Page 70 of See Me After Class

Her chin jutted out, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her. She was nervous. "There is no 'why', John. Just… no."

But there was a reason. It festered in the space between her glare and the trembling of her lips. Was it the way I stared at her like she was the sun and I, a moth perpetually drawn to its flame? Or the possessive way I claimed her hand, the unspoken hunger burning the bridges between us?

"Don't lie to yourself, Dessie," I growled, pulling her closer. "This isn't some foolish coincidence. You wanted this just as much as I did."

The yew maze loomed around us, a silent audience to our tempest. I dragged her deeper, toward a secluded alcove where sunlight dripped through the foliage like honey onto moss-covered stones. The world narrowed to the fire in her eyes, the tremble of her lips, the frantic rise and fall of her chest.

"Let me go," she whispered, but the defiance had waned, replaced by a tremor that resonated with the storm in my soul.

I didn't answer. Instead, I cupped her face, the heat of her skin searing through the callused pads of my fingers. Our breaths mingled, warm and humid in the cool air. Her eyes, those damned brooding pools of muted charcoal storm, searched mine, the resistance flickering like a dying ember.

Then, her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned into me. My senses sharpened, every rustle of leaves, every chirp of a bird amplified a hundredfold. My fingers trembled as they traced the delicate curve of her jaw, then dipped into the surprisingly silky strands of her hair.

And then, our lips met.

It was a collision, not a caress. My mouth crushed onto hers, tasting the surprise, the trepidation, and then, a spark that ignited into a wildfire. Her tongue met mine, hesitant at first, then dancing with a desperate fury that mirrored my own. The taste of her was intoxicating, honeysuckle and rain, fire and spice.

Time ceased to exist. The yew maze vanished, replaced by the dizzying spiral of her touch. My hands roamed her back, fingers digging into the soft wool, then sliding beneath to trace the fiery curve of her spine. Each moan that escaped her lips was a brand on my soul, each tremor of her body a symphony of surrender.

We stumbled against a tree, her back pressed against the rough bark, my body a furnace against hers. My hands roamed, mapping the secrets of her skin, the tender curve of her throat, the forbidden hollow of her neck. Every gasp, every whimper, fueled the inferno within me.

Her fingers dug into my hair, anchoring me to this moment, to this taste, to this scent that would forever be etched in mymemory. The kiss deepened, devouring, consuming. Tongues tangled, teeth grazed, a desperate exchange of fire and air.

There was a rawness to it, an urgency that spoke of unspoken desires, of boundaries both challenged and breached. My control, always precarious, slipped completely. I wanted to claim her, every inch, every breath.

My words died in my throat, choked off by the wild symphony rising from her lips. "John," she breathed, her voice a broken echo against the rough bark. "Wait."

The urgency clawed at me, but my name, whispered on a sigh, was a cool rain on the inferno. I pulled back, taking a shuddering breath, our foreheads pressed together. Her emerald eyes, still dazed with the fire of our clash, searched mine, the question lingering unspoken.

"Why?" I rasped, voice thick with the embers of the kiss. "Why now, Dessie? Why let me touch you like this if what you say is true?"

Her gaze flickered, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within—confusion, fear, and a hint of something I couldn't decipher. Finally, she shook her head, releasing a wisp of hair that had tangled around my fingers.

"I… I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "One moment, I'm certain you are the one behind—" Her eyes met mine, the silvery depths shimmering with unshed tears. "Everything that has led to my ruin. Next, I'm lost in your arms, tasting fire on your lips. It's like there are two Dessies, and I don't know which one is real. The first wants this, you, them."

Ruin? But what did I ever do to her? Was it because of that incident in the classroom? Or the operating theater?

My train of thoughts felt jumbled.

Her vulnerability, laid bare like a fragile orchid, tore at the protective shell I'd built around my own emotions. "And the other Dessie?" I asked, my voice soft, the growl long gone.

"She… she hates you," she said, her voice a broken sob against my chest. "Hates what you make her feel, this… this wildness, this reckless oblivion."

I cupped her face, tracing the line of her tears with the pad of my thumb. "Do you really believe I have ruined you?"

Her eyes met mine, searching, hesitant. "I don't know what I believe anymore."

A pained laugh escaped my lips. "Tell me who you are," I said. "Tell me so we can stop this. So I don't have to hurt you anymore."

A flicker of a smile curved her lips. "Perhaps," she admitted, her voice soft against my ears, "hurt is the only way through."

And before I could protest, she pulled me back into the kiss. Her lips, no longer desperate, teased mine, nibbled at my earlobe, trailed fire down my jaw. My grip on her loosened. My breath hitched, the storm within me resting.

"Dessie," I moaned, my voice laced with surrender, "you are impossible."

"That's what they all say," she purred.

The challenge thrown down, I met her fire with mine, our breaths mingling with the rustling leaves as the yew maze held us captive in its verdant embrace. We played a dangerous game, each touch a whispered dare, each kiss a spark igniting in the tinderbox of desire.

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