School Ties (21 page)

He nods at the ferocity in my tone and spreads his hands over the desk. “If you were to be named Caleb's legal guardian, he would have the same privileges as any son of a faculty member. That would include no-questions-asked admission to the school, room and board covered. You'd have to pay for books and the rest, but—”

A crowbar of hope wrenches my heart wide open. There's a way. Once Caleb gets here, he'll be fine. He'll never get straight As but he'll make it worth the Headmaster's while. I'll make sure of it.

The bubble of stupid optimism is popped. My dad is never going to go for this. Never. It was bad enough having me come to this “faggot-assed school,” but no way is he going to, even on paper, give up custody of one of his kids to make that happen. Never. But goddamn if I'm not going to die trying.

“Thank you for letting me know, sir. I'll get back to you when I've been in touch with my family. When do you need to know by?”

“The end of spring break would be best. It's soon, but we'll need to have a head count on acceptances sooner rather than later.”

“Of course. I'll let you know as soon as possible. Thank you, sir. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“I think I do. And you can stop calling me sir. You're faculty now. Everett will do.”

“Yes, si— Yes. Thank you.” I can't quite bring myself to call him Everett. It goes against years of hardwiring, but I suppose I should start. Especially if Erin and I are going to be together. They're not Headmaster and Mrs. Wilson to her, but Uncle Rett and Aunt Tilly. A small smile slips over my face as I push out of the chair to go see her.

Erin

I'm woken by a heavy, warm weight sinking behind me on the mattress. I smile and lift my arm so he can curl around me before I wiggle my way against him.

“What're you doing here? Did the—”

“No one saw me. It's too early. But that means we should get up and go before anyone does wake up.”

The way he's nuzzling my neck doesn't make me want to get up. It makes me want to stay in bed forever. With him. Heaven. I roll over and pull closer, close enough to smell him—still that intoxicating mix of bar soap and skin. I can't help but lick at his throat. I stifle a giggle as his body goes rigid under my attentions and a choked grunt escapes him. I could be imagining it through the sheets and the comforter and my pajama bottoms and his jeans, but I'm almost positive he's hard for me.

I rock against him to see if I can tell for sure, but his hand fists in my hair and he holds me in place while he rolls away.

“You are temptation personified, but we've still got another week. Get in the shower and get dressed. I'll get some breakfast from the dining hall and we'll meet at my car in half an hour. Dress warm.”

I want to tell him I'd be warmer if I weren't wearing anything at all, but I've promised myself I'll be respectful of his wishes. His stupid, stupid wishes. But when he leans in to kiss my forehead, his hand still tightly wrapped in my hair, I soften. I want to please him. I want to be good for him.

“Yes, Zach.”

He groans and pulls my hair, hard, somehow also yanking on a yarn of desire running from my scalp to my . . . pussy.
Yes, Erin, pussy. How are you going to say it out loud if you can barely think it without blushing?

He lets go, muttering something about stupid guys and goddamn dormitories, and stands, reaching into his jeans to adjust himself. I have to yank a pillow over my face to hide the rabid desire I have to watch him take himself in hand and . . .

The pillow is tugged off my face. “Come on, lamb. Up you get. I'll see you in a little bit. Don't be late.”

•   •   •

Thirty minutes later I'm climbing into his Volvo, where he's waiting with a lemon poppy-seed muffin, a banana, and two coffees. “What are you going to eat?”

“I ate in the dining hall. I'm not going to eat while I'm driving.”

So cautious. But it somehow seems like self-control instead of Will's mincing worries. And the crumpled empty bag of potato chips at my feet says,
I'm not going to eat while I'm driving
with you.

When I've buckled my seatbelt, he pulls smoothly out of the space and onto the narrow drive headed away from the dorms, away from campus, away from the boys. His car smells like him and it's like being surrounded by Shep.

“Aren't you going to ask where we're going?”

I lift a shoulder. “I guess I thought if you wanted me to know you'd tell me.”

His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, and there's a tiny shake of his head. “You make me want to pull over to the side of the road and . . .”

“And what?”

“Never you mind.” He stares at the drive ahead and turns onto a town road. “I had a talk with Headmaster Wilson this morning.”

“About me?” The self-absorbed words spring from me before I can help them, but the corner of his mouth curls up in a smirk.

“No. Why, was I supposed to ask his permission to date you?”

“Of course not.” Although if he were to ask anyone permission for anything, it would be Uncle Rett. “Then what?”

His smile gets bigger and he shifts in the seat. “He offered me a permanent faculty position. I'd take over John Phelps's class load and his coaching roles, too.”

I feel like fireworks are going off in my chest. Shep is a great teacher and maybe even a better coach. I would've been shocked if the school hadn't wanted him to stay but it's wonderful to have confirmation. Though I'd rather throw myself into his arms for a congratulatory hug, he's driving so I settle for an overly enthusiastic round of applause before something occurs to me. “And did you— Are you—”

“Going to accept? Of course I am.” He says it like it's obvious. Like there's no question in his mind that this is the future he wants: being at Hawthorn and by some exceedingly egotistical overreach on my part, being with me. I don't think I've ever been happier. Then his expression grows a little sheepish. “Actually, I already did. Without even reading the offer. I need to work on my negotiating skills.”

He's embarrassed but I'm thrilled. He didn't even need to think about it. “Congratulations. I'm not surprised, but I'm so happy for you. And for us.”

I scold myself. This isn't about me, it's about him and I couldn't be prouder. But he doesn't seem to mind my selfish delight, flashing me the most brilliant smile I've ever seen on his face. It makes me melt.

“Me too, lamb.”

He turns back to the road and his grin fades. Not that I'd expect him to throw a ticker-tape parade or anything—because he's never been that guy—but I thought he'd let himself enjoy it for a little longer. Unless . . . “Was there something else?”

He swallows, his jaw tightening convulsively. “Yeah. He wanted to talk to me about Caleb.”

“What about Caleb?”

He tells me about their conversation and I wonder for the millionth time exactly how bad Shep's childhood was. “So what are you going to do?”

“I'm going to ask my parents. I promised Caleb he could come up during spring break if he got his grades up and he did, so I'll be driving down to get him in a few weeks. There's no way in hell they're going to say yes.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, lamb. But I appreciate the offer. I do.” He reaches over and squeezes my knee before pulling out onto the highway.

In the end, Shep takes me to Portsmouth and we walk around the seaside town, holding hands and stealing kisses between ducking into shops to warm up and look at pretty things I see in windows in this place where no one knows us. He asks me about how I grew up when I wasn't on the Hill.

“My dad hated it here. It bred this insatiable wanderlust in him, so he pretty much arranged his life to be skipping around as much as possible. His attraction to all things transitory resulted in a brief marriage to my mom, who pretty much took off once I was born. I don't remember her at all. He never talked about her. I give him a lot of credit for raising me, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, but it made him angry that I craved this life instead of the one he'd built for us. When Will and I got married, because of the baby—”

I stop in my tracks. Shep was a student when that was going down. While there was epic amounts of gossip about it, I'm not sure he knows the truth.

“You know I married Will because . . .” My stomach churns.
Because I got pregnant from having ill-advised sex with someone I didn't love, and then refused to get rid of the result.

“I know, Erin. I knew. Not at first. Which is why I was such a fucking asshole to you. But then I did. I'm sorry.”

“There's no need for you to be sorry. I was pretty mad at myself. Anyway, my dad pretty much stopped speaking to me after that. I think he figured I'd come to my senses in a few years, go to grad school, maybe get my MBA and leave. Instead I literally wedded myself to the Hill.”

My throat is getting tight, thinking of the terse, barely congratulatory email I'd gotten three weeks after I left him a voice mail telling him I'd gotten married. And the eager phone call after I'd let him know about the miscarriage. He'd been so excited, thinking I'd change my mind and leave. Then there was the stern disappointment when I told him I'd be staying right where I was.
You can't give up on something when it doesn't go your way.
Except that's what he's done his whole life, what he's done with me as well. I don't remember the last time I heard from him.

“It doesn't matter. Rett and Tilly are pretty much my family.”

Shep's arm snakes around my waist over the puffy down of my parka. He pulls me close so my mittened hands are resting on his chest. When he tugs at one of the braided ties hanging from the earflap of my hat, I look at him. “I can be your family, too. No matter what you want.”

The tears come to my eyes in a flood and I try so, so hard to blink them back. Despite my best efforts, a few stream down my cheeks and he takes off a glove and wipes them away with his warm, broad thumb. Then, then he kisses me, his mouth hot and easy on mine, not demanding, but giving, offering.
I can be your family. I can be yours.

I answer with a parting of my lips, inviting him in, asking him to take from me because I want to give him everything he's given to me with those small words.

Chapter Eighteen

Erin

Long winter weekend is here at long last and the dorm is distinctly empty. It's time.

“Take off your shoes.”

I toe off my loafers and stare down at my bare feet, not knowing what to do with my hands. I settle for clenching them in my skirt, but Shep tuts at me. “Hands straight by your sides.”

My chest heaves as I find the will to loosen them and do as he's asked. I've left crescents of red from my nails indenting my palms, and though the apartment is warm, I'm shaking.

“You're all right Erin. You look so beautiful and I'm so pleased with you. When it's done, you're going to come sit with me. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Zach.”

“That's what I thought. So be a good girl and take off your sweater.”

I have a hard time unbuttoning my cardigan, trembling as I am, but when I've gotten it undone and slid it off my shoulders and dropped it on the chair, I stand straight as he showed me and put my hands, open, to my sides. My reward is a smile that sends puffs of warmth through my body.

“Your shirt.”

My fingers are less than dexterous and I huff in frustration as the last button defies my efforts.

“Take a deep breath. There's no rush.”

Easy for him to say, sitting on my couch, not stripping down naked.

“Skirt.”

The zipper is more forgiving of my jitters and suddenly I'm left in my bra and underwear—the nicest ones I have, the only ones that match.

“Come here.”

I take a step but he tuts at me again, making me at once ashamed for not being able to please him but also so hot for him.
Scold me, correct me, teach me. Tell me how to please you. Please.

“On your knees.”

My mouth opens and my eyelids flutter. Like, crawl? For real? The idea is at once the sexiest thing I've ever heard but also humiliating.
Crawl?

“Hey. Look at me.”

He's leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

“You don't have to if you really don't want to. Safe out and I won't ask you again. But tell me something first. Do you actually not want to do this or do you think you shouldn't want to?”

I consider, standing there in this pretty lingerie, worrying the corner of my lip with my teeth. “B.”

The letter is so quiet I'd be surprised if he heard it. But every particle of him that isn't devoted to the business of being alive is focused on me. Whether he's read my lips or he has the ears of an owl, he knows what I've said and his mouth widens ever so slightly.

“If that's true, could you try it for me? I want to touch you.”

“Yes, Zach.”

He leans back, satisfied, draping an arm over the back of the couch. The sight of him, belonging here and me belonging to him, it fills my heart, crowding out some of the nervousness. I drop first one knee and then the other to the rug, hands resting on the tops of my thighs before I reach them forward, spreading my fingers and pressing my palms into the floor. I don't remember the last time I was on my hands and knees. It takes me a few seconds to get the points of contact my body has with the floor and my spine into the proper alignment.

When I've found it, I wiggle my hips to confirm and Shep laughs, a garbled chuckle smothered somewhere in his throat. “You're going to be the death of me, I swear.”

More of the anxiety is nudged away and I smile, a blush warming my cheeks. A small noise from him follows, definitely not a laugh, and his fingers tighten on the back of the couch. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and that's his to me. I lift one palm from the floor and place it gingerly in front of me, redistributing my weight. I do the same with my opposite knee and the pattern continues until I'm at his feet. His hand is in front of my face, resting next to his thigh, and I give in to my urge to kiss the back of it, my tongue circling a knuckle.

Another small noise encourages the beginning of another circle, but I'm stopped by his hand fisting in my hair tight against my skull. My mouth falls open in a mewl.

“Did I say you could touch?”

“No, Zach.”

“Then don't touch. That's your warning. Next time, you'll be punished. Understood?”

“Yes, Zach.”

The rules. There aren't many, yet, but that's one of them. I can't believe I've forgotten already. I'm in for a long night.

His grip loosens and he tugs gently. “I said you could sit with me and now you may.”

I climb onto his lap and clutch my hands in front of me, my whole body rigid. He hasn't said I can touch him yet, and I don't want to get in trouble again.

He strokes my back, his hand warm against my spine. “Good girl, waiting for permission. Now you can touch.”

I don't hesitate, throwing my arms around him and burying my face in his neck. His arms circle my ribcage and he holds me tight against him, rocking me.

“You're shaking, lamb. Am I being too rough with you? Do you want to stop?”

“No!” I clutch him tighter and the vibration of his laugh echoes in my chest.

“All right, we won't stop. But I'm going to keep you here for a few minutes, okay?”

I nod my agreement into his neck and my hold on him slackens as he returns to making loops on my back. My tremors stop, and my breath comes easier. He calls to this nervous part of me, the bit I keep tucked away, not daring to show anyone how deeply ill at ease I am being let loose on this earth without more guidance. But I don't have to hide it anymore. Shep doesn't think this is a weakness to be exploited. It's something to be treasured, soothed, enjoyed.

When my breath has slowed to its normal rhythm and I nuzzle at his jaw, he grasps the back of my neck. I lengthen it to give him a better grip.

“Are you ready to keep going?”

“Yes, Zach.”

I lean back and look him in the eyes. The same blue eyes I remember almost tripping myself over four years ago. But his face is different than it was. He's had to hoe a hard path and I want to make something easy, pleasant for him. His hand from my neck has slipped to cup my face and he strokes my cheek with his thumb.

“I never thought I'd get to do this. You married Will and I—” A tremor runs through me, same as it always does when I think of Will.

Shep hushes me. “I'm sorry, we won't talk about him. I just wanted to tell you how . . .” His eyes look off to some faraway place. It's not surprising two math teachers would fumble their way through words. But I'm hanging on each awkward syllable. “Blessed I feel to be holding you. I could be content with this.”

Blessed
. Shep's about as religious as I am, which is not at all, and though it's not quite the right word, it's the exact sentiment I would use. “Fortunate” doesn't cut it. “You don't have to be.”

Lust explodes behind his eyes, dilating his pupils, and he urges my head toward his. We kiss, and he lets me take the lead, showing him what I want. Slow and languorous with teasing bites and closed-mouth flirtings before encouraging more with a lick of his lower lip and a firm bite that makes him groan and claim my mouth with his tongue.

I'm crushed in his arms, at his mercy as he plunders my mouth, our tongues tangling and stroking. After several minutes of being ravished, I'm squirming, grinding my hips into his lap, rubbing against his hardness, which makes me want him more.

He scoops me up and I remember when he carried me on that awful day. This is so much better, though the safe, cared-for sensation is the same. He carries me down the hall to my room and lays me on my made bed, standing back to take me in. The look on his face . . . He could be looking at the most precious work of art, a priceless masterpiece. I flush from hair to chest under the intensity of his gaze. So this is what they mean when they say “worship.” I'd always thought that was a fiction, a fantasy, but he's in front of me right now. I hope my eyes on him are making him feel the same.

Shep

Erin's hair is splashed over her pillow and her cheeks have pinked to that rosy shade I love. The same shade I will be making her ass in the not-so-distant future. But for tonight, I'll treat her with kid gloves, make her feel good. Earn her trust as she's earned mine.

I hope she can't tell my heart is pounding a mile a fucking minute, trying to beat its way out of my chest. Whatever adolescence I have left in me is giving a war whoop at the idea of finally getting to fuck a girl. While most of me is staidly thinking,
No, you're going to make love to your girlfriend who you've loved since the day you saw her
, a horny eighteen-year-old who didn't know I'd make him wait Four. Fucking. Years for this is screaming,
Aw, hell yeah, man!
and I let him, because goddamn.

She's all soft and eager. I want so badly to be allowed into her warmth. An intimacy I've earned. And it's not because of what she thinks she knows about me. Sure, we'd done the infatuation thing, but we've laid our cards on the table and what's left is something that makes my heart steady.

I cup her face in my hand again. She likes that, it settles her, and she leans into me, closing her eyes. I run my fingers down her neck and over her chest, stopping to unclasp her bra to let her breasts spill out, as creamy and welcoming as the rest of her, her dark pink nipples already hard. I dip my head to take one in my mouth, licking around her areola before tonguing the hard tip, testing the texture and the taste of her. When I suck, she gasps. Her hands come to the back of my head, her short fingernails dig into my scalp.

My eyes fly to her face to make sure I haven't hurt her, but no. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is slack. I suck harder and she mewls, surprised but not protesting. I take more of her breast in my mouth, tonguing all the skin and scraping my teeth down to the tip of her nipple, where I bite and she squeals.

“Too hard?”

“Ye— No. But I don't . . . Oh, don't stop, please.”

I don't want to laugh so I focus my attention on her other breast, repeating the same motions. Don't want to play favorites, after all. But when she's expecting me to bite, I take her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger knuckle and twist, eliciting another squeal before I bite down. That earns me a groan. Maybe I'll get her so worked up it won't matter when I only last for a couple of minutes from being in her pussy.

Oh Christ, cannot think of her pussy. My dick's already straining at the fly of my pants. Too much more, and I won't last long enough to get inside her at all. I start running lacrosse plays in my head to distract myself but it barely takes the edge off, especially with those breathy moans she's making.

I spend a few more minutes on her breasts, teasing, studying, savoring. If anyone had told me that first day I'd be here doing this now? I would've come in my pants. As it is . . .

I kiss down the plane of her stomach, downy and soft, loving the small swell of her belly even when she's lying down. I bet if asked, she'd be embarrassed by it, but to me it makes her a real girl, more precious for being genuine. No one manufactured this body underneath me. Especially not the small star-shaped birthmark by her belly button. I lay a kiss on it before I urge her hips up and peel her panties over her ass, down her legs, discarding them on the floor.

Someday I'll tie her up, have her facedown with her arms bound behind her back and a gag muffling her moans of pleasure. But for today, I've never seen anything more beautiful than the naked girl in front of me. I don't know if I've ever seen a woman who hasn't groomed her pubic hair before, so I reach out to tug the curls between her legs. I'll have her wax or shave to see if she likes how it feels, but I don't care if she prefers it this way. My natural, genuine girl.

Even from here, there's heat pouring out of her. When I ease my fingers inside, she's going to be soaking wet.

“Let me in, Erin.”

She spreads her legs a few inches and I slap her thigh lightly. “More.”

She whimpers, probably embarrassed. I doubt Will said many nice things about her body. So I stroke the thigh I tapped, telling her how beautiful she is, how much I want her. When she's squirming under my hands she lets her legs fall farther open, and I ease a finger between her folds. She's so wet, and I use the moisture to slick over her clit.

It's at once exactly how I thought it would be and not at all. I start out gentle, exploring, a light touch that makes her hips rock, and then pressing harder, grinding against the sensitive flesh—

“Too much! Oh, too much.”

Her hand's clamped over mine and her eyes have flown open. Shit. I've fucked this up.

I ease up on my touch, returning to the gentler strokes that had her squirming earlier, and chide her. “Did I say you could touch?”

She yanks her hand away as if from a burner she didn't realize was on, and softens back into submission. “No, Zach.”

“I gave you a warning, and you disobeyed. You've earned yourself your first punishment.”

“Now?”

I choke on the laugh fighting its way out of my throat at the desperation making her voice high-pitched and reedy. “No. I'm not finished playing with you. We'll take care of your accounting later.”

The idea of tallying up Erin's daily faults and flaws and meting out punishment makes me harder than I could have thought possible. If I don't get some relief, I wouldn't be surprised if my pants pulled an Incredible Hulk around this incredible hard-on, made worse by her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip and her nipples gathering without me touching them. She's as turned on as I am by the idea.

She's settled into my touch and I take the opportunity to pinch her clit, dragging another squeal from her, but the pitch and urgency are different. Maybe she likes it. I tug, and instead of a wordless squeal, I get an “Oh, god, Shep.” Her hands ball into fists by her sides to keep from touching me.