Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Yet he was very much real, now.
Summer wasn’t a boy anymore.
And the man whose mouth went fiery and firm against his own was very much not the icy caricature of his dreams.
That softening, that parting of Iseya’s lips promised heat, promised more—and with a low sound Summer slanted his mouth against Iseya’s, only for firm lips to lock and hold him, the lash of a rough tongue to whip him, his fingers curling and tingling with the sudden rush of warmth as Iseya’s teeth grazed his mouth, teased him, left him shivering.
Until a hand pressed against his throat, seizing his breaths and stopping his heart.
He froze as long, firm fingers wrapped against his neck, a heated palm pressing down on his pulse just hard enough for him to feel it; just hard enough to make his next breath come shallow and tight. His knees trembled, an odd, weakening sensation seeming to cut the strength from his limbs and leave his gut liquid-hot and tight as slowly, Iseya pushed him back. That one hand held him in complete thrall, controlling his every movement and keeping him trapped in place in silent command as Iseya parted their lips from each other.
Frigid eyes as pale as cracked ice fixed on Summer, piercing him. For all the breathless heat that had lived in that stolen moment...those eyes were cold enough to smother it, frostbite in every slowly spoken word.
“I,” Iseya said softly, “would thank you not to be inappropriate, Mr. Hemlock. And if I am what frightens you...you have every reason to fear.”
For just a half-second longer, Summer’s focus remained on those lips—their redness, their fullness. On the pressure of that hand against his throat. On the confusing and aching feeling it roused inside him, taut and shaking and thrilling with something not quite fear at all.
Before it hit him just what he was doing, when he had never been so reckless or so forward in his life.
He flinched back, breaking free from Iseya’s grip. The man regarded him coolly, utterly calm and unreadable, yet for the few breaths that Summer held his eyes he couldn’t help but imagine judgment there.
Judgment...
And rejection.
Because Summer hadn’t been back in Omen for a day before he’d crossed a line, and proven he was still the same awkward, utterly hopeless boy he’d always been.
“S-sorry,” he whispered, though it barely came out on a dry croak, his throat closing. “Sorry.”
Iseya said nothing—and Summer didn’t know what else to say.
He just knew he couldn’t stay here, not when he felt as though his every shortcoming and failure, his every maladjustment and cowardice, were laid bare for that cutting silver gaze to dissect before discarding him as worthless.
And so “S-sorry,” he stumbled over, one more time.
Before he bowed his head. Clenched his fists.
And ran.
* * *
He didn’t stop until he was outside, and shut inside the safety of his rental car with at least the barrier of metal walls to hide him.
Clenching his hands against the steering wheel, Summer groaned and thunked his forehead against the leather of the upper curve—and then again and again, just for good measure.
What the hell, Summer.
What the hell, what the hell, what the hell.
His pulse was on fire, his entire body prickling as if a sunburn had crisped his skin to paper and left him feeling like he was going to split right out of it. He’d...he’d kissed Professor Iseya. Like he was still that same shy fumbling boy with a completely impossible crush, he’d kissed the man without so much as an if-you-please, and probably just fucked himself out of a job.
One more thud against the steering wheel, hard enough to make his temples throb.
Dammit.
He couldn’t go back in there. Not today. He’d left his suitcase at Iseya’s, but he’d wait until the man was in class Monday to get a janitor to let him in to retrieve it. Whether or not he’d be unpacking it in his faculty suite or looking for somewhere else to stay?
Would probably depend on if Iseya had him fired or not.
He’d deserve it if he did.
Welp.
At least if he was unemployed, he’d have more time to help his mother fix up a few things around the house.
And wouldn’t have to worry about having an anxiety attack in front of two dozen staring, snickering boys.
Summer backed the Acura out of its parking slot and did a U-turn in the now-empty courtyard, the students already back inside and in class like nothing had ever happened, despite the fresh scorch marks on the upstairs wall and window frame. The drive down the high hill felt less ominous than the approach—every foot of space between himself and that mortifying moment of impulse letting him breathe a little easier, put it behind himself, tuck it away as something to be dealt with later.
The town at the bottom of the hill was still the same—cobbled roadways and colonial style homes, only the more modern shops, street lighting, and sidewalk bus stops reminding Omen of what century it was. Summer had always managed to find a way not to come back, even on holiday and summer breaks, instead flying his mother out to Baltimore when he wanted to see her; Omen had somehow always felt like its name, this ominous trap that would ensnare him in a life, a future, a self he’d never wanted to hold on to.