Love Lessons by Cassie Mint
Six
Ellis
Iam not a reckless man, especially where Avery Jennings is concerned. Everything I do, I do with utmost control. With an iron clad restraint that chafes at my insides, that makes my heart twist.
Because with Avery, I have no other choice. And I refuse to hurt her. To make her life harder; to ruin her college experience.
Except… that’s exactly what I’ve done. In my determination to keep her at arm’s length so that she can be a normal, happy student—I’ve hurt her.
I made Avery Jennings cry.
I’ve never felt so fucking small. My chest cracks open at the sight of that single tear, trembling against her eyelashes before it falls. She sucks in a wobbly breath, lip quivering, then high-tails it out of the lecture hall like I’m someone to run from.
No. No, no, no. This is—this is exactly what I was trying to avoid. Avery, eyes wide, blinking hard in pain at my words. Avery, fleeing from my presence with her arms wrapped around her middle. Everything else falls away but her.
I need to go to her. Soothe her.
So when I set my jaw and stride out of the lecture hall, I don’t care who sees. I don’t care if the students thronging the corridor blink at me, surprised by the shadows clouding my face. I don’t care if other professors glance at me, do a double take, then mutter to each other in concern.
I stride after Avery like an avenging angel. My sweet girl will not cry another tear because of me.
Her blonde head bobs through the crowd ahead of me. She’s rushing, tripping on the grass in her haste. Bouncing off the footballers’ shoulders as they swagger to class.
I follow. Steady but sure. She won’t slip out of my sight again.
Someone speaks to me, addressing me by name. Asks about next week’s reading. I ignore them, pushing past, their voice little more to me than the birds singing in the trees.
I need to get to Avery.
She darts off the busy path, ducking inside the library side entrance. The hem of that goddamn floaty sweater whips through the door behind her. I step onto the grass, cutting a line straight after her, and when I push inside the library, the sudden gloom blinds my eyes.
It’s dim in here. Stacks loom high on either side, crammed with books about some obscure subject. Far off in the room, there’s the scratch of pens. The tapping of keys. But this section—it’s like another world. Shadowed and silent, tinted blue. Like it’s underwater.
“Avery.”
She’s huddled against a bookcase, leaning one shoulder on the shelf. Her head is ducked, shoulders heaving, but she whips around when I say her name. Her gasp shatters the silence.
“P-professor…”
“Come with me.”
I don’t give her a chance to argue. I take her by the elbow, gentle but firm, and guide her between the bookshelves to a more private spot. Not for me, not to protect my career, but because Avery is vulnerable. Wet-faced and whimpering. When I’ve made sure we’re alone, I take her by the shoulders. Brace her against the stacks, rubbing small circles against the fabric of her thin sweater.
“Avery. Sweet girl. Tell me why you’re crying.”
She hiccups in outrage. And I stifle a smile as she hisses, “Why do you think?”
That’s my girl. She’s shy, yes, but beneath those blushes and whispers, she has a steel core. And she won’t put up with bullshit.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. She puffs up, ready to bite my head off, but I keep talking in a low murmur. “It can’t be because I told you off for your clothing.” I fix her a look. Let a ragged sigh gust out of me as I glance at her chest again. Despite her tears, her nipples are still pebbled against the fabric. Little bullets, headed straight for my heart. “Because you wanted to torture me with this flimsy sweater. Didn’t you?”
Avery gulps. Sniffles again. And I do what I’ve been burning to do since I first saw her this morning: I take one hand off her shoulder and hover it over her breast. A hair’s breadth from the gorgeous swell, just crying out for my hands, my lips, my teeth.
“Do you still want me to touch them, Avery?”
She scowls up at me, a tiny line creasing her forehead. But then she presses her mouth together and nods. I groan and step forward, flattening her against the stacks, and her surprised gasp fills me with heat.
“What?” I rock against her without thinking. Every urge I’ve tamped down over the last year, every impulse I’ve tamed—they all rush back in full force. Take over my thrumming body, my desperate hands, my hard voice. “You think I can touch your gorgeous tits and not the rest of you? You think I can walk away with barely a taste?” I press my mouth against her temple, teeth bared, and feel her pulse hammering against the delicate skin.
Her hips tilt up, thrusting against mine, and it’s almost enough to make me blow here and now.
Her fingers wind in my shirt. Clutch at the fabric. “I’m still mad at you,” she mumbles, her head tipping back on a moan as I lick at her throat.
“I know.” I knead the mound of her breast, pinching her nipple, savoring her ragged groan. Bury my other hand in her soft, wild hair fraying out of its braid. “Because you think I don’t love you.” I punctuate my words with a rock of my hips. “You. Think. You. Don’t. Own. Me.”
“I… I…” Avery’s gone. Blissed out and bemused, her eyes staring glassy at the ceiling. So I tear my hands away from her. Step back, even though every molecule in me screams out to flatten her against the shelves, to kiss and fuck and claim.
I won’t do it when she’s upset. When she’s not thinking clearly. Even though my cock’s so hard, my teeth ache.
“You’re a smart girl, Avery.” I scrub a hand over my jaw, chest heaving. And I look at her, really look at her, with every ounce of my need for her written on my face. She whimpers, pupils blowing wide, and reaches for me.
I back up another step.
“Don’t make this mistake again,” I rasp. “Don’t you dare forget what this is.”
She nods, dazed, her eyes finally dry. And though my hand itches to wipe away the old tears on her cheeks, I don’t trust myself. If I touch her again, I’ll be buried in her sweet pussy before I can think straight.
I turn on my heel and leave her there, her cherry scent lingering on my clothes.
* * *I make it home. That’s my only saving grace in this car wreck of a situation. I wait until I’m safely tucked away in my apartment before I tear my buckle open, panting hard between my clenched teeth. I lean against my front door, shoulder blades digging into the wood, and punish myself, fast and hard.
I can’t go slow. Or gentle. Or touch myself in any way that Avery would. I can’t picture her small, soft hand wrapped around my length. Better to grip myself hard enough to bruise, choking my cock, and push myself to a painful orgasm, quick and rough.
When I’m done, my head thumps back against the door. My hoarse breaths fill my silent apartment. I screw my eyes shut, and for the millionth time, I picture her here. In my home.
Curled up on my sofa, painting her nails. Sipping hot chocolate and watching a movie. Puttering around in the kitchen, already knowing where everything is. Eating food from my refrigerator, sleeping in my bed, stepping into my shower.
Livinghere, always in reach.
Her soft skin moments away from my touch. Her cherry scent lacing the air. I can picture it now, so vividly that my chest aches; I can almost taste her on my tongue.
I haven’t kissed her. Not on the lips. I haven’t crossed that line.
It’s just as well. If I had, I’d never have been able to leave her there.
I used to like this place. But it hasn’t been home since that first day that Avery sat in my class. Since I laid eyes on her and the earth cracked open beneath my feet. Now my apartment is cold. Quiet. Mocking me, in its lack of her.
One day,I think, sudden and fierce. I won’t pursue her now. Won’t do more damage than I already have. But the second being with me wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t cause her trouble…
Avery Jennings will never want to leave. I’ll make sure of that, hosting her like a gentleman. Burying my face between her thighs every chance I get. And if she wants to live somewhere else—wants to travel? Work abroad?
I don’t care. Wherever she is, I’ll be there too.
