He touches his lips to my neck. “You’re not breathing.”
I fill my lungs, but it doesn’t help. I feel so small and insubstantial in his strong arms, fastened against his huge body. His chest, biceps, stomach, thighs…my God, he’s hard everywhere I’m soft. And hot. Too hot. I think I’m running a fever. I’m definitely going to puke if he removes his tie and belt.
With my hands clenched on his shoulders, I try to shove at the unmovable muscle. “Please don’t do those things to me.”
He sighs, stroking his nose along my jaw. “It was consensual. Do you know what that means?”
I shake my head, not sure, but maybe I do know. “Like an agreement?”
“Yes. Only she didn’t just agree. She begged.”
“Why? Why would she want that?”
“Joanne is…” He looks away and stretches his neck to rub his chin against his shoulder. His brows pull in, and his entire demeanor seems suddenly and strangely subdued. When his gaze returns, so does his intensity, and his arms tighten around my waist. “She’s like you.”
“Me?” I squirm against him. “I don’t want those things. You don’t even know me.”
“Tell me what you feel right now.”
“Scared. You’re scaring me.”
His lips hover a kiss away, the hint of cinnamon gum scenting his breath. “Yes, but there’s something else. Describe it.”
“My heart’s pounding. I’m burning up, and my stomach feels like an ice block.”
“Your heart and stomach. Where else? Describe the feeling in your nipples.”
A flash of heat sweeps across my neck, through my chest, and builds between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together, humiliated by the reaction, confused by the flush of weird emotions, but I latch onto the feeling I understand. “This is wrong.”
“Not wrong. It’s inappropriate. But we went way past inappropriate the first day. Tell me how your nipples feel. I won’t criticize your answer as long as it’s the truth.”
I suck in a shaky breath and give him what he wants. “Itchy and tight.”
“Good girl.”
The tingle between my legs grows stronger, heavier, more demanding.
He pushes his hips against mine to stop my squirming, and the hardest part of him, the part I hate most, jabs against my stomach. “Now put a name to all those feelings.”
“I don’t know.” I can’t breathe. I can’t think. “I can’t.”
“Dig deep, Ivory.”
My throat closes up.
“What do you feel when you haven’t eaten.”
“Hungry.”
His hard eyes are too close, too unsafe. “How about when you see a beautiful piano?”
“Want.”
“And when I gave you praise after your performance of Islamey?”
“Desire for more.”
“Hunger. Want. Desire. Is that what you’re feeling as I hold you against the wall?”
Is it? The aching hunger for something between my legs, my out-of-control heartbeat, and the burning need to express it, talk about it? My head is too mixed-up. Yes, he’s a beautiful man, and I hear all the girls talk about wanting to do him. And yes, I crave his appreciation for my talent and his good-girls and his warm hand on my face, but this? The length of his body against mine? Holding me immobile?
He’s just holding me. Not grabbing my boobs or thrusting between my legs. He’s giving me attention. Asking me about my feelings. Without taking.
Jesus, I do want this, from someone I can trust, from my teacher, and I shouldn’t. “I think it’s desire. And shame.” Humiliation.
He presses his lips against my forehead. “Mmm. There’s my girl.”
“I don’t want to be gagged and tied and—”
His finger falls across my mouth then returns to my back. “Not now. But you’ll think about it. The idea will consume you. Then we’ll talk about it again.”
“But you’re my teacher!”
“I said we’ll talk about it.” He leans back and rests his hands on my hips. “Where will you get the money to pay me back?”
The subject change gives me whiplash. “I’ll have it by Monday, I promise.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I close my eyes, blocking out his perceptive gaze. He knows my mom is unemployed. I’m here till seven every night and practicing at Stogie’s till eleven, so he knows I can’t work. There’s no way I can tell him I’m doing Prescott’s homework and essentially whoring myself out to pay the bills. And I don’t know why, but lying to him scares me more than him discovering the truth.
Opening my eyes, I do the only thing I can. I shake my head.
His expression hardens, and his scowl overtakes my entire world. “Let’s talk about the punishment for throwing shit at your teacher.”
He’s only inches from my face, with a frightening glare and a body twice my size. Isn’t that punishment enough?
“You have a choice. Tell me where you get your money. Or bare your ass for a spanking.”
All the blood drains from my face to my feet. There is no choice.