“Mr. Kahale.”
My voice is tight.
My nerves are raw from watching this unexpected friendship evolve between them.
“A word. Outside.”
His brows lift slightly, but he nods. He glances at Papà for help, who waves him off with a chuckle, already engrossed in whatever he’s concocting.
My student follows me into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind us with a quiet click. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting shadows along the cream-colored walls. I turn to face him, ready to demand answers, but before I can speak, he steps closer, his hand wrapping around my arm.
“What are you?—”
His mouth crashes against mine, cutting off my words. My back hits the wall with a soft thud, the cool surface biting through my sweater. His grip is firm but not harsh, his body pressing against mine in a way that makes my pussy flood with lust.
For a split second, I give in, my hands curling into fists while grasping his shirt. His lips move against mine, desperate and insistent. The heat of him and the passion behind his kiss consume me like a flash fire.
His tongue strokes the flames of my desire as his hand cups my breast. A hungry groan ripples out of him and into me, shoving me back into reality.
My fists unroll to splay against his chest, shoving him back and breaking the kiss with enough force that he steps back. My breathing is ragged, my pulse is thundering, and my glare is blazing.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He runs a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lock onto mine.
“What I wanted to do all morning. You look so pretty today.”
My hands tremble as I press them against my sides, battling my rage and his audacity.
“You don’t get to do that. Not here. Not while my father is in the next room.”
“You’re the one who’s mad at me. I’m just clearing the tension between us. You act like nothing happened. We said it was complicated. I didn’t back down from that, but suddenly you are?”
He steps closer, his jaw tight, his voice low and heated. I shake my head, my frustration boiling over.
“This is not the time or place. You can’t just?—”
“What?”
His eyes narrow.
His voice rises slightly when he leans a forearm against the wall beside my head, trapping me in place.
“Can’t just talk this out? Can’t kiss you or what? Did you even think about me? Did you even consider the risks after I safely brought you home?”
His accusation settles over me, heavy and suffocating. Too caught up in my own thoughts to worry about how he was dealing with all this. I press my palms flat against the wall behind me, needing something solid to anchor myself. He takes advantage of my position by moving even closer, angling his body to lean sideways against the wall, blocking me from view of the rest of the hallway.
“Well, you had two nights AND this morning to mull it over, didn’t you? And yet you still kissed me back just now. You’re either scared?—”
“I’m not scared,” I bite out, though the tremor in my voice betrays me.
His lips press into a thin line, his frustration matching mine.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
We stand there.
His gaze is intense.
