I stop breathing, my eyes fluttering open. “What?”
“You.”
My pulse jolts with the rapid rush of my breaths. How can he shred my trust and stitch it back up so thoroughly in the span of such a short time?
“I’m sorry, Ivory. I should’ve told you.” He rubs my back. “You have enough to worry about, and I just… I trust my instinct, and it tells me she’s lying.”
“I forgive you.” Deeply. Endlessly. I rest my head on his shoulder. “What happens now?”
“I never wanted to threaten her career. I don’t get off on leaving her jobless with a baby. But I need to know if that child is mine.” The muscles beneath me harden with tension, and his tone sharpens. “She has until next weekend to prove paternity. If she doesn’t meet the deadline, the Shreveport Board will receive damning photos of their dirty, deceitful Head of School.”
The following week passes in a blur of restlessness. With Lorenzo Gandara still on the loose and my constant paranoia about my living situation with Ivory, I’m on edge, irritable, and fucking exhausted. Adding to my stress is my orchestra performance this weekend.
Between nightly meetings and dress rehearsals for the symphony and Ivory’s private lessons and homework, there’s little down time. We spend half of our waking hours together, but we’re focused on school, piano practice, and the necessary chores of everyday life.
The few times I’ve been able to pin her down with my fingers in her cunt, we’re either rushed or exhausted. Not fucking her is torment worse than death, but the timing and my focus needs to be perfect.
I want to date her, and I’m frustrated by my inability to do that. She’s never been treated to a romantic dinner or spun across a dance floor, all dressed up for a night out and appreciated by a man who simply enjoys her company. I ache to give her those things, without the expectation of sex. But venturing out in public with her has to wait.
The reminder that she’s only seventeen tempers some of my impatience. She has an entire life yet to experience, and I intend to be a part of it.
In the meantime, I cherish our brief moments before sleep, those small spaces of time when she curls her body around mine. With the shedding fur ball nestled between our feet, we share stories about our lives, random pieces of ourselves, until she drifts into dreamland. Without fail, I lie awake for long hours after, holding her tightly as the looming news of three pivotal things monopolize my mind.
One, it’s Thursday, and I still haven’t heard from Joanne. Not a call or a text. Logic tells me if the baby is mine, she would’ve provided the evidence months ago. But she gets off on mind games and making me wait as a means to control me.
Two, my dad expedited the blood work from Ivory’s exam, and the results are due any day. Once I have her clean bill of health, I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking her into next week. I know she thinks she’s ready, but she’s yet to use her safe word. When I fuck her, will she lie beneath me—like she’s done for every other dickhead—and silently will me to stop? Or will she be with me, making a conscious choice to surrender completely?
I need to find at least one of her hard limits and force her to confront it. Then I’ll know.
The final thing occupying my mind is Lorenzo Gandara. After implementing my plan to remove him as a threat to Ivory, I’m stuck in a holding pattern, burning to see it come to fruition. The wait is maddening, making me question the sagacity in my approach. Maybe I should’ve handled him more directly, legal risks be damned.
Doesn’t help that Ivory asks about him every fucking day. I’ve been honest with her about the current proceedings, but if it doesn’t pan out, I haven’t enlightened her on my intent to straight-up murder that motherfucker.
I doubt she would care as long as it doesn’t interfere with her dream. Ivory’s nothing if not ambitious. She lives by the motto, Everything is possible, and her everything is the ivory tower of Leopold. I’m not in a hurry to upset the tenuous balance between her and me and the dean, but when the time comes, Ivory and I will have some decisions to make.
On a positive note, Prescott Rivard appears to be cooperating. I assigned his activity to my PI, his phone calls and movements all monitored discreetly and reported back to me. There’s been no indication of retaliation.
On Friday, everything changes.
The afternoon arrives in a rapid succession of phone calls and messages. The explosion of disruptions makes it impossible to lecture so I give the students some busy work and bury my head in my phone. Ivory watches me curiously from her desk, her brow lifting in a What the hell are you up to? arch of suspicion.