His Doc Martens scuff against the bricks as he lowers behind me. His hands wrap around my thighs, and in the next heartbeat, he buries his nose in my pussy.
A slap of embarrassment flushes my face. But it quickly transforms into a torrent of desire as his exhale brushes against my flesh. A deep inhale follows, and his fingers tighten against my legs.
He’s smelling me. Down there. Deeply and repeatedly. I never would’ve imagined being so wildly turned on by this, but I’m shaking and panting against the strange and incredible sensation. He’s shaking, too, and… Oh fuck, he’s licking me, kissing my pussy the way he kisses my mouth. Another—holy fucking shit—first.
I bite my lip to silence my cry as he stabs his tongue between my legs. He laves my folds, brutally bites sensitive skin, and scratches me with his stubble. It’s pain and pleasure, soprano and bass, and every octave in between. I’m going to come. I feel the pull, and I reach for that wondrous place, grinding my pussy against his face and digging my fingers into the leather seat. Almost there. Almost—
He steps back.
I straighten and twist around to grab him, but he’s right there, catching me in the tangle of my jeans with his hands on my hips and his tongue in my mouth. He slides his lips over mine in slippery strokes, spreading the tangy taste of my arousal between us.
He breaks the kiss and drags my panties up my trembling legs.
My insides throb, aching to finish what he started. “I didn’t come.”
“I know.” He pulls up my jeans and fastens them. Then he grabs my hand and presses it against the erection behind his zipper. “I’ll wait for you.”
“You’re not going to the appointment with me?”
Regret etches his face, and he releases my hand.
Of course, he can’t go. Someone might see us together. I mentally slap myself. “That’s why you gave me the car.”
He cups my face and kisses me.
“I’m sorry.” I lean back and peer up at him through my lashes. “I was kind of a brat about it.”
“The brattiest.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
A smile stretches his gorgeous face. “Where would the fun be in that?”
He likes me to act out so he can discipline me for it? Today’s lesson: the worst punishment is a denied orgasm.
When I’m settled in the driver’s seat, he leans into the open window and gives me a flinty glare. “Don’t argue with the doctor.”
“I won’t.”
“Get the blood work.”
“I will.”
“And the birth control he prescribes.”
My pulse leaps. “Of course.”
Those hard eyes soften into a look I’ve never seen on him before. “Come back to me.”
I reach up and stroke his shadowed jaw. “Count on it.”
Unease buzzes through me as I turn out of Emeric’s driveway. Maybe because I’m wearing designer clothes, driving an expensive car, and obsessing about a man with no idea where I’m headed. I know my way to the clinic, but after that? Months down the road? After I graduate? Where am I going and how will I get there?
I know Emeric intends to keep me around. That both delights me and troubles me. Part of the reason I want to go to Leopold is to get out of Treme. Well, I did, and here I am with an address even Ann would envy. But I yearn to continue practicing piano, and not just under any instructor. The very best instructors Leopold has to offer. How could I throw away my dream for a man and forgive myself? How could Emeric respect me if I did that?
He wouldn’t. Of all the lessons he’s taught me in and out of the classroom, the most profound is how to recognize my own strength and go after what I want.
Amid my churning thoughts, I wonder about Mom and Shane. Do they question where I am? Emeric keeps the bills current, so maybe they don’t care. Or maybe they’re too strung out to even notice my absence. I try not to dwell on that. The things I want from them, their interest and concern, died with my dad. My family is broken, a harrowing truth I accepted a long time ago.
A couple of minutes from his house, I park the Porsche in front of Southern Family Health. Tucking the phone in my back pocket, I head inside the modern one-story building.
A few people fill the waiting room, but none of them look up from their phones when I enter. I check in, fill out the forms, and return them to the middle-aged woman behind the counter.
“Take a seat.” She brushes her frizzy brown hair behind her ear. “Dr. Marceaux will see you shortly.”
I stiffen, my attention darting over the rack of pamphlets, searching for something to validate what I just heard. “Did you say Marceaux?”
“Is that not…” She glances at the computer monitor. “Says here you requested Marceaux.”