Saturday, as I hulled strawberries for a snack in thekitchen, dipping one in his homemade whipped cream and popping it in my mouth every so often, he looped his arms around me from behind and began nibbling my neck. Before long, he was inside me, thrusting from behind. I dipped my finger in the cream, fed it to him, then sucked his tongue into my mouth, the taste of strawberries and cream mingling between us as he pulled two orgasms from me with expert efficiency.
The rest of Saturday and all of yesterday continued on like that, with us unable to keep our hands off each other. And last night, the sky was clear, so he brought out the only outdoor chair he owns and set it in the clearing of his yard. We sat watching the stars, wrapped in a blanket, my legs strewn over his lap, utterly content as our breaths fogged in front of us. As stars winked, comets soared, and the moon arced closer to the horizon, he caressed my face, giving me deep, gentle kisses until he carried me inside and lay me down.
Now, we bump along the gravel drive and, just before he turns onto the mountain road, he stops and lets go of my hand to engage the brake.
I angle my body toward him.
Before I can ask a question, his hands cradle my jaw, lips on mine as his tongue coaxes my mouth open. I make a small sound in the back of my throat. One of his hands moves to my still-damp hair, tugging to angle my face upward. Heat flutters through me as if this is the first time we’ve kissed, as if we didn’t just spend days holed up in a sex-fueled bubble where nothing else mattered.
After a minute, our lips separate, and he leans his forehead against mine. We watch each other, panting.
“I like you,” he says. “So much.”
I take both his hands in both of mine, kissing each of hisknuckles, then lean over the center console to kiss his smooth jaw, the corner of his mouth, his eyebrow. Because telling him “I like you too” doesn’t feel like enough, I kiss him everywhere I think I might have neglected over the weekend, infusing all the feelings I’m not ready to speak yet into each gesture.
As he drives us over the ridge, the taste of him still on my lips, I suck in a sharp breath at the scene below.
“Wow.” It’s all I have the capacity to say.
Sawyer rests his large hand on my thigh. “Blue Ridge has its faults, but aesthetics isn’t one of them.”
The town is blanketed in white, which happened a few times in my youth, but this is the first time I’ve seen it from this angle. We’re closer than at his cabin, details starker. It’s so different. In the fourteen years I’ve been away from Blue Ridge, my memory of it was small and dingy. Dirty, even. Now, the snowy little town looks idyllic: white, pristine, and peaceful.
It’s breathtaking.
Sawyer reaches over and laces our fingers together. I smile over at him.
Maybe this could work.
But as the mountain road flattens out and makes its seamless transition into United Avenue, an anxious flutter forms in my stomach, like I’ve just swallowed a small hive full of bees.
We have officially reentered the real world.
The brick box that is the school comes into view, and Christopher crashes into my mind. The bees, panicking now, form a bottleneck at my throat trying to escape.
What have I done?
Christopher was just a colleague. Sawyer is theprincipalof this school and, in the eyes of the town, he’s still the Princeof Blue Ridge. I’m asubstitutefor shit’s sake, one no one asked for. It would take zero paperwork to get rid of me if this thing with Sawyer goes up in flames. Because isn’t it bound to?
This thing is fragile and new, everything that happened between us was isolated from the rest of the world. How could it possibly stand up under the weight of scrutinizing eyes and whispered words? And when it crumples, the entire town will probably chase me out themselves, appalled I attempted to sully the good name of their prince.
And unlike Christopher, I actually like Sawyer. A lot. When I leave, it’ll be with a broken heart.
When. Not if. Because Blue Ridge isn’t home.
Completely unaware I’ve been sitting in Sawyer’s car spiraling, my car door opens. His wide grin only churns my anxiety more as he dips his head to catch my eye. Guilt worms its way through me. Since my first day here, Sawyer hasn’t asked why I left my old school in such a hurry even though he’s had every right to.
I should tell him.
The embarrassment at my own naiveté at letting Christopher manipulate me and the ensuing meeting with the Everett Academy administration is like a lead weight in my stomach.
He’ll understand.I can trust him.
Heart pounding, I get out of the car. He moves closer, resting his hand on my hip and kisses me deeply. It unfocuses my mind for a second, and I sigh into him. My back hits the truck and his hips are flush against mine as my hands curl around his neck.
The rusty creak of the external school door pierces the air. As if I haven’t already experienced every emotion this morning in flashing technicolor, adrenalinerushes through my blood stream. My hands come up and with one forceful shove, Sawyer is off me, and we’re both breathing hard enough that it’s painfully audible.
“Professional,” I huff. “I want to be professional.”
