Tempting Teacher (The Pierce Family)

I take one moment to savor the perfect sight.

Then I drive into her.

Fuck.

My eyes close.

My fingers dig into her hips.

She's warm, wet, perfect.

Mine.

For the last time, she's mine.

I pull back, push her up the bed, climb on with her.

Then I push her knees apart, lower my body onto hers, push into her.

She gasps as I pull back and drive into her again.

This is as close as we'll ever be.

The last fucking time.

I wrap my hand around her throat.

I bury my face in her neck.

And I fuck her with hard, deep thrusts.

She's there fast, groaning my name as she pulses around me.

It pulls me over the edge.

My eyes close. My fingers dig into her hip.

I pull her closer.

I run my teeth along her shoulder, marking her for the last time.

Claiming her, for the last time.

One with her, for the last time.

Fuck.

Pleasure rocks through me. Waves so deep and intense, I almost lose my balance.

I work through my orgasm, then I collapse next to her.

This time, I don't right my clothes.

I slide over and do away with every layer, and I lie next to Opal until her breath is normal.

Until she's calm and safe and settled into reality.

Then for a while longer.

"Good?" I brush a long, dark strand behind her ear.

"Great." She presses her lips into a smile. "Thank you, Max." She looks up at me through hooded eyes. "I, uh, I should get dressed. I have to meet my brother."

"Do you need help?"

"No. I'm good. I just… I wanted to ask you one thing."

"Yeah?"

She slides out of the bed and pulls my cotton robe over her shoulders. "Will you kiss me?"

Chapter Twenty-One

OPAL

Will you kiss me?

My stomach flutters. My fingers curl into my palms.

It's absurd. All that and I'm nervous about a kiss. But I am.

A kiss is intimate in a different way. A kiss is dripping with love and affection.

"It's okay if you want to say no." My cheeks flush. "It won't hurt my feelings."

"It won't?"

Of course it will, but I don't want to push him too hard. I already pushed him here. "A little."

He stands and looks me in the eyes.

It's wild. He's naked—completely and totally naked—but I can't look away from his dark eyes. There's so much in them. Need and desire and affection.

"I have something for you first."

"Another round?"

"No." He laughs. "A gift." He closes the space between us. "You should get dressed."

"I know."

"You have to go."

"I know."

He runs his fingers over the robe. "I'll miss you, Opal."

"I'll miss you too."

"If you need advice. About art. Or partners—"

"Okay."

"Promise you'll call?"

"Text."

His smile is sad.

"I promise."

"Thank you." He leans closer, but he doesn't kiss me on the lips. Not yet. He presses his lips to my jaw. My neck. My shoulder. "I'll meet you in the main room. Give me two minutes."

"Okay."

He steps into the bathroom and closes the door.

I ignore the knot in my stomach. I don't want to say goodbye. I can't say goodbye. But what else can I do?

I dress. I gather my things. I pace around the kitchen.

Max emerges from the bedroom in only jeans—

He owns jeans—

No shirt, no shoes—

With something in his arms.

A small black sketchbook wrapped in a hot pink bow.

"This is for you." He meets me in the middle of the room. "But do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Don't look in front of me."

Is he really embarrassed? That's hard to imagine. And I want to see his face when I open this. I want to see every bit of his reaction.

But I asked for something I want—

This is only fair.

"Sure." I slip the sketchbook into my backpack. "Thank you."

"It's been…"

"Fun?"

"Meaningful." He slips his arm around my waist.

He leans closer. For a second, his eyes catch mine. Then his lids flutter closed and his lips find my lips.

He kisses me softly.

Then harder.

My lips part. His tongue swirls around mine, dancing with mine, claiming mine.

Only that's not right.

Not anymore.

But right now, for one more perfect moment, he's mine, and we're locked together.

Max kisses me with everything he has, then he pulls back and brushes my hair behind my ear. "Take care, Opal."

"Take care." It's not I love you, but it's something all the same. I swallow the other words that rise into my throat, I lift my backpack, and I leave.

This time, he doesn't insist on walking me out.

And I don't ask.

I take the subway home. I sit through lunch with my brother. I even spend the afternoon with Izzie, talking through another potential makeup with Jaime.

I hold it together until I'm alone in my room.

Until I look at the sketchbook.

Max's work. Pages and pages of self-portraits. Images of the city. Drawings of me.

And in the corner of every one, his signature.

The name he uses for his work.

He isn't mine anymore.

But this is.

And this is forever.

It will feel good one day, but right now—

I climb under the covers, I hug my sketchbook, and I cry.