She gulped. “We haven’t talked about—”
A short laugh escaped me, but it wasn’t mean or cruel. If anything, it was amused.
“You’re mine, Phoebe Whitehouse. Don’t you realize that yet?”
She pulled away from me, not out of my arms, but away enough that she could peer up at me. She was tall for a woman, around five-ten, but that was still short in comparison to my six-four. As she stared up into my eyes, she whispered, “You’ve just seen where I come from.”
And she thought that was an issue?
I snorted. “Gina’s father heads a law firm, and her mother is aiming for Senate next year.” When her shoulders dropped, I moved my hand there and rubbed one. “Hey. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just saying, she supposedly came from good stock, baby, and look at what she did to me.”
Her throat visibly moved as she gulped. “I hate her.”
Gina? Or her mother?
When I asked, she whispered, “Both of them.”
“Well, we never have to see either of them again.”
She gnawed on her bottom lip. “If she gets clean, I won’t turn her away.”
I shrugged. “Okay. But only if she gets clean?”
We had enough psychos under one roof with me in the building. We didn’t need an alcoholic too.
“Yeah. Only if she really, truly gets clean.” She licked her lips then peered at the doors to the ER. “I wonder where she’ll stay.”
“The YWCA, probably.”
She nodded. “So, she’ll have somewhere to go.”
If they’d take her.
I didn’t say that though, figured it wasn’t necessary.
The trouble with addicts, you had to let them bottom out sometimes. Let them sink to the depths of degradation for them to realize they wanted more out of their lives.
Did it suck?
Yeah, it fucking did.
But it was the only thing that worked.
I kissed her forehead again and murmured, “My aunt was into prescription meds in a big way. Unless you let them fend for themselves, they’ll never sort themselves out.”
“I know. I just—I don’t like what she brings out in me.”
I could understand that.
“She isn’t my mom.”
My brow puckered at that. “What do you mean?”
Phoebe stared up at me, her eyes burning, her chin set in a defiant slant. “Mrs. Linden was my mom.”
Understanding struck. I reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Of course.”
“Just like that?”
I smiled. “Just like that. We claim who we want in this life.” Just as I’d claimed her.
She sighed, the fight seeming to have been stolen from her with my easy acceptance of her assertion. Like I’d have argued. From what I knew of Mrs. Linden, my woman and Scottie would never have made it without her help. For that, Enid would have my undying thanks—she’d kept Phoebe safe until I could.
She rubbed her forehead against my shirt, and asked, “Are faculty and students allowed to date?”
Tensing, I queried, “Do you want the truth?”
“Of course.” Then, she sighed. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Down low until the end of the semester?”
She hummed. “Finals are soon anyway.”
I kissed her temple once more. “That they are. And don’t expect to get any help with the answers,” I teased, where once I’d have been cutting. “Kisses will get you nowhere.”
That had her laughing. “That’s a shame, but I guess I’ll just have to keep kissing you anyway.”
“Damn straight,” I growled, squeezing her tightly.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “Let’s go home.”
And fuck, if those weren’t the best words I’d heard all year.
❖
“Nicholas?”
I twisted around in my seat and stared at her in the hall. “What is it?”
She licked her lips. “Aren’t you going to bed soon?”
“I have papers to grade.” I wasn’t even lying. For once. I grimaced. “Things got a little derailed this evening.”
We’d made it back from the hospital with no issue, and the sitter had relinquished Scottie’s care back to us with a smile and a ‘no worries’ for the short notice. Scottie, because he was a sensitive little monster, had apparently sensed something was wrong because he’d clung to Phoebe all night.
I could hardly blame the kid.
At least he had a reason to want to be glued to her side.
For me, I’d just look fucking weird.
Still, I hadn’t complained when she’d ended up having to take him to bed early and go down with him until he rested. I’d just gotten on with my work because I always had plenty to do.
I’d even graded one of her papers, and though it was strange reading through it without the bitterness of before, and the desperate longing that had entwined every single move I made around her, I realized how unfair I’d been in the past.
Her voice was clear, pure. Shy, just as she was, yet strong too. It was a beautiful representation of the woman herself, and the more I read, the more I wanted to read her other work.
She was due to get her short story to me this year. It was an evil assignment that I always gave my students. A thirty to fifty-thousand-word novella on a topic that meant something to them. I got everything. From solarpunk dreams of utopia, to philosophical rewrites of Romeo and Juliet.
I’d been blind, thus far, to her talent. And while I might sound biased again, this time with the joy of her having accepted me, scars and all, I wasn’t.
It was to my shame that I’d hidden from her abilities.
Christ, that I’d hidden from her period.
Well, I was done hiding.
She stood there, with the hall light illuminating her gentle curves in her over-washed tee. With her legs bared and her body ripe, I felt everything in me harden in the face of her softness.
My fingers dug into the leather armrests as the desire to make her mine overwhelmed me.
Voice low and gruff with my emotions, I grated out, “Come here.”
Her eyes rounded, and her tits bounced with the sharp throb of excitement. She scurried over to me, walking on her tiptoes in a way that reminded me of a dancer, and within seconds, she was in front of me. Without even asking, she slid to her knees and stared up at me from between them.
After she licked her lips, she whispered, “Nicholas?”
I hummed as I stared into her eyes, and though she was in control of this situation, I knew she wasn’t aware of that.
And I wasn’t about to tell her.
Leaning back in my desk chair, I felt like a pasha looking over his servant girl for the night.
Except, I didn’t want any other servant girl. None except her.
Drumming my fingers against the armrest, I replied, “No, Phoebe.” Her brow puckered in surprise at my words. “Spread your legs.”
Her eyes clenched close as she obeyed, but I knew she didn’t want to. Knew she was thinking of what she’d said earlier, of how she needed more from me than this.
“How wet are you?” I asked, my jaw like granite as I looked at the slick folds of her sex.