Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
FALLON
Am I really going to do this?
The question circles my mind relentlessly as I gather papers at my desk, students filing out after the final bell rings.
The things we've already done have been bad enough—crossing every professional and moral boundary I once thought I'd never even approach—but this is on a whole new level of fucked up.
Staying over at his house. Actually planning it.
Packing an overnight bag like I'm some college girl spending the weekend with her boyfriend instead of a married woman arranging an affair with her student.
If Daniel comes home early from his conference, it's all over. Not just whatever this is with Kade, but me. My life. Everything.
He will kill me. I'm sure of it.
The certainty sits in my stomach like ice, but even that knowledge doesn't stop me from wanting this. From needing this. From being so desperate for Kade's touch that I'm willing to risk Daniel's rage.
Because Kade is the only thing that makes me feel anything anymore.
The only thing that reminds me I'm still alive underneath all the fear and careful control. That I'm still human, still capable of desire and joy and all the emotions I thought Daniel had beaten out of me.
I press my thighs together unconsciously, remembering this morning in my kitchen.
The way Kade looked at me when he asked me to come home with him again—that perfect combination of sweet and intense that makes my heart race and my body ache.
Those green eyes holding mine as he waited for my answer, patient but hungry.
The way his hands felt on my hips, possessive and gentle at the same time.
I shiver at the memory, arousal pooling low in my belly despite the classroom around me.
I blame agreeing on the after-sex high, on the endorphins still flooding my system from being touched like I matter instead of like I'm property. But I know it's more than that, it's deeper and more dangerous than simple physical attraction.
After he left yesterday—I missed him. I laid in my empty bed and ached for the weight of him beside me, the warmth of his body, his scent.
That's the most dangerous part of all of this.
Not the sneaking around on my husband, not even that Kade is my student and ten years younger and completely inappropriate in every possible way.
It's that I missed him. That I just wanted to be around him, surrounded by his presence, breathing in that scent that's uniquely his—cotton candy and something darker underneath. Something that calls to the part of me I thought Daniel had destroyed completely.
I grab my purse with hands that shake slightly, slinging it over my shoulder as I head for the exit.
My heels click against linoleum as I navigate empty hallways, the sound echoing in the after-school quiet.
A few teachers call out goodbyes from their classrooms and I wave, trying to look normal.
Trying not to look like a woman about to do something unforgivable.
Outside, the afternoon sun hits my face, blinding me momentarily. I raise a hand to shield my eyes, blinking against the brightness as I adjust from the dim interior of the school. When I turn the corner, I spot him immediately.
Kade. Waiting on his bike exactly where we agreed, a block from campus where no one from school will see us together.
God, he's beautiful in a dark, dangerous kind of way that makes my mouth go dry.
Blue t-shirt stretched across those broad shoulders.
Dark jeans hugging muscular thighs. That devastating face with its sharp angles and those eyes that I want to get lost in.
He's straddling the Harley like he was born on it, all casual confidence and barely contained power.
Everything about him screams danger, screams bad idea, screams run the other direction.
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I approach. Wide and genuine and probably revealing far too much about how I feel. About how desperately I want this.
He smiles back—that rare, real smile that transforms his face from handsome to breathtaking—and right this second I decide it's worth it. He's worth it. Whatever happens to me when we inevitably get caught is worth spending any time I can with him. Worth these stolen moments of feeling alive again.
"Come here," he says when I get close, voice low and rough in that way that makes heat curl through my belly.
I step into him without hesitation, into his space. His hands find my hips immediately, grounding me, claiming me. I can feel the heat of his body even through our clothes.
He reaches for my helmet and handles it with surprising care as he positions it over my head. His fingers are gentle as they adjust the fit, tucking stray strands of hair back, making sure everything sits correctly.
"You don't know how bad I want to kiss you right now," he murmurs, eyes locked on my mouth.
I look down at his lips, wishing desperately that he could. Wishing we were anywhere but here, a block from my workplace where anyone might see. "You can kiss me when you get me home."
The words come out breathier than I intended, loaded with promise. With anticipation.
He groans, the sound rough and frustrated, adjusting my chin strap with focused fingers. "Is it okay if we stop by the shop first? So I can look at your car?" His eyes meet mine, searching. "I hate to stop when I finally have you, but I want to get your car ready for you. Make sure it's safe."
The concern in his voice, the way he cares about my safety even in small things, makes my chest tight. Daniel has never cared about whether my car is safe. Has never cared about anything except whether I'm behaving correctly.
"Yeah, that's fine."
"Are you sure?" His dark eyes search mine intently, reading the micro-expressions I can't quite hide from him. "Don't worry—nobody's there that will know or care about us. It's just my dad's garage. Completely safe."
That does make me feel better about it. The thought of being around people who know what we are to each other, who might judge or gossip or worse, makes anxiety spike in my chest. But if it's just the garage, just Kade and his work, that feels manageable.
"Yeah, I'm sure," I repeat, meaning it this time.
"Well then." His grin turns wicked, hands squeezing my hips. "Get that sexy ass on my bike, Peaches."
I practically melt into the concrete right there, heat flooding through me at his words, at the possessive tone, at the way he looks at me like I'm something desirable instead of damaged goods.
I swing my leg over the seat and settle behind him, movements more comfortable and confident each time I do this.
The muscle memory is building, my body learning the rhythm of being on his bike.
I have to sit on my skirt so it doesn't fly up when we take off, the fabric bunching awkwardly between my thighs and the leather seat, my bare legs wrapping around his hips.
I squeeze with my thighs, feeling the solid warmth of his body between them, the strength of him. My arms come around his waist naturally now, no hesitation. Holding onto Kade feels like the most natural thing in the world.
He puts his helmet on and the engine roars to life beneath us—that powerful rumble that I'm starting to crave as much as his touch. The vibration travels through the machine into my body, settling between my legs, making me shift against him.
Then we're moving, and I remember being terrified the first time I rode.
Clutching him so tight I probably left bruises, convinced we'd crash.
But now? Now I love it. Love being this close to him, pressed against his back with my arms around his waist. Love the vibration between my thighs, the mechanical purr that makes arousal pool low in my belly.
Love the wind whipping around my body as we fly through town, the way the world narrows to just this—him and me and nothing but road stretching ahead.
We make a quick detour to my house—my prison in disguise.
The suburban lie I'm forced to maintain.
Kade kills the engine in the driveway, and I climb off the bike on legs that tremble with more than just the vibration of the ride.
I stare at the perfectly manicured lawn, the seasonal flowers Daniel had someone plant.
"Let me see your phone."
I dig it from my purse with fingers that want to shake. Hand it over without question, without hesitation. Trust comes easier with Kade than it ever should, easier than it came with the man I married. That should probably worry me. Instead, it just feels right.
Kade goes through the settings with practiced ease, his fingers swiping and tapping across the screen with the confidence of someone who actually understands technology.
I watch his face as he works—the slight furrow between his brows when he concentrates, the way his jaw flexes.
I don't understand half of what he's doing, some kind of forwarding system that will let me receive calls and texts on his phone instead of mine. I'm just grateful he knows how.
A soft chime breaks the silence, and he hands my phone back to me with a satisfied nod.
"Let's test it." He pulls out his own phone, fingers flying across the screen with that same casual competence. His phone chimes almost immediately and he turns the screen toward me, a half-smile playing at his lips. "See? It works."
I read the text he sent me from his phone to mine: You're beautiful.
A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it—genuine and helpless and completely unguarded.
The kind of smile I've forgotten how to make.
Then I notice what he has me saved as in his contacts.
Peaches, complete with a little peach emoji next to it.
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, the sound surprising me with its lightness, its freedom.
"What?" His eyebrows raise in mock innocence, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he's fighting his own smile.
"You programmed me as Peaches in your phone."
He grins, that full devastating smile that makes my heart skip. "Yeah, well. You weren't supposed to see that."
"I like it." My voice comes out softer than I intend. "It's sweet."
His eyes meet mine, and the intensity there makes my breath catch. Soft and fierce at the same time, protective and possessive in ways that should terrify me but don't.
"I'll be right back," I murmur, already moving toward the house before I can change my mind.
Inside, the silence wraps around me like a shroud.
Suffocating after the freedom of wind and engine roar and Kade's warmth.
My footsteps echo too loud against the hardwood floors Daniel insisted we install—expensive, elegant, cold as ice in winter.
I move through rooms that have never felt like home, past furniture I didn't choose and walls painted colors that aren't mine.
Everything here is Daniel's. His taste, his choices, his control extending to every curtain and throw pillow.
I hesitate in the bedroom doorway, staring at the phone in my hand like it's a loaded gun.
Because that's what it is, isn't it? Evidence.
A tracking device. Daniel's leash keeping me tethered even when he's not physically here.
This feels dangerous, what I'm about to do.
Like crossing a line I can't uncross, stepping over a boundary that once violated can never be restored.
Leaving my phone here means Daniel can't track me this afternoon.
Can't monitor my location and know where I am every single second.
It means freedom for these stolen hours.
It means risk.
I plug the phone into the charger on my nightstand—the side of the bed that's supposed to be mine but has never felt like anything except another piece of his territory.
The device sits there innocently, betraying nothing.
Daniel will see I'm home if he checks. Will assume I'm doing whatever dutiful wives do.
Cleaning, probably. Or reading. Waiting for him like a good girl.
He won't know I'm anywhere else.
The thought sends equal parts terror and exhilaration through my veins as I turn and walk out of that bedroom, out of that house, away from the life that's been slowly killing me for three years.
"Let's go," I say to Kade when I reach the driveway, and the words taste like freedom.
I climb back onto the bike behind him, my dress riding up again as I settle against his back. My arms wrap around his waist, holding on not because I'm afraid of falling but because I want to. Because touching him feels like breathing after being underwater too long.
The ride to the shop feels different now.
Lighter somehow, like I've left some invisible weight behind on that nightstand along with my phone.
Like I've shed part of Daniel's control with that small act of defiance.
The wind hits my face and I breathe deeper, press closer to Kade's solid warmth.
Let myself feel the sun on my bare arms and the rumble of the engine between my thighs and the pure simple joy of movement.
Of going somewhere that isn't that house.
Of being someone that isn't his wife.
His hand slides up my thigh—warm and possessive—and I love when he does that. Love the casual claiming, the way he touches me like he has every right to, like my body belongs to him instead of my husband.
I pull his shirt up a little, sliding my hands underneath the fabric, needing to touch him.
My fingers trace his abs, exploring the hard ridges of muscle shifting beneath hot skin as he navigates traffic.
I map the planes of his stomach, learning the landscape of his body.
Feeling him flex when I hit sensitive spots, feeling his breathing stop when my fingers dip lower.
The rest of the way to the shop, I explore him with my fingertips.
Learning what makes his muscles jump under my touch, where his skin is most sensitive, how his body responds to my hands.
Claiming him the way he claims me. Marking this moment in my memory because I don't know how many more we'll have.
This. This is what I've been missing. This feeling of being alive, wanted, seen.
Not just surviving Daniel's rages but actually living. Feeling desire and joy and hope for the first time in years.
Worth it, I think again as we turn into a motorcycle shop.
Whatever this costs me, it's worth it.