“Scheme? Is that what you think this is?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” I snap, the heat of my anger bubbling over.
He grips my shoulders, his head draws near, and suddenly, his lips are on mine. My mind is reeling, my body is firing, and my lips move with his. All the anger, frustration, and irritation swirl into a whirlwind of emotions I can’t entirely untangle. His kiss is soft yet urgent, a silent plea for understanding mingled with passion.
My hands clench his jacket, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His hands pull me into his body. His tongue slips past my lips to explore my mouth. He groans as I let him.
It’s foreign, forbidden, and exciting.
The taste of his ice cream transfers to me, making his kiss even sweeter. The chemistry I acknowledged and denied sparks into a flame, and I’m unsure I want to smother it.
My worries about him, me, and the ethics fade into a blur, leaving only the sensation of his lips on mine and his tongue twisting with mine. I can’t suppress my moan. It’s illegal to be this turned on by someone not only so much younger but also my student.
My brain hates the taboo of it, but my pussy wets at the thought. He’s wild and reckless, just like when I ride. Being with him sexually would unlock the outlet reserved only for my street bike.
The only outlet I’ve had in a very long time. I’m almost deserving of another, more forbidden passion. He groans, pushing his hips into mine, and the sudden feel of his hard erection against my stomach pulls me back to reality. I push him away and pant hot breaths into the cool air.
He stares at me as I do him.
His usual cocky façade is replaced by an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes, searching for my reaction. It’s stalled out. Conflicted about what just happened. He starts a chemical reaction that can’t be undone, and the explosion is moments from happening.
“What the hell, Diego?”
“I think you want me, Isabella. And I think you’re hating me for it.”
I pull my blazer tighter around me as the chill of his words slides down my spine. He’s got one thing wrong in his hypothesis. Saying I want him versus should I want him versus can I want him? All different angles to approach the same problem, yet yield radically different results.
Do I?
Yes.
Should I?
No.
Can I?
No.
And hate him?
I don’t hate anyone. But I am highly irritated and frustrated. Yes.
“I think you should go.”
I take a step backward as his hand runs through his hair.
“You won’t even admit it to yourself, huh?”
His head shakes, his jaw tightens, and he takes several steps backward.
“For what it’s worth, I’m not scheming. Your dad has been my idol since I read his book Chemical Magic in sixth grade. I got to see him a long time ago at a convention. I had my mom fly us to the mainland to attend. It was at Berkley. He spoke about advanced reaction mechanisms in organic chemistry. I was the only kid there, probably the youngest in the audience. Your dad noticed too. He took a few minutes to talk to me afterward. It changed everything for me. Meeting him again? It was . . . surreal.”
His voice softens as he speaks, becoming almost wispy at the end. For the first time tonight, I glimpse the boy he once was. Wide-eyed and eager, standing in awe of my father.
It disarms me.
When I say nothing, he mutters something to himself and turns to walk to his truck. Every step he takes has me fighting myself until I finally decide.
