“Wonderful man!” I exclaim as he makes contact with pleasure central.
He nuzzles into my inner thigh.
“Why’d you stop?” I demand.
“Wonderful man,” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice. “You’re very enthusiastic.”
“Please don’t stop.”
He obliges, dipping his head between my legs, and proceeding to blow my mind. His lips, his tongue. My God. I bite my lower lip to keep from blurting anything else out that might put an end to the intense pleasure. My fingers clutch the sheets, and then I’m chanting his name like it’s the only way to keep this going, faster and faster. Con, Con, Con. Come, come, come. My breath hitches, and I’m gone. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me in an overwhelming rush. He stays with me, pushing me on relentlessly as I rock against him, lost in never-ending pleasure.
Finally I collapse, and he shifts away. I’m dead. A blissful satisfied kind of dead.
And when I’m finally able to move again, he’s ready for me, condom on. I climb on top of him and ride him with wild abandon.
I never want it to end.
Neither does he because we’re all over each other the rest of the night.
Until at some point we collapse in exhaustion, ending the best night of my life.
4
Becca
I wake to a cold bed, the bright morning sun peeking in around the window shades, and the sound of rustling clothes nearby. I pry an eye open to find Connor getting dressed with his back to me. I peer at the nightstand. It’s seven a.m. on Saturday morning. My gut tightens. This isn’t what I thought after all. I swallow hard. I thought there might’ve been potential for more between us. Obviously it was just one hot night. He’s sneaking out practically at the crack of dawn on a Saturday. This sucks. In the harsh light of day, I feel awful that it was just sex. I mean, yes, I enjoyed it A LOT, but I guess part of me sorta hoped it was the start of something.
I screwed up. Duh. Going to bed with a guy I just met is obviously sending the signal that it’s temporary. He probably thinks I do this all the time. Hell, he probably does this all the time. I veered from the life plan and this is what happens. Twenty-nine, ready to settle down, yet I stupidly do this. Just because of my hot builder fantasy and lack of sex. I have to do better.
I roll to my side away from him, closing my eyes. I don’t want to watch him go. To think at the beginning of the night I was feeling so guilty believing I might be taking advantage of him with all my lusting for his sexy body when it was actually the other way around. At least I took the time to think of his other qualities.
I hear him moving around the bed toward me and deepen my breathing so he thinks I’m sleeping. I know, I know, but it’s just that I’ve never had to deal with the morning after a one-night stand. That’s exactly why I have a five-date rule before sex. To eliminate the possibility of any of this awkwardness.
The mattress dips as he sits next to me. He smooths my hair back over my ear. “Too bad you’re sleeping because I was gonna offer you a goodbye orgasm.”
My eyes fly open. “What?” Is it bad that I want that?
He laughs, his blue eyes twinkling. “I knew you were faking sleep. I’ve got five brothers always trying to pull one over on each other. I don’t fall for much.”
I roll to my back. “I was just really tired.” And embarrassed.
He holds my jaw as he leans down and kisses my heated cheek. “I don’t know anyone who blushes in their sleep.” He straightens and pulls his phone from his back pocket. “What’s your number?”
My eyes widen. “You want my number?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
I stare at the ceiling, blinking a few times as my mind tries to rearrange my previous take on the situation. Did he think of my other qualities too?
“Becca?”
“I thought it was a onetime thing,” I blurt. Not that I want it to be, but I’m confused, very tired, and way out of my element. Casual hot sex guy is now wanting more. But more what? Is he going to text me every time he wants a hookup, or is this something else?
He cocks his head, studying me. “Maybe it could be two times.”
“Two times,” I echo. That sounds casual. I should say no because it’s obviously not going anywhere, but then there’s the multiple-orgasm situation to consider too. I can’t completely discount that.
“Yeah, or whatever. Number, please.”
I give it to him without a second thought because he was so polite. It’s my habit to reward manners because I appreciate them.
He smiles, tucks his phone in his pocket, and leans down to me. I’m expecting a quick peck but instead he gently kisses my forehead, the end of my nose, and then my lips. “Later, Becca.”
“Bye, later,” I mutter, a little stunned by the unexpected turn of events.
He strides from the room. I listen to the front door quietly closing behind him.
What just happened?
He was kinda sweet and tender at the end there. I review our conversation, searching for clues in his expression, his tone, his words. “Yeah, or whatever” could have real potential. Two times or maybe more? Maybe last night wasn’t a mistake.
I snuggle back under the covers. A few moments later, my alarm goes off, startling me. Shit. I leap out of bed and rush to the shower. I almost forgot. I have my first class this morning teaching at NYU’s business school. Newbie gets the Saturday morning class for full-time working professionals. I’m only part time on a probationary basis, but if it goes well, there’s a possibility I could be brought on full time. My dad went to college with the dean of the business school, so that was my in. The dean also liked the fact that I have an MBA with several years’ management consulting experience from a prestigious firm, where I helped companies navigate organizational change. In fact, that’s exactly what my class is about—managing organizational change. It’s an elective class in the leadership track. I’m hoping to teach more classes next semester on leadership as well as strategy. I’m pretty psyched about it, actually.
I turn on the shower, and while I’m waiting for it to warm up, I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. Wow, I look amazing! What a wonder orgasms can do for a woman. My skin is glowing and my usually limp blond hair has some body to it. Probably from rolling around on the mattress so much, but hey, I’ll take it.
Focus! You can’t be late for your first day of class.
I quickly strip and hop into the shower. I’ll review my notes on the subway ride into the city. I really want this to work. This is the beginning of my new career. My parents are so proud that I’m taking up the profession they’ve dedicated their lives to. My dad teaches music at the local middle school, and my mom teaches first grade. I give myself a little mental pep talk to get pumped up. It’s always an uphill battle to get past my natural shyness, but I won’t let it stand in my way. You’re meant for this. It’s in your DNA.
The fact is, I love the material, and I love my new mission helping up and coming businessmen and women navigate the corporate world. Teaching is a higher calling, and I’m up for the challenge. I wash quickly and rinse off. My three-hour class will be a total success. I work my life plan, and my life plan works for me. Go, go, go!
A little over an hour later, I step out of the subway near campus, feeling groggy as I blink at the sun on a crisp fall day in late September. I need caffeine after staying up half the night. Don’t think about him. Focus, focus, focus. I make my way to the corner coffee shop, staring out the window as I wait in line. I always loved September because I love school. I’m meant for this. Today is the beginning of the best part of my life, fulfilling my destiny.
The wait for coffee takes longer than I anticipated, and now I’m running late for class.
I speedwalk to the building, a little flustered and trying desperately not to be. You’ve got this. You know your stuff. You’re just going to share your stuff with other interested similarly minded people. I’ve
got on my lucky navy blue power suit, my new black pumps with a block heel, and I hope I’m still awash in orgasmic afterglow. Don’t think about that. It’s a beauty miracle worker, though!
The building is a beautiful, newer construction with a four-story rotunda, floor-to-ceiling windows, and lots of glass along the modern staircases. I dash upstairs to my second-floor classroom. It’s one of the smaller rooms, not a huge auditorium.
Class starts in just a few minutes. I stop in the light-wood-paneled hallway just outside my very first classroom, a little winded, and take a few deep calming breaths before opening the door and striding confidently in. There’s already a good crowd in here seated at long white tables in four tiered rows. Lots of white in here—the tables, the walls, and several whiteboards at the front of the classroom. Three windows at the very back of the room add even more light reflecting off all the white.
I glance at my new students quickly, say good morning, and go straight to the front lectern. I should probably write my name on the whiteboard behind me, but I’m too jittery at the moment. I pull out my phone to keep an eye on the time, tuck my purse next to the lectern, and retrieve my notes and copies of the syllabus from my messenger bag. I plan to go over the syllabus, give a lecture, take a fifteen-minute break, and then have them discuss case studies in small groups. The class is on navigating organizational change in companies of all sizes, which is my specialty from my former management consulting career. I review my notes as a few more people arrive, check the time, and finally look up to start class. Showtime.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m Rebecca Edwards. Welcome to—” My breath whooshes from my body, my mouth gaping wide open, my stomach taking a horrible dive. This can’t be.
I suck in air. What is he doing here? Hot Builder Guy, Connor last name unknown like Prince, is sitting in the back of my classroom, his piercing blue eyes locked on mine.
Oh God. What is happening right now? I can’t seem to get a full breath. My heart is trying to escape my rib cage with its crazy pounding. Is this a heart attack?
I can’t believe this.
Did he follow me here? Did I attract a stalker? No, wait. He was here first. He had to be. I would’ve noticed him walking in with his large size and muscles and sex appeal. Crap! There’s no way he could’ve known I’d be here. I never mentioned it. Which can only mean—
Hot Builder Guy is my student.
“Just a moment,” I mumble through the roaring in my ears.
I stare at my notes, frozen in place for I don’t know how long. Someone coughs, and I return to myself. I need to get things moving. These people didn’t drag themselves to a classroom early on a Saturday just to watch their teacher stand catatonically in front of them. It occurs to me I have a class list. I’ll take attendance and have people introduce themselves. Yes, an excellent idea. This will take the spotlight off me long enough to get my shit together. Also, I’ll finally know whom I had multiple orgasms with last night.
Can I be fired for that?
My cheeks are fever hot. Actually, my entire body is hot and I’m a little shaky. I can’t screw up my first job in my new career over some sordid teacher-student affair. I’m not going to be accused of anything inappropriate. No, sir, not me. I’ll simply avoid eye contact and pretend he’s not here.
“I’m going to take attendance,” I announce, keeping my focus on my phone as I tap over to email to find the class list I received earlier from the registrar. “When I say your name, please share a little about your business background and what you hope to gain from this class.”
I find the email and quickly scroll down the class list in search of a Connor. Not that I ever plan to see him again outside the classroom. Ah, found it. Crap. There’s two Connors—Connor O’Sullivan and Connor Rourke. I don’t even know which one he is! What am I supposed to call him, Connor O or Connor R? Because I know all I’ll be thinking is Connor Orgasm Guy or Connor Renovation Guy or Connor Really Hot Sex Guy.
I am losing it.
Screw alphabetical order. I ignore the A last name sitting at the top of the list in favor of solving the Connor last name mystery. “Connor O’Sullivan.” I keep my eyes on my phone.
A voice rings out from the front row. “That’s me.” I make eye contact with a red-haired guy in his thirties and paste on a smile. He shifts in his seat to address the class. “I work at a start-up company and…”
I tune him out as I stare at the name I finally know. Connor Rourke. Something about that last name rings a bell. I stare at it blankly for long moments, my mind refusing to work. I need to do a Google search. Suddenly I realize the class is quiet. I quickly say another name, this time from the top of the list. “Michael Ahern.”
Get real, you don’t need to Google him. Obviously he’s off-limits. And I know I’m kidding myself to expect someone as gorgeous and sexy and gruffly sweet as he is to wait three months for class to be over before dating me. Hell, he’s probably a part-time MBA student, which means he’ll keep taking classes for years, and I’ll hopefully still be teaching here, which means Connor Rourke is forbidden.
My mind takes that moment to supply the missing information on his last name—the royal Rourkes. That’s where I know the name. What if Connor is related to them? Does that make him a prince? Did I get naked with a prince? Is there any possibility at some point much later down the line when this class is over and we’re both still conveniently single that I could visit the palace? Could there be a princess tiara in my future?
Ugh. I can’t believe I’m off in la-la fantasy land. Prince or not, he’s not an appropriate person for me to get involved with.
Hot Builder Guy, possibly a prince, is an MBA student. What are the chances? I’m so intrigued and dying to dive into Google to find out everything. Not that I’m going to do a thing about it.
“Anita Beecher,” I announce during the silence.
Obviously, veering from the life plan was a huge error in judgment. Wait. Is that why he said he had no last name like Prince last night? Maybe he wasn’t referring to the singer, but actually giving me a hint about his royal status. I rattle off a few more names for attendance, deep in thought, trying to remember what I heard about those royal Rourkes. Oh, yeah, there was a huge scandal when Princess Emma ran away from her own wedding to be with that gritty rock star Jackson Walker.
A few people laugh at something one of the students says, and I realize I’m not giving them my full attention. There will be plenty of time to satisfy my curiosity after class. The internet isn’t going anywhere.
I go out of order to save Connor Rourke for last because I need to steel myself against his deep sexy voice.
“Yeah, I’m here, Rebecca Edwards.”
My head jerks up at the sound of my full name. He’s letting me know we both finally know the last name of the person we had wild animal sex with last night. Oh God. Can the other students tell I’m on fire with the memory and extremely embarrassed at the same time? Maybe I should pull the fire alarm. If ever a woman on fire needed a fast escape, it would be now. Except I would never break the rules by pulling the alarm in the case of no actual fire, and I’m rooted to the spot by the power of those intense blue eyes that seem to see right through me to my most vulnerable tender heart.
Connor goes on. “I work for my family’s construction and real estate development business. Things have gotten more complicated since we took on real estate development, a lot to keep track of, and I came here to see what I could learn to help us navigate everything smoothly.”
I tear my gaze away from him with no small amount of effort. “What an interesting and varied group.” I grab my notes with shaking hands. “Let’s get started. Most organizations, from start-ups to Fortune 500s, must change or fail.” I have the entire lecture memorized, but I keep my eyes glued to it. I just need time to adjust to this unforeseen circumstance, just need to get through this first class.
Oh, shit. I forgot to go over the syllabus. I hand the stack of papers to the clo
sest student. “Please pass these on.”
I need to pull it together. Oh God, three months is a very long time.
Connor
Three hours in the classroom for the first time in years and I can’t focus. I’m having flashbacks to last night—
Becca at the bar looking so sexy with her lush red lips and long legs.
Those long legs wrapped around me.
Her throaty cries of ecstasy.
Her sweet enthusiasm.
My lover, my teacher. Fuck me.
I knew I shouldn’t have signed up for this class. I never went to college and I had to get special permission to take it. I don’t belong here, and I’ve been having doubts from the moment I registered. It’s just that I’m stepping up in our family’s company to second-in-command as COO (chief operating officer), my oldest brother Dylan’s right-hand man. He’s the CEO. I handle the day-to-day functions of the business while he plans and implements big-picture items. My brothers and I co-own Byrne Construction (originally my uncle’s company on the Byrne side), along with the new company formed under it, Rourke Management, for real estate development.
I never thought I’d be the COO because my older brother Sean was always the one Dylan leaned on. It makes sense. Sean is the second oldest and tight with Dylan. But times are changing. Sean wanted to run our charitable branch—Royal Rourke Foundation US (the US branch of our cousins’ foundation)—to bring in donations for stuff that adds to the community with each development we do, like parks and playgrounds. The real reason for his job change is because he fell hard for an actress, and he wanted the freedom to work on the go so he could follow her to different movie and TV locations. Actually, he texted just this morning that they got engaged last night when filming wrapped on her movie in Atlanta. So I guess that all worked out for him. As for me, I was the next logical choice to step into his role. Jack didn’t want it, Brendan already has his niche seeking out new properties, and Beast is too young and inexperienced. I’m twenty-eight with ten years of work experience under my belt. Construction experience, not management experience.
Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10) Page 4