Indisputable (18 page)

My hands shoot to my mouth, but a gasp still escapes
from behind my shaking hands.  “What did you just say?  How do you
know that?” I ask, as my body begins to tremble.  This is bad.
 Really fucking bad.

“What I was surprised to see when I clicked on your
inbox, were half of the messages came from your little blonde haired friend,
Emerson.  I told myself I was only going to read one.  Do you know
what her message said, Tatum?”

I shake my head no, unable to speak as the magnitude
of the conversation overwhelms me.

“It told me that she’s smarter than you.  Because
she has the balls to question you.  That’s one fucking good friend you
have there.  One who stands up to you and doesn’t blindly have your back
all the time when you’re making stupid decisions.

“After I read the first one, which caught my attention
when she asked if you’re really going to threaten Wyatt with a gun, I couldn’t
stop myself from scrolling the thread and reading the rest.  And you want
to know the truth?” 

I give him a small nod, trying to swallow the thick
lump in my throat. 

“The messages terrified me.  For the rest of the
day I kept picturing you going to meet some dirty thug in a dark alley to
illegally buy a gun.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I whisper, finally finding my
voice.

“Are you really that naïve?  It could have been a
trap!  You could have been actually raped this time, or killed. 
Christ!  What do you plan on doing now?  You gonna just walk up to
his house and wave the gun around in an empty threat?”

“Don’t be a dick, that wasn’t my plan!”  My
newfound anger at his insults propels the words from my mouth.

“Then what was, Tatum?  Tell me.” He takes a step
closer.  Jacoby wraps his strong hands around my shoulders and shakes
me.  Hard.  “What is your plan?”

“I don’t know!” I cry, so many emotions tumbling
around in me like a vortex I can’t grasp just one.  “I just wanted to be
protected in case he tries again.  I can’t rely on you for
everything!”  We’re both yelling now, breathing hard, and staring each
other down. 

“Yes, you can!  I care about you, more than you
know.  I wouldn’t be so upset if I didn’t care!”  I don’t think he
realizes he’s shaking me.  His deep brown eyes search both of mine. 

“Bullshit.  Nobody cares about me.  That’s
why I have to take care of myself.  I can only rely on myself!”

 His voice takes on a low throaty sound I haven’t
heard from him before, and he says, “When I finished reading those messages, I
practically ran in here.  I was so angry that you’d hide this from
me!  I was half planning to head you off and march you straight to Mr. Stephenson’s
office.  Because. I. Care.” He punctuates each word with a shake of my
shoulders.  I try to shrug him off, but he holds on tighter. 

My stomach flops as his eyes bore into mine. 

“And when I opened the door and saw Keith on
you?  Touching you in a way nobody but me should ever touch you?  I
was terrified it was happening again.”  His voice shakes.  “Damnit,
Tatum, I fucking care,” he growls. 

We’re at a stalemate.  As if time is standing still. 
Eyes locked.  My hands clenched along the hem of my shirt.  His hands
gripping the tops of my shoulders so hard I’ll probably bruise.  I don’t
care. 

All I can think about is the heat now radiating from
his smoldering stare.  The awareness of his chest brushing mine with each
deep breath he takes.  The way his tongue pokes out to swipe at his bright
red lips. 

I don’t know who moves first.

His mouth crashes into mine as I jump, his hands slide
down around my ass to hoist me up.  My legs cinch around his waist, and he
holds me firmly against his muscular frame.  One hand around my back, the
other slides up to grasp the back of my head.  I gasp when his tongue
prods the seam of my lips, and I open for him.  It dips into my mouth, hot
and smooth, sliding and flicking against my own in a sensual dance.  Heat
blossoms between my legs, and all thought of right or wrong disappears. 
Because something that feels this good can’t possibly be wrong. 

Passion and sexual tension engulf us like a
tornado.  Even if we knew it was coming, we wouldn’t have had time to get
out of the way.  Not that I would have wanted to.  What he’s doing to
my mouth feels incredible. 

Jacoby’s hand cups my ass, kneading and gripping as we
pull moans and gasps from each other’s mouths.  I thread my fingers
through his silky locks and tug his head downward.  He takes the
not-so-subtle hint, breaking the seal of our lips to press kisses along my jaw
and neck. 

My head tips back as I moan, giving him access to the
low V-neck of my shirt and the cleavage therein.  He nuzzles my chest, the
slight scruff of his stubble scratching the sensitive skin in the most
delicious way, sending a frisson cascading down my body.  I almost forget
to breathe.  My eyes slam closed.  Oh, God. 

  His tongue swipes against the tops of my
breasts, and I pull myself tighter against him.  Why does he have to feel
so good?  I want him to lay me down and have his way with me.  Fuck
the consequences.  I open my eyes to scope out the area and spot the
desks…

Shit, shit, shit!

“You have to stop,” I attempt weakly, hating that I
need to end something that feels so good.  More than good. 
Amazing.  I don’t want to stop.  He just groans at me while
continuing to lick and torture my chest.  If he keeps that up, I won’t be
able to stop.  My willpower is only so strong. 

“Jacoby,” I whisper, “we’re still at school.” 

The word ‘school’ breaks the spell.  He whips his
head up so fast, he catches me in the chin, slamming my jaw shut, and I bite
down on my tongue.  The coppery taste of blood collects on my taste
buds. 

“Ow, shit!” I cry out from the pain exploding in my
mouth. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.  Let me see.” He demands while
sliding me down his body slowly, inch by sensual inch, until my feet touch the
floor.  His firm arms stay wrapped tightly around my waist, and I’m
reeling that he doesn’t release me.  What does this all mean? 

I wave him off, wiping the blood from my mouth with my
sleeve. 

He cringes. 

“It’s fine.”  Now that I’m back on solid ground,
I feel slightly embarrassed.  I just made out with my teacher in his
classroom.  Can you say slut?  But I can’t deny I loved it, and I’d
do it again in an instant.  Unfortunately, my surroundings remind me that
I have to come back to reality.

“I need to get to work.”

Jacoby tears his eyes away from me reluctantly to
glance at the clock.  “Do you need me to drive you?” 

When they return to my face, his eyes are bright,
pleading, and I smile to myself.  It’s because of me.  I bite down on
my lower lip to contain a shy smile, scraping my teeth along the surface. 
Jacoby’s eyes darken as he zeroes in on my tender, swollen lips.  The look
in his eyes is so damn hot, it has my blood simmering. 

“I drove myself today.  Thanks, though.  I
need to get going.”  Before I lose control and leap back into his strong
arms, I gather up my belongings, which are still sitting on my desk.  I
really, really don’t want to leave.  I have a feeling Jacoby doesn’t
either.

“Tatum?” He calls, and I look up from where I’m
packing my bag.

“Yeah?”

“This conversation isn’t over.  I want to see you
after work.  Come by my place tonight.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?  Late night
conversations between us tend to leave nothing but destruction in their
wake.” 

His lips tilt up in a half smile, as if he’s
remembering some happy memory.  I hope it’s of me.  Jacoby lifts his
hand, swiping a rogue hair off my face before cradling my cheek.  The
tenderness in his touch seeps into my skin, settling deep in my bones.  My
skin ripples with a shockwave of goose bumps.   

“My brave, crazy, ridiculous girl,” he says
affectionately.  “I need to see you again tonight.”

That’s more than enough convincing for me.  I
sort of need to see him too. 

“Sure.  I’ll call you when I’m done.” 
Turning my head, I press my lips against his palm before I reluctantly pull
away.  My cheek feels bereft from the loss of heat.  

I don’t know what this means for us.  I’m sure
it’ll be the center stage topic tonight.  All I know is having a taste of
Jacoby has awakened a pool of need inside of me that I didn’t know existed, or
thought I could live without.  But as my body still shivers inside from
the loss of contact, I know I was terribly wrong.  I have a newfound
thirst that is begging to be quenched.  

Because the entire night at work, I couldn’t shake the
thought of his hands on my body, his lips on my lips, his eyes staring into
mine.  Like a slide show on repeat, I replayed the moments: the fight, the
passion, the flood of desire, over and over and over.  I watched, as if
experiencing an out of body moment, as passion exploded from my every pore when
I leapt into his arms.  As I tried to soak in all that is Jacoby. 

The palpable heat from the moment consumed me,
wrapping around my heart, and even hours later I can still feel it throbbing
along with every life-giving thump.

This is bad.  So, so bad. 

The line between hate and love is so damn thin that
without even realizing it, without a conscious effort, I flitted from one side
to the next.  I danced that silken thread too carelessly and my feet left
the zone of safety and traveled into the unknown. 

Danger.

Whereas, I thought I hated him, the passion inside me
grew into an intense level until it had no choice but to release itself before
I imploded.  But that release wasn’t out of anger.  All that came out
was the love I’ve fought for years to keep restrained. 

I don’t hate Jacoby—not even close.  I don’t
think I ever did.  But instead of the cliché static electricity, mind
blowing, pulsing attraction I always thought I’d feel, my attraction to him was
so thick, so suffocating that I mistook it and used it to fuel an imaginary
annoyance.  A fictional hatred I concocted to fulfill the notion that I am
unlovable.  I didn’t want to get hurt, so I tried to hurt him first. 
I only hope he can forgive me.

Now, my body shudders as I wait for Jacoby to open the
door, the September night holding an uncharacteristic deathly chill.  When
I hear his feet shuffle from the other side, my heart gives an involuntary leap
into my throat.  He opens the door, and his bright smiling eyes catch me
off guard, sticking the words I was about to say behind my lodged heart. 
Those soft pink lips of his quirk up on one side, and I have to swallow several
times before I can speak. 

“Hey,” is all I can seem to muster, anxiousness and
embarrassment stealing my ability to think.

He chuckles a soft, sexy cadence, opening the door
wider to let me in.  “Hey, come on in.  It’s freezing,” he
responds.   

As I cross the threshold, this feels different from
the other times I’ve been here.  The lines are both more relaxed and more
restrained.  We’ve crossed one boundary but how far are we going to take
it?  Was it enough to just acknowledge the attraction we have for one
another?  Is there even a chance for a relationship beyond that of
teacher/student?  The map of my moral structure has been so far skewed,
I’m not sure I’m capable of making such a decision.  Where is the line
between right and wrong, and have we crossed the point of no return?

“Where’d you go, Tatum?”  Jacoby’s soft voice
releases me from the questions bouncing around my head.  How long have I
been standing in his entry way while my mind’s been off in La La land? 

“Sorry, did you say something?” 

Jacoby brings his warm palm to my cheek, his thumb
caressing the sensitive skin of my temple.  A contented sigh bubbles
within my throat.  When he doesn’t speak, I raise my eyes to meet his, and
the concern and warmth I see there is overwhelming. 

“You seem distracted.  Are you alright?” 

I swallow against the emotion blocking my
airway.  This feels so, so…like something I don’t deserve. 

My chest constricts painfully, and I feel as though
I’m not getting enough air.  I nod my head to his question, desperate to
keep the direction of my thoughts a secret.  Jacoby doesn’t look
convinced, but he smiles and nods his head anyway. 

“Come on, then.  Come sit down with me.”  He
leans forward, kissing my forehead, before holding his hand out for mine. 
Tingles erupt from the contact of his lips, bathing my body in that electrical
current I thought was broken.

Tatum

Once again I find myself sitting on Jacoby’s
ridiculously comfortable sectional, except this time I’m in my own spot and not
curled up in his lap.  My hands fidget restlessly with the bottle of water
he gave me, making an obnoxiously loud crinkling sound fill the silence of the
room.  I don’t know what to say; I don’t know what to do.  Being here
has so many emotions fighting inside my skull for dominance.  I’m excited
he’s asked me over, dying to kiss him again, terrified what this conversation
is going to be about.  I don’t even want to begin thinking about the text
messages he read on my phone. 

But I have to start somewhere.  The silence is
devouring my nerves making them frayed and jumpy. 

Looking up at him I stare, my lips parting as I watch
him take a hefty pull from his beer.  The muscles of his throat work in
perfect time to his swallows, the skin gliding up and down over his corded
throat and the slight ridge of his Adam’s apple.  It makes my own mouth
dry up like a puddle in the desert, and I want to climb on his lap and taste
him in order to quench my thirst.

We’re close; not so close that we’re touching but
within arm’s length of one another.  So when Jacoby pauses with the bottle
to his lips, catching me staring out of the corner of his eye and quirks an
eyebrow at me, I know he can see the rapidly spreading flush covering the
crests of my cheeks. 

His beer bottle hits the coffee table with a loud
thunk
,
and I jump.  I need to get control of myself before I scare him off. 
He drapes a long, tanned arm across the back of the couch and begins twirling a
tendril of my hair around his finger, watching his movements as if it’s the
most intriguing show on Broadway.

“It’s so soft.”

“What?” I reply, lost in the gentle tugs against my
scalp, which feel surprisingly soothing.

“Your hair.  It’s silky soft.”

I’d have to be blind to miss the hooded, soft look of
his eyes as he continues playing with my hair.  My stomach pirouettes in
the most enticing way.

“So,” I begin, stalling but knowing this conversation
needs to happen before I bolt and catch the next plane to Florida. “You asked
me to come, now I’m here.  What do you want to talk about?”

Jacoby’s hand never falters as he shifts his eyes from
his ministrations to look at my face.  He studies me for a moment before
he speaks.

“I think we have a lot to talk about, don’t you?”

“Um, okay.  But you start.”  I press my
palms together between my thighs to try to control the trembling of my
fingers.  I don’t know why this conversation has me so on edge, but I’m
freaking the hell out.

“You want to tell me what’s up with those text
messages from your friend?”

No, no I do not.  He wasn’t supposed to find out
about that.  And I can’t even get pissed at Em, because she thought she
was talking to me. 

“I’m guessing from this afternoon, you got the gist of
it,” I mutter, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.  I guess I
can’t really be mad at him, either.  His snooping invaded my privacy, but
he was looking out for me from Wyatt. 

His eyes caress a heated trail across my face as he
studies me.

“I got the gist of it alright.  But, Sweetheart,
what I want to know is why?”

My chin jerks down towards my throat.  “Why?” I
ask back, my brain not processing his question.  It’s obvious, isn’t it?

Two strong, beautiful hands attached to an even more
beautiful man gently grasp either side of my head, his thumbs softly stroking
the hollows of my cheeks.  The feel of him, the soft concern reflected in
the espresso pools of his eyes has a dizzying effect.  I want to face
plant in his chest and not move until I have to come up for air.

“You aren’t getting it.  You are safe with
me.  I won’t let anything, or anyone, hurt you.  So having said that
more than once, yeah, I’m asking you why?  Why go through that danger, that
trouble, when I’m here to protect you?”

My saliva feels like sludge, thick and sticky in my
throat, and it takes several tries to swallow it down before my tongue is
unglued enough to speak.

“Jacoby,” I whisper, overcome with a desperate need to
have this man protect me.  My heart is threatening to escape my chest with
each rapid thump.  But even feeling a desperation strong enough to bring
me to my knees and beg for his protection, I know my body is stupid.  It
lies to me.  Makes me feel things that I’m not allowed to feel.  With
each breath, I remember I’m all alone in this world, and I have nobody to rely
on but myself. 

I try to soften my rejection, and my voice comes out
winded when I tell him more of the truth than I intended.

“I don’t need your protection.  The only person I
can rely on is me.”

“Tatum—ˮ

“No!  Please listen to me.”  Jacoby closes
his mouth, but his eyes still watch me warily, as if he’s not sure I’m about to
lay it on him or bolt from his house. 

“You saved me.  If you hadn’t shown up last
Friday, I can only guess what would have happened and what that would do to
me.  You were here for me when I had nobody.  I hear you, okay? 
I hear what you’re offering me.  But what you have to realize is that I’ve
only ever relied on myself.  I take care of myself and life has shown me
that no matter how hard I want to believe someone else will be there to carry
the load, when the time comes, I’m always alone. 

“I bought the gun as a precaution.  Was it
illegal and stupid the way I went about it?  Yeah.  I’ll admit
that.  But it’s not the first time I’ve had to put myself in danger in
order to make myself safer.  It’s a double edged sword.  You’re here
now, and I have no doubt you can keep me safe if I need it, but what happens
next week?  Next month?  However long it takes for you to realize I’m
not worth it and disappear?  Where does that leave me?”

My chest is heaving with the force of my speech, not
only the words but the emotions this talk sends coursing through me.  The
truth rings out in the air around us, nearly as palpable as the couch we’re
sitting on. 

I lift my hands to cover his still gently holding my
head, and my eyes are locked to his.  Then, forcing a fresh breath of air
in my lungs, I whisper, “I need to protect myself from this shit with Wyatt,
but the real reason for what I did is to protect myself from you.”

Holding his gaze suddenly feels too heavy so I drop my
eyes to stare at his lips.  Now why the hell did I do that?  The
memory of his mouth pressed to mine streaks across my brain like a shooting
star in the night sky.  His lips are both full, the bottom slightly more
so than the top.  He has a perfect bowed arch, which makes his mouth sit
in a perpetual pout when his face is relaxed.

The hands cradling my head tense slightly, so I
reluctantly lift my eyes back to his.

“You’re not getting it,” Jacoby says softly.  My
brow crinkles in confusion.

“I’m sorry?” 

“I’ll have to show you.”

“Jacoby, I’m sorry but I don’t—ˮ 

One second I’m sitting on the couch, and the next, his
hands release my face only to grasp me beneath my armpits and haul my body over
to him where he drags me into his lap.  As soon as I’m close enough, he
releases me briefly to wrap a strong arm around my back, crushing me to his
chest while his other hand slides my thigh over his lap so I’m straddling him.

Once I’m secured where he wants me, and sure I’m no
longer breathing out of pure shock, he moves his hand from my thigh to slide
around the back of my neck, bringing my forehead to touch his.  In order
not to topple over, my own hands grasp onto the shirt covering his chest, the
warmth of his body seeping into the sensitive skin of my palms.

“Do you think after the past few days, most
importantly this afternoon, that I’m going to just let you go?” he whispers,
his lips hardly a fingers width from mine.  His breath is like a warm
tropical breeze against my parted lips. 

“I don’t think.  I know,” I reply, wanting to
squeeze my eyes shut from the knife plunging into my heart.  It’s
inevitable.  We’ve never had a future, because we were doomed from the
start.  Isn’t that what he’s been telling me this entire time?  This
is wrong.  We can’t work.  

“I don’t think you do.  Because the second you
leapt into my arms and kissed me like I was the air you needed to breathe, you
became mine.”

Duh-dum, duh-dum-dum.

That’s the sound of my heart stopping dead in my
chest.

Jacoby doesn’t need me to respond.  He puts
pressure on my neck, bringing my lips close enough so he can capture them with
his own.  The kiss starts off soft and gentle, seeking and learning,
tasting and being tasted.

There’s no rush, no urgency to the way his tongue
tangles with mine.  Just the gentle sway of our heads switching positions,
left, right, left, back again as we explore and search each other’s
mouths.  Discovering the way he responds when I gently lick the side of
his tongue and the roof of his mouth.  The way a soft moan rises from my
throat when he carefully nips my lower lip before caressing the spot with his
tongue.

The first kisses we’d shared were full of dominance
and power and proof.  They were frantic and needy.  We wielded our
lips like weapons to drive a point.  This time, it’s about the exploration
and declaration of what is to come.  

I can feel when the calm exterior of our kiss begins
to unravel, revealing the true desperation lying within us.  It’s like
opening a present, the excitement and anticipation begins to heighten the
closer we get to the source of our desire.  His hand slides down from my
neck, the other leaving my back with a sudden chill as both palms come to rest
on the soft curve of my ass, squeezing and pulling the most intimate parts of
our bodies closer together.

Jacoby is pulling moans from my throat like a magician
pulls scarves from a hat.  The kiss turns frantic and hot, teeth clashing,
nips and licks.  I throw my head back when he tears his mouth from mine, only
to pepper the flushed skin of my throat with more of his lips, his tongue
trailing along and burning a trail into my flesh. 

When his mouth takes the trip back to mine, the
restraint is completely gone.  A groan rumbles from his chest, which I
both hear and feel, and I sink my fingers into the soft, thick strands of his
slightly too long hair.  Without a word, Jacoby lifts me up with his hands
on my ass, and begins to climb the stairs leading to his bedroom.  My
heart rate kicks up several notches with the thrill of his hands on me and the
knowledge of where he’s taking me.  I want to scream words like yes,
please, and oh God, but I don’t want to sound too needy, so I swallow them down
with my next breath.

We enter the darkness of his bedroom, the only light
streaming in from the door which we came.  He releases one hand from my
ass to plant it on the bed, and using his momentum, he hoists both of us toward
the middle with a soft thump.  My body bounces a little, and Jacoby gives
me a breathtaking grin before he follows me down to continue our kiss. 

Every inch of me tingles like little electric pulses
are being shocked into my skin.  Reaching for the hem of his shirt, I pull
and guide it over his head, dropping it somewhere beside me.  The need to
touch, to see his beautiful skin, is too much to bear.  He doesn’t wait
long before doing the same with my shirt, tossing it to join his, before
leaning back to take me in. 

I’m wearing a fuchsia colored bra with a trim of black
lace around the edges.  He hasn’t discovered it yet, but I’m wearing the
matching thong.  If he looks at me like this in just my bra, I’m going
crazy with need to see how he reacts to the entire package. 

God, his eyes.  So soft and warm, looking over my
face and torso with a deep reverence reserved for worshiping an altar. 
Jacoby places his warm, slightly calloused palm against the fragile skin of my
throat, his eyes following the movement and heating at whatever he sees
there.  There’s no reflection of disgust in his eyes as he peruses the
horribly bruised skin beneath his hand.  If I could guess, I’d say he
likes what he sees when his hand is on me, his honey colored skin contrasting
erotically with my creamy, pale flesh. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, his palm begins to move like a
soothing balm down my sternum, between my breasts, sweeping and caressing to my
naval, across to one side, then the other.  From there, his palm ghosts up
my ribcage, across my chest and he repeats the movement again on the other
side.

We don’t need words to tell each other how good we
feel, our hands speak for us in the language of need, and lust, and sex. 
I’m trembling from head to toe from his soft caress, and I lift my hands to his
chest; the need to touch him nearly overwhelming me.  His skin is
deliciously smooth. The warmth heats my palms as I trace the chiseled valleys
and hills of his pectorals, following the crisp sprinkling of hair along his
sternum, and down, down to his abs and his little trail of happiness leading
below the waistband of his jeans. 

“Christ, you’re going to ruin me,” he breathes as I
slip a finger into the edge of his jeans in a slow back-and-forth caress.