The Learning Hours

by Sara Ney

  “Mind if I brush my teeth?”

  “Oh shit, yeah. I have to do that, too.”

  We stand, side by side at the sink, sharing toothpaste and real estate in the bathroom. Every cell in my nervous system aware of the heat he’s throwing off. Eyes focused on every one of the flexed muscles in his reflection in the mirror as he works the toothbrush around his mouth.

  Brush. Spit. Brush.

  I run the water, rinsing. Brush. Spit.

  It’s weird doing this with him, intimate somehow.

  Plus, I’m in my underwear, trying to drive him wild with lust, furtively watching him brush his teeth—his white, straight, beautiful teeth that I want nipping my bare skin.

  God, listen to me.

  I stroke my purple toothbrush a few more times, liberally swiping my tongue and gums. Spit. Wash my brush off, setting it on the porcelain sink. Run a hand behind my neck, sweeping my bright red hair over one shoulder.

  Meet his brown eyes in the mirror.

  He stands, toothbrush suspended in his clenched hand, staring at my reflection, eyes scanning my face, softening at the corners.

  “You know, when I first saw you with…you know, no clothes on, I thought you’d be covered in freckles.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. I thought all redheads had freckles.”

  “Nope.” I eyeball myself in the glass, raising an arm for inspection. “Probably the only ginger I know without them.”

  “Where do you get it from?”

  “My mom has red hair.”

  “Sister?”

  “Oh, totally.”

  “Huh.” He sets his toothbrush on the edge of the sink.

  His hair is already beginning to dry, curling up at the ends. It’s so gosh darn cute brushed off to the side, unlike its usual scruffy mop.

  Sigh.

  Rhett

  I can barely take my eyes off Laurel, though I’m doing my fucking best not to ogle her. In that see-through tank top and those panties? It’s damn near impossible.

  She might as well be naked.

  I hit the light when we’re done in the bathroom, padding across the hardwood floor on bare feet, conscious she’s watching my every move. Take my dirty clothes from the foot of the bed, stash them on a chair in the corner so they’re out of the way.

  “I put your hat on the dresser for you,” she softly supplies. “I tried it on.”

  My face flushes. “You did, huh?”

  “Yeah. I looked cute.”

  I bet she did.

  I bet if I kissed her, she’d kiss me back.

  Eyes on her face, not on her boobs, eyes on her face, not on her boobs.

  I feel the waistband of my pants for pockets, desperate to occupy my hands. I’ve turned into a ball of nervous fucking energy. “So, obviously this bed is free—and the one next door. Where do you want to sleep?”

  “Honestly? I want to sleep wherever you sleep.”

  “You want to sleep in the same bed?” Shut the fuck up, idiot! I sound like I’m arguing with her—what fucking moron argues about sharing a bed with a pretty girl? Me.

  “I mean, won’t you be lonely in here all by yourself?”

  “I’ll probably pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

  Why am I still talking?

  Her face falls, and Jesus, why did I say that? I’ve turned into my damn roommate, who never says the right fucking things.

  “Okay, well…I guess I’ll take the room next door.” When she turns for the door, slowly, like she’s walking to her untimely death, I let my gaze wander to her slim back. Let it travel down the curve of her spine. The curve of her tight ass, round globes of pale skin playing peekaboo with the delicate panties up her ass crack.

  She pauses at the threshold, hand resting on the wood. “Good night.”

  I swallow. “Good night.”

  “Tonight was…”

  “Nice?”

  “Yeah.”

  Fuck, why can’t I ask her to stay? Climb into the bed and wrap us both up in the blankets, pull her on top of me and kiss her senseless?

  Because I have no game.

  I am not my friends.

  “Bonne nuit, Laurel,” I murmur.

  Her breath hitches and she narrows her blue eyes in my direction. “I said don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Speak to me in French.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “You know I do.” She nods. “I do like it.”

  “Je ne comprends pas…” I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything about girls, or relationships, or what I’m supposed to be doing right fucking now.

  I’m floundering.

  She turns to face me, making her way across the room. Stands in front of me.

  “Say, I think it sounds beautiful.” She’s whispering, our bodies inches apart.

  “Je pense que tu es belle,” I whisper back. I think you’re beautiful.

  “Now say, I don’t want you in the next room.”

  “Je ne te veux pas dans l’ autre chambre,” I repeat. “Restez avec moi.” Stay with me.

  Her breasts brush my chest, the pad of her index finger tracing the contour of my upper lip.

  “You have a beautiful mouth.”

  “Toi aussi.” So do you.

  I feel my neck bow. Head bent down. Shoulders sag, body relaxed.

  “Je te veux plus que n’importe quoi que j’avais voulu dans ma vie.” I want you more than anything I’ve wanted in my entire fucking life.

  “Yes.” Laurel’s whisper hits me in the groin at the same time my mouth lowers, lips parting breathlessly. I’m already panting. Anxious. Excited.

  Aroused.

  Our foreheads touch.

  Fingers entwine.

  With my head bowed, I have a clear shot down her shirt, straight into her cleavage. The tips of her nipples, hard, rubbing against her white tank.

  I blow out a breath, squeeze her hands.

  Controlled.

  When she moves closer into my space, breasts brushing my hard pecs, I can barely stand it. Lose all brain function when she rubs those gorgeous tits against me, lifting her chin.

  Nudges me with her nose until we’re eye to eye.

  “Rhett.” She speaks breathlessly. “Kiss me good night.”

  We’re both shaking, my entire body invested in this moment. I know hers is too by the way her shoulders give a tiny quake when I rest my lips on hers.

  Press them there, undemanding.

  Her mouth is pliant, lips full and pouty.

  Tongue softly touching mine.

  I release her hands and raise mine to her face. Cup that beautiful jawline of hers in my huge hands, planting a kiss on her so fully I feel it all the way to my fucking toes. Pull back so I can study her face.

  Her blue eyes blaze back at me, bright as her hair.

  “Stay with me.” Restez avec moi.

  Please.

  Laurel nods once, decisive.

  When I take my hands off her body, she drags me to the left side of the bed. Peels back the covers and slides in, hair fanned out across the forest green sheets, practically glowing.

  I stare down at her. “I have no idea what I’m fucking doing.”

  “It’s okay, neither do I.”

  Her eyes get wide when I climb under the covers, sliding in as casually as I possibly can, heart beating wildly out of control. She closes the gap, scooting closer, legs and hips and thighs pressed to mine.

  “You’re so huge.” Her arm reaches out, palm pressing against my chest, hand roaming down my sternum. My shoulders quake from the feather-light touch, all the blood in my body flowing to the nether region. “You’re so warm.”

  My body is a hotbox, a burning, raging inferno of sexual repression. I imagine that soon I’ll have sweat dripping down my forehead from the tension.

  God, I’m so hard. So fucking hard. If she gets near my dick—touches it—I swear I will come right off this fucking b
ed.

  With an unsteady hand, I skim her hip. Thigh. Marvel at the silky expanse of pale flesh against the rough skin of my callused palm. Bury my fingers in the hem of her white tank top, skimming up her torso.

  I’m dying to see her naked breasts again.

  Count to three, building courage.

  I go for it.

  With my other hand, I pull back the fabric of her thin shirt, tugging it down, exposing the pink flesh of her nipples. They’re damn near perfect considering they’re the only ones I’ve ever seen nude. The only ones I’ve touched.

  The one girl I ever made out and had sex with was back in high school—when we were both seventeen and hardly developed. Some making out, very little foreplay. We definitely didn’t undress.

  Cupping Laurel’s round breast, I gently stroke the underside with my thumb.

  “Oh jeezuz!” She gasps, head tipping back. “Finally.”

  My lips graze Laurel’s throat, rough whiskers from my stubble marking her porcelain neck. Kiss the exposed white flesh of her cleavage as I gently caress her boob.

  “You feel so good,” comes her quiet murmur as she tussles my hair. Gasps when my tongue darts out to dampen the skin under her ear. “Take my shirt off.”

  She’s a bossy, assertive little thing, and for that I am grateful. “I want to feel you against me.”

  We work her shirt off and my eyes, damn them, are mystified by her boobs. Round. Full, with dark pink areolas, they’re better than any tits I’ve seen in any porn.

  “I don’t know why I even put that stupid shirt on in the first place. Who was I kidding,” she grumbles when I toss it to the ground. Laurel arches her back, fans her hair out on the pillow, rests her hands behind her head, watching me watch her, eyes glowing.

  Jesus.

  A smile tips her lips. “It’s okay to touch me. I want you to.”

  When I hesitate, her arm reaches out. Finger traces the flannel covering my dense thigh.

  “Your skin is sexy.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh yes, so sexy Rhett. I have daydreams about you.”

  I pull back, surprised. “You do?”

  “All the time. Sometimes I Google you and watch your wrestling meets.” She pauses. “Not in a creepy way, I swear.”

  Do girls consider that creepy? I sure as hell don’t.

  “Are you a fan of mine?”

  “Number one.”

  We’re lying here half naked and I remember she wants me to touch her. I start with the flat of her stomach, emboldened when she bites down on her bottom lip. Nostrils flare.

  Sliding my hand up, we both watch when it cups her breast. Laurel’s lips part, pupils dilate.

  She’s reacting to my touch—and it’s fucking amazing watching her face glow as she gets turned on. Intoxicating.

  Her eyes track my hand, watch as my thumb brushes her nipple, head dipping to lick it.

  “Out of curiosity,” she gasps. “How’s your stamina?”

  Why is she asking me this now? “I don’t know, good? I can run for miles without breaking a sweat.”

  She giggles out a groan. “That’s not what I meant.”

  When I was younger, I used to imagine that when I finally started fucking someone on the regular, I’d be able to hold out coming for a long time, that I’d fuck for hours. Now that it seems like a definite possibility, I wonder if I’ll be able to last five minutes.

  Three.

  “I’ve heard wrestlers…that they have great stamina.”

  “Oh yeah?” Bold now, I suck her nipple. “Where’d you hear that from?”

  Her head tips back. “Wrestlers and hockey players. It’s all in the hips.”

  “Are you…” Shit, how do I put this without sounding eager? “Are you saying you want to find out?”

  “Yes I want to find out. I wanted it to be now.” Her little moan is breathy as I continue sucking. “But…maybe we should wait—not rush it.”

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed; me and my stiff dick shrivel a little.

  “Right. Totally.”

  Her fingers dig into my scalp. “God that feels good.” One breathier moan then, “Stop. I want you on your back.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I croak out because honestly, who am I to argue?

  She rolls toward me, propping herself up on her elbow. Hand gliding across the mattress toward me, fingers climbing up my abs, tracing my belly button. Index finger tracing my happy trail, skimming the waistband of my flannel bottoms.

  Our eyes are fastened together. My breath hitches when her palm glides down the front of my pants, fingers brushing the pubes above my dick. Eyebrows shoot up into her bright red hairline.

  “No underwear?”

  “No.”

  Smirk. “Good.”

  My leg twitches when Laurel unties the string on the waistband. Gives the band a gentle tug, yanking the hem down my hips.

  “Help me out?”

  I raise my hips, shoving down my pants, the cool air of the cabin hitting my painfully sensitive nuts. Kick them off under the covers. Damn near shout when Laurel pushes back the bedspread, hand breezing over my pelvis, gripping the base of my cock. Slowly pumping up and down.

  “God I’ve been wondering what this looked like,” she’s saying. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me, Rhett. I’m wet just thinking about it. It’s going to feel so good.”

  Oh my fucking God.

  Her free hand floats along my inner thigh muscle, squeezing. “Baby, your thigh muscles are insane.”

  She’s talking, but the only word I hear is baby.

  My cock jerks involuntarily, head hits the pillow. Fists clench the bedspread. “Oh fuck.”

  A soft chuckle. “I’d say you’ve earned this.”

  This?

  Oh fuck, is she going to suck me off? Is that what this is? Please God, please say yes.

  Shifting closer, her hand moves up and down on my shaft. “Do you like that?”

  I can’t do anything but part my lips and give a jerky nod.

  “I’ve, you know, fooled around before, but haven’t given anyone a blow job. I want to do that with you.”

  Do what? She wants to do what with me? What is she saying?

  What’s my name?

  All I feel is her hand on my cock, the pressure. The pleasure. When she lets go and straddles me, pressing her mouth to mine, our lips and tongues are a tangle, a messy tangle. Hot. Open mouths. Frantic.

  Our teeth knock together, hands grappling everywhere. Skin, tits, ass.

  “God, you drive me crazy.” Her mouth gives my neck a lick. Collarbone. Nipple. Eases slowly down my torso, kissing and licking her way down my happy trail. Grips my dick with one hand, balls in the other. Index finger pressing on my—

  “Oh J-Jesus Ch-Christ!”

  Her mouth is slick heat, wet, tongue teasing the head. The sensitive tip. Sucking.

  And sucking and sucking until I barely remember to breathe. “Goddammit, oh sh-shit. Shit.”

  Please God, I pray, don’t let me come. Make it last.

  Suddenly it’s clear to me why the guys on the team are constantly making blow job jokes, the stupid assholes—it feels so motherfucking incredible.

  I moan, head tipped back, hands clenching the comforter so I’m not tempted to bury them in her hair and tug. Bite down, dragging my teeth across my lower lip. “Uhhh…yeah…”

  Laurel’s head bobs up and down on my cock; my vision blurs, trying to focus on her face. It’s impossible.

  “Fuck Laurel,” I groan loudly. My eyes give in, rolling to the back of my head, stars flashing behind my eyelids. “Fu…k.”

  When she hums from the back of her throat, I lose it. Lose my shit, thrusting into her mouth, once, twice. Balls tighten, cock twitching. Nerves sending spasms throughout my lower body when I come.

  Tiny jolts of pleasure.

  Nothing has ever felt so good in my entire fucking life.

  Laurel

  When Rhett
comes, he makes the most amazing sounds. Euphoric, sexy, dragged-out moaning, his hands bearing down on the sheets. White-knuckling.

  God it’s sexy, this power. This control.

  I run my hands along the smooth skin of his thighs, the white flesh sprinkled with dark hair. Masculine and musky, his dick still hard.

  It’s an incredible dick, slightly larger than average, blunt and ribbed in all the right spots, I know it’s going to be orgasmic when we finally have sex. I bet he can make me come twice with glute muscles like this, I muse, sliding my palms around to his firm ass, imagining it pumping into me over and over, missionary, the thought getting me hot.

  I flop down on the bed next to him, letting my hand land on his stomach. He takes hold, tracing my palm with his index finger, breathing labored.

  Rolls to face me, lowering his head to my breast. Flicks my nipple with his tongue. Sucks until it’s good and swollen, pulling back and blowing cool air over the tip.

  I love it. I love how Rhett makes me feel.

  How the smallest little things he does send waves of longing through me.

  Waves of desire.

  Joy.

  Rises to his haunches, that big body hovering. Studying. Brown eyes learning every one of my soft curves, from the smooth expanse of my clavicle down to my knees. Up and back again until those eyes land on my underwear.

  Comes back down on all fours, mouth playing near my ear. Day-old stubble tickling my neck.

  “Do you want me to…” He swallows, hesitating.

  I wait, wanting to hear him ask before I start begging. Wiggle my hips, wanting him to get me off.

  God I’ve been so horny since I met him.

  “Say it.” I turn my head a fraction, lips brushing his ear. “Ask me.”

  “Veux-tu que je te fasse un cunni?” His husky whisper hits the shell of my ear, vibrating in my core. “Do you want me to go down on you?”

  “When you put it like that? God yes.”

  “I’ve never, uh, done it before.”

  Why does this not surprise me? “Really?”

  “No.” He crawls down my body in the same unhurried way I crawled down his, fingers hooking the elastic of my sheer panties but not pulling them down. “These are sexy.”

  His voice is sexy. Intoxicating.