I lay back down the moment Jace steps into the house, leaving the sliding doors open behind him. My back sinks into the soft cushions, heart pounding in my chest. He’s told me to lie on my back and lift my shirt, exposing my stomach. My eyes are shut, and my hands cling to the top of the wooden lounge set above my head. I’ve followed his instructions without question. The cold wind brushes across my bare skin, and with my eyes closed, I become hyper-aware of every sound around me. I hear Jace’s soft footsteps approaching. Though he remains silent, I can feel his gaze roaming over my body. The urge to peek is almost unbearable—I want to see what he’s planning. The first sound I hear is the click of a lighter. Then, he inhales deeply. I swallow hard, knowing he’s watching me as he smokes. The sensation is thrilling. Exhilarating. And utterly terrifying. I can hardly breathe. “Open,” Jace commands softly. My lips part immediately, and he places the tip of the joint between them.
I barely have a second to breathe before I feel his teeth sink into my skin, right where the chocolate had been poured. A sharp moan escapes my lips as Jace bites down harder, the pain blooming through me in a delicious, addictive wave. Shit. Is this punishment? Because it feels better than anything I’ve ever experienced. HHis fingers pinch the soft skin of my waist, and he bites again, harder this time. Another moan tears out of me before I can stop it, and I feel his gaze flick up to my face. Heat rushes up my neck. I throw my head back, desperately trying to hide the pleasure that's so obviously written on my face. I bite my lip, hard, struggling to hold in a scream. “You like that?” Jace's voice is low, a mix of surprise and something darker. I nod, unable to form words. Like it? Jesus. I’m sure he can even smell my arousal. And since I’m not wearing underwear, I can feel it on my legs. “Really?” he presses, his voice dripping with intrigue. “Yes,” I manage to whisper, my vo
I hear Jace leap from the couch with a sharp curse, and I sprint into the house like my life depends on it. My feet barely skim the floor as I slam the glass sliding doors shut with a shuddering crash. My eyes dart to the lock just above my head, and without hesitation, I jump, fingers fumbling but finding it. I twist the lock, securing it as my bare feet touch the cool wood again. But Jace is already there. He’s in front of me before I even catch my breath, his presence looming. The glass panes separating us feel paper-thin. His chest heaves, his jaw tight. He knows I’ve locked the door. “Open it,” he snaps, his voice like a lash, the sheer force of it making him seem larger—more dangerous—than I’ve ever seen him before. My pulse spikes, but I refuse to flinch. Instead, I slowly place the joint between my lips, locking my gaze with his furious eyes, and flick the lighter. The flame bursts to life between us, and in its glow, I see the fire mirrored in his eyes—rage and something d
A hundred thoughts race through my mind, tangling in the fear that grips my chest. “The lights,” I manage to whisper, the only thing I can say as the night feels alive with danger. Jace tilts his head, eyes gleaming with a predatory calm. “I control them with my phone. Must admit, it was entertaining watching you run around like a little mouse,” he says, voice low and sharp. The gun is still pointed at me, a small, deadly thing that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. His finger rests too comfortably on the trigger, and though logic tells me he won’t shoot me, every instinct screams otherwise. “Throw the joint and the lighter,” he sneers, voice cold as steel. My hands act before I can think, letting both drop into the grass as if they burn me. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t soften. He’s in complete control, and I can feel it like a noose tightening around my throat. “Now, take off your sweats,” he orders. For a moment, I think I misheard him. My heart stumbles. “What?” My voice is bare
"He's just so hot. I can't concentrate when he talks to me," Lina whispers next to me.I roll my eyes. I really wish they’d stop talking about my brother. Mason had walked past us a few minutes ago, sternly telling us to be quiet while we waited for our next class. Or as everyone else knows him, Mr. Jackson. No one knows he’s my brother, except a few teachers and my best friend, Hannah—who also happened to have a secret crush on him. She is cured, thankfully. Mason teaches Business English and is in a loving relationship with my other best friend, Esme."You think so? He's got nothing on Mr. Adkins. I’d eat him for breakfast," Charlotte chimes in.Okay. I’d rather hear about my brother than Mr. Adkins. And speak of the devil—here he comes.Mr. Adkins, the teacher who hates me the most. I honestly have no idea why. Sure, I’m failing his class, and maybe I don’t cower under his death glare, but other than that, I’m clueless. Still, I can’t stand his voice, and I’m sure the feeling is mu
He ignores my comment and turns his attention back to the class. Without explaining the answer, he carries on as if nothing happened. Another hour passes, and I rest my head on my hand, barely holding myself up, eyes fixed on Mr. Adkins as he talks.He might be an asshole, but at least he's a good-looking one. I wouldn’t call him hot, like my classmates do—his awful personality drops his attractiveness by about 80%. But that remaining 20%... His dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and sharp features are reminiscent of Peter Badenhop and Sahib Faber.He’s always in a black business attire, hiding his build but not the fact that he’s athletic. His muscles flex whenever he writes, and the stubble on his jaw is always perfectly trimmed.The worst part? He knows he’s attractive. That just makes him more unbearable.When the bell rings, the whole class stays seated. They always do with him. He gives an order, and everyone follows.He turns to face us, scanning the room with a sharp gaze. Lina sits
"Take your time; only twenty people are waiting," someone snaps from behind me. I immediately pull away from Hannah’s arms. Even she seems surprised by the interruption from Mr. Adkins. But then I notice we are standing against the door, and everybody is actually waiting for us. "Sorry, sir," I mumble, avoiding his gaze. Trying to be nice to him is going to be harder than I thought. I quickly move to the back of the class and sit down, pulling out my phone before Mr. Adkins calls for silence. -Nora: Hey, Con. Can you help me with math? Exams are coming up, and I'm failing. My phone buzzes almost instantly. -Connor: I'm failing math too. I can help you though. -Connor: This weekend? Fuck sake. Of course. With a sigh, I open my textbook and actually attempt to pay attention. The first thirty minutes go okay, but soon enough, the numbers on the board start blending together. I peek at Hannah’s notes, noticing numbers that aren't even on the board. I frown, completely lost. It
"Wait, you will be tutoring me?" I ask, eyes widening. "Is that a problem?" he replies, walking back to his desk. I hesitate for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. It absolutely fucking is. "Uhh... no, of course not. When are we starting?" I ask after a brief pause. "That keen, are we?" I hear the humor in his tone, his back still turned to me as he gathers his things. "Keen as a bean," I mutter sarcastically. I had hoped someone else would be tutoring me. He turns around and gives me a piercing look, his eyes flicking to my stuff. "Well, bean, hurry up. You've got a book to read." Right. I hurry to the back of the class, gathering my things in a rush. The book is too big to fit in my bag, so I hold it against my chest and walk toward him. He's already waiting by the door. "So... when do we start, exactly?" I ask again for clarification. "I told you. Once you've read the entire book," he says nonchalantly. "The book is, like, 500 pages. That'll take me ages. By the tim
A hundred thoughts race through my mind, tangling in the fear that grips my chest. “The lights,” I manage to whisper, the only thing I can say as the night feels alive with danger. Jace tilts his head, eyes gleaming with a predatory calm. “I control them with my phone. Must admit, it was entertaining watching you run around like a little mouse,” he says, voice low and sharp. The gun is still pointed at me, a small, deadly thing that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. His finger rests too comfortably on the trigger, and though logic tells me he won’t shoot me, every instinct screams otherwise. “Throw the joint and the lighter,” he sneers, voice cold as steel. My hands act before I can think, letting both drop into the grass as if they burn me. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t soften. He’s in complete control, and I can feel it like a noose tightening around my throat. “Now, take off your sweats,” he orders. For a moment, I think I misheard him. My heart stumbles. “What?” My voice is bare
I hear Jace leap from the couch with a sharp curse, and I sprint into the house like my life depends on it. My feet barely skim the floor as I slam the glass sliding doors shut with a shuddering crash. My eyes dart to the lock just above my head, and without hesitation, I jump, fingers fumbling but finding it. I twist the lock, securing it as my bare feet touch the cool wood again. But Jace is already there. He’s in front of me before I even catch my breath, his presence looming. The glass panes separating us feel paper-thin. His chest heaves, his jaw tight. He knows I’ve locked the door. “Open it,” he snaps, his voice like a lash, the sheer force of it making him seem larger—more dangerous—than I’ve ever seen him before. My pulse spikes, but I refuse to flinch. Instead, I slowly place the joint between my lips, locking my gaze with his furious eyes, and flick the lighter. The flame bursts to life between us, and in its glow, I see the fire mirrored in his eyes—rage and something d
I barely have a second to breathe before I feel his teeth sink into my skin, right where the chocolate had been poured. A sharp moan escapes my lips as Jace bites down harder, the pain blooming through me in a delicious, addictive wave. Shit. Is this punishment? Because it feels better than anything I’ve ever experienced. HHis fingers pinch the soft skin of my waist, and he bites again, harder this time. Another moan tears out of me before I can stop it, and I feel his gaze flick up to my face. Heat rushes up my neck. I throw my head back, desperately trying to hide the pleasure that's so obviously written on my face. I bite my lip, hard, struggling to hold in a scream. “You like that?” Jace's voice is low, a mix of surprise and something darker. I nod, unable to form words. Like it? Jesus. I’m sure he can even smell my arousal. And since I’m not wearing underwear, I can feel it on my legs. “Really?” he presses, his voice dripping with intrigue. “Yes,” I manage to whisper, my vo
I lay back down the moment Jace steps into the house, leaving the sliding doors open behind him. My back sinks into the soft cushions, heart pounding in my chest. He’s told me to lie on my back and lift my shirt, exposing my stomach. My eyes are shut, and my hands cling to the top of the wooden lounge set above my head. I’ve followed his instructions without question. The cold wind brushes across my bare skin, and with my eyes closed, I become hyper-aware of every sound around me. I hear Jace’s soft footsteps approaching. Though he remains silent, I can feel his gaze roaming over my body. The urge to peek is almost unbearable—I want to see what he’s planning. The first sound I hear is the click of a lighter. Then, he inhales deeply. I swallow hard, knowing he’s watching me as he smokes. The sensation is thrilling. Exhilarating. And utterly terrifying. I can hardly breathe. “Open,” Jace commands softly. My lips part immediately, and he places the tip of the joint between them.
“Try again. Slowly,” Jace instructs, bringing the joint back to my lips. This time, I inhale gently, feeling the smoke trail down into my lungs before exhaling a thick haze. “Yes, good. Again,” he murmurs, guiding the joint to my lips once more. I take another puff, and then Jace takes a hit himself. After one more inhale, he presses the joint into the ashtray on the table, extinguishing it. “That’s it?” I ask, a bit puzzled. Jace smirks as he dumps the remainder of the joint with the ash. “That’s enough for now. We’ll have more after dessert.” He gives me a knowing look. I’m not quite sure what he’s hinting at, but I do know that my brain feels foggy immediately. The weed is definitely working. Dessert seems like a fantasy right now. “Dessert?” I ask, intrigued but distracted by the haze settling over me. "I have to pee," I suddenly blurt outas I jump up from the lounge with a burst of excitement. I hurry upstairs, my steps dreamy and unsteady. Inside the bathroom, I sit down
"Pfft. I was just... thinking," Jace says, opening the wine bottle and pouring a glass for me before I can even respond. "Drink," he orders, filling it generously. "Yes, sir," I reply with exaggerated innocence. He clears his throat and swiftly turns back to the stove. He places a plate full of ravioli in front of me. "This looks delicious," I say, genuinely impressed. "But it’s a lot. I’m not sure I can—" "Eat. All of it," Jace interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. I raise an eyebrow at him, meeting his strict teacher's gaze. "I don’t know if I can take all of it," I say sweetly, trying to match his seriousness. His strict face falls for a seconds, but then darkens with an edge. "I’m sure you can. Try." He sits across from me, placing a fork in my hand. "So," Jace says after taking a sip of wine, his eyes fixed on me, "talk." "About?" I ask, taking a bite of the ravioli and nodding in appreciation. It’s incredible. Jace looks down at my plate of food, and then bac
“Come in,” Jace says softly. “The backdoor is always open.” I gasp in mock shock and follow him to the door. “You never lock your backdoor? Don’t you know how unsafe that is? You never know who might creep in, in the middle of the night.” I smirk. “Well, consider my door open to creeps.” Jace responds with clear double meaning. My stomach does a little jump, and I quickly divert my attention to the house instead. Jace opens the door and gestures for me to step inside first. I kick off my shoes and step into the spacious, wooden interior. The place is much larger than I expected. To my left, a grand staircase twinkles with tiny lights, and the ceiling stretches up to the rafters, with skylights framing the stars that are beginning to dot the sky. I wander deeper into the house, passing an open kitchen before entering the living room. The far wall is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a stunning view of the large porch outside, complete with a barbecue, lounge set, and jac
No tears come. I just sit there, staring ahead, completely numb. The car's already unlocked, and I’ve been in it for what feels like an hour. Or maybe it’s only been two minutes when the door of the restaurant opens and I see Jace walking out. My heart does a little jump, slowly pulling me from the shock. He suddenly sits beside me. I blink, turning my head to him, confused at how he got here so fast. I hadn’t even noticed him get in. Jace is watching me, expecting something. "What?" I ask, my voice distant. He frowns. "I asked you twice already if you’re alright." I think about that question. It’s one I don't want to answer. "Can we go?" I say instead. "Of course." Jace starts the car without hesitation. As we pull away, I glance at the restaurant one last time. Everything looks the same as when we arrived. Strawberry milkshakes will never taste the same ever again. I start breathing normally as we drive out of the city, leaving my dad and everything else behind. “What did y
“Yeah, it’s great. Really excited,” Dad says, finally meeting my eyes. “But I just lost my job. That was a bummer,” he adds, his gaze fixed on me. “Oh no... What happened?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Reorganization. Not my fault in any way,” he replies quickly, taking another bite of his steak. I barely touch my food. “It’s been tight, money-wise, to be honest,” Dad says after a pause. I grab a fry, stalling for time. “Oh... what about finding a new job?” I ask, dipping my fry in mayo. “No luck. It’s a tough market out there. I’m struggling, pumpkin. Really struggling,” he says, his tone tinged with sadness. I know where this is going. "Do you think you can help me out a little bit?" There it is—the question I dreaded. I don’t mind helping my dad, but this is what he does. He disappears for long stretches, sometimes years, until he needs money. Mason used to give in when Dad showed up at our door, pleading. That has been years. Nothing has changed. "Come on, pum