A Lesson in Blackmail - Black Mountain Academy

“You don’t have to worry about that, Eve. I’ve got your back. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask, okay? You sure you want to go with that guy? He looked like he wanted to eat you alive,” she whispers the last part, and my eyes dart between her and Nathaniel’s retreating back.

I gulp, shifting on my feet. I have no idea what he’s going to say to me, but I know I can’t avoid what just happened. I can’t simply go on about my night and weekend and then show up on Monday pretending he didn’t just see me nearly naked in a nightclub, whether he knows what goes on here or not. But he’s Nathaniel freaking Black. The smartest male I’ve ever met in my life by far. Scary smart. I’m sure he figured it out the moment he stepped foot inside.

“I’m sure. It’ll be fine. I just need to talk to him about what he saw, and it’ll be fine.” I repeat “fine” a few more times, giving her a weak smile I know looks more like a wince before following Nate down the steps and out the door, onto the sidewalk.

He turns around, pinning me with his stare, and the force of his blazing expression sends me back a step, where I feel the bricks of the building close behind me. He paces a few steps before doing the same in the opposite direction, never taking his eyes off mine. Three steps down the sidewalk, turn on his heel, three steps up. I don’t know how many times he does it, but I’m sure he does. I’m positive it’s a certain number his OCD forces him to act out before he finally stops in front of me and glances down at my lips, the bottom one getting tugged to hell and back between my teeth. I’m pretty certain that flavor I’m tasting is my own blood I’ve drawn in my panic.

“Do you want to do this here?” he finally asks, and I break his stare long enough to glance in either direction. No one is out here at the moment, but people will start showing up any minute for our night of adventure.

“N-No. I don’t think so,” I reply quietly, needing to think five steps ahead, yet my brain hasn’t even caught up to what is happening right now.

“Back to your house then?” he prompts, and I take a step back, straight into the brick wall that had been a foot behind me.

“Back to my house? You… you were there before? You f-followed me here?” My voice trembles. Not only had Nate invaded my happy place, but he’d also been to my home, my refuge?

Before I know what’s happening, Nate reaches his big hand inside one of the pockets of my trench coat. When it comes up empty, he tries the other one, and I hold perfectly still, not wanting to force his hand to touch anything he shouldn’t. He pulls out my keys from the second pocket, takes hold of my hand that is fisted at my side, unfurls my fingers, and places the fob in the center of my palm. “Get your car. I’ll follow you back to your house,” he orders, and everything inside me wants to jump into action to follow his instruction, yet I force myself to hold strong.

“I-I…. What is going on, Nathaniel? Why did you follow me? Why would you drive all this way—”

He cuts me off with a growl, leaning forward and trapping me against the front of the building, and palms slapping against the bricks on either side of my head and caging me in. It stills my breath he’s so close, so overwhelming, taking up every millimeter of my vision. I see nothing but him, and I want to close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else, even though I know that’s a lie I’m just telling myself, because I have no doubt I’ve never been this turned on in my life.

You should be ashamed of yourself. You freak. He’s a student! Entirely too young for you.

I shake my head at my thoughts, trying to keep them at bay. I can’t allow myself to shame what I’m feeling, to go back to thinking of myself as a freak.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, Ms. Richards,” he breathes against my ear before pulling back and looking me in the eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”

I look into the dark depths before me, seeing what I always see, the young man who likes to taunt me, practically torture me with his very presence every day. But there’s something else in there, something almost… vulnerable, needy, as if begging for my help.

I decide to be honest. “Not of you, Nathaniel,” I whisper. “Just… just of what you could do.”