catch his hands, working the fabric over my ass to finish the job myself, and turning to look at him. He wears regret on his face. An expression more unexpected than me choosing to throw caution to the wind and fucking him.
“That was a mistake.”
The words are a slap across my face.
Unable to look me in the eye, he quickly works on bringing his pants up, adjusting himself before zipping them. Whatever he did with the used condom is beyond me.
My mouth parts while my brain is still processing what’s happening. With my unclasped bra causing tension across my arms, I walk away from him toward the water’s edge. My boots sink into the soft soil as I work to hook my bra from underneath my sweater and blazer.
A mistake.
The flames of lust are barely extinguished before he doused them further by his admission.
I exhale deeply, the warmth of my breath seen in the cool air and darkening sky as I look at the tender ripples made by a turtle.
Suddenly, strong arms wrap around my waist, securing me to him in a softer and more meaningful embrace.
“I shouldn’t have gotten so rough with you, Iz.” His words vibrate against my shoulder blades. “I was so excited and couldn’t help myself.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
We aren’t a mistake.
His guilt is how we fucked. Not the fact that we fucked. It’s sort of endearing.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
I rest the back of my head against his chest. My hand reaches his forearm to squeeze it while glancing at the soft boat lights from across the inlet.
“You didn’t.”
Quite the opposite.
It was hot how he took charge.
Utterly in control.
Whereas I didn’t have to think about a thing. He did it all, allowing me to escape into the moment. It was one of the best quickies I’ve ever had.
“Are you sure?”
I turn my chin, looking up at him, still wearing that same regretful expression, until I turn in his arms.
“Yeah, my only regret is I wore pants when a skirt would have been easier.”
Relief sags his body further into mine. He chuckles, the sound deep and sexy as it reverberates into my chest.
“Well, I suppose we can’t correct that now, can we?”
“No, we can’t.” I shake my head, still smiling. “But next time . . .”
His entire expression changes to happiness, leaving us to stand and stare at each other. My body vibrates from the good feelings he gave me. His hands gently caress my back while mine wiggle into the waistline of his jacket, protected from the crisp temperature.
“You know.” He suddenly frowns, and his voice becomes quieter and more intimate. “I wasn’t just being rough to be rough.”
I cast him an inquisitive look, searching for the meaning behind his words.
“It was deliberate. I meant to take control. I wanted you to feel helpless.”
His eyebrows are drawn together when explaining himself.
“Helpless?”
It’s such an odd word choice that I don’t hide my disdain for it.
“No, maybe that’s not the best word. Uncertain or disoriented? I wanted to take you outside your comfort zone. You challenged me, wanting me to teach you a lesson. I wanted you to see me how I am.”
I nod slowly, still wondering where he’s going with this.
“And how are you, Diego?”
His gaze drifts away as if my question asks the mother of all questions. As if he’s thought and answered it a hundred different ways and is deciding which one to go with.
“Your equal.”
When he looks at me, there’s a seriousness.
“Your equal? What do you mean?”
He sighs, dragging a knuckle over my cheek and tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Just don’t put me on the other side of the wall.”
The words ghost out of him before he kisses me softly. My eyes close as I kiss him back, but my brain analyzes his cryptic words.
What wall?
Is there something he’s hiding from me? Something I should know about him?
He ends the kiss as quickly as it starts, capturing my hand and silently guiding me back to his bike.
“What wall, Diego?”
He shakes his head, picks up my helmet, and is about to put it on me when I stop him.
“What wall?” I repeat, when he continues to fiddle with the helmet instead of responding.
He pauses, his jaw tightening as he looks away, avoiding my gaze. I think he might ignore the question altogether, but then he sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly.
“It’s not something I can explain in a few words.”
His voice is rough around the edges as if he’s struggling to get out whatever bothers him.
“Try. You can’t just say something like that and expect me to let it go.”
I intentionally add an edge to my tone. He’s never not communicated effectively before, so why is he having trouble now?
The pink helmet dangles in his hand. His thumb flips the strap back and forth, releasing nervous energy. His eyes flicker with something raw and vulnerable when he finally looks at me.
“The wall . . . it’s what I feel when people see me as just another kid, or just a student, or worse, just someone too young to know what he wants or what he’s doing.”
His lips press into a tight line, and he shifts away from me. A shock of cold air sweeps past me, adding a chill to this conversation.
“It’s the distance people put between me and them when they think I’m not enough. Not serious. Not worth their time.”
I feel a pang in my chest, his words cutting deeper than I expected.
There’s pain in what he’s saying. Pain that started long before me, inflicted by someone else or several others.
He searches my face for a reaction, wary but defiant, like he’s daring me to contradict him.
Daring me to contribute to the conspiracy he’s been dealing with.
“Diego . . .” I start, but he holds up a hand, stopping me.
“I don’t want to feel that with you. Look, I get that you’re more accomplished than me, and you could easily feel that way. You’re a professor and a PhD, after all. For Christ’s sake, your dad’s a fucking legend. A chem genius. And you got to grow up around that . . .”
He runs a hand through his hair while the cloud from this warm breath dissipates above his head.
“Just don’t put me on the other side, is all I’m asking, Iz. I don’t belong there.”
I don’t know how to respond immediately.
Instead, I think back to all the interactions we’ve had thus far, which haven’t been many. Yet, I see his point clearly now. I tried to put distance between us and remind myself that this shouldn’t be happening.
He’s a student.
I’m his professor.
This is a promotion for me. One I’ve worked hard for and then threw caution to the wind because what he’s hot or was nice to Papà and me? But now, standing here, hearing the quiet pain behind his words, I realize how much I’ve underestimated him.
“I was trying to prevent this, Diego. Don’t you see? Everything in the world says we shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t have done that.”
He curses, dumping the helmet on the bike seat with a loud thud.
“Not only do I get the wall. I get regret too.”
I reach for him. The pain in his voice is too much not to console him. My hand brushes his arm, the fabric of his cold jacket rough against my fingertips. He doesn’t look at me. His head bows slightly, his eyes locked on the helmet he just dropped on the bike seat.
“It’s not regret.”
My pulse spikes as my mind works through what it is, if not regret. I’m skating on thin ice with him and myself, trying to figure out what I’m doing.
“Then what is it?”
His jaw clenches, and when he turns his head, his face is sharp and accusatory.
“Fear.”
The confession tumbles out. The vulnerability behind that one word squeezes my heart.
“Fear of what I’m risking, what you’re risking. I could get fired. You could get kicked out. We both have a lot to lose if someone finds out. Then what?”
He briefly clenches his fists, then lets them open at his sides.
“Fuck, Iz. You didn’t think about that before?” His eyes widen with disbelief. “Before you hopped on my bike and let me fuck you out here?”
The rawness stabs me squarely in the chest. Lesson learned not to get involved with a student.
Big, fucking mistake.
“Take me home.”
“I knew the risks, Isabella.” His hand rolls into a fist and hits the middle of his chest. “And I said fuck it. There are other schools out there. BU is not the be-all and end-all, Iz.”
He bears down on me. Slowly stalking toward me and forcing me to round the bike, using it as a barrier between us.
“Yeah, we could get caught. We could both get kicked out. Don’t you think I know that?
Then again, we might not if we’re careful.
Why do you think I drove out here? It’s quiet and secluded.
Private and what you asked for. I didn’t plan for us to do what we did, but don’t ask me to regret this like you. I don’t, and I won’t.”