Seduce Me Tonight (Mischief Books)

by Kristina Wright

  ‘Sorry,’ Eric said. ‘I got caught up in things.’

  ‘No worries.’ Joe stroked my hair. ‘I rather enjoyed the entire experience. Who knows what might have happened if this one hadn’t practically swallowed me whole. A man can only take so much.’

  Eric laughed. ‘Don’t I know it.’

  I listened to their conversation without comment, my imagination whirring over Joe’s offhanded ‘Who knows what might have happened.’ I found myself wanting to explore exactly what he meant – and just how far both of them were willing to go. I squirmed from between them and looked at them lying side by side on the bed, Eric’s body at right angles to Joe’s, still close to Joe’s crotch. The thought – the possibilities – stirred something in me. It wasn’t arousal, not yet anyway, but it was getting there.

  Eric laughed. ‘You look like the cat that just ate the canary, babe.’

  ‘You have no idea,’ I said, smiling wider. ‘But you might, before the night is over.’

  Joe shook his head. ‘You’re going to break us both, aren’t you?’

  ‘No doubt.’ I ran a fingertip along his limp cock, watching it twitch under my light touch. ‘And you’re going to thoroughly ravish me, too.’

  They both reached for me at the same time and tumbled me down across their supine bodies in a tangle of limbs and sheets and pillows tossed every which way. We laughed for a long time. And then we explored all the things three people can do in a bed.

  Learning Curve

  I think it took me twenty minutes to get out of the car and make my way up the stairs to the second floor, occasionally squinting at the apartment number I had scribbled on my notebook. I found it, at the end overlooking the rear parking lot, and spent what seemed like another twenty minutes looking at the door in front of me. Three stickers with the names of rock bands I vaguely recognised – though I wasn’t entirely sure they were rock bands – and the mangled cord of a pair of ear buds hanging from the doorknob were the only clues that this was a college kid’s apartment. I decided that this must be the low point of my life.

  The problem with returning to college at the age of thirty-five is that everywhere I look on the expansive campus, I see someone who could be my kid. OK, maybe not my kid – but almost. This is not a good thing. I don’t know when or how thirty-five snuck up on me, but it did. Everyone says I don’t look thirty-five, but more importantly, I don’t feel thirty-five. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m thirty-five and that means half of the students on campus are about half my age. It was demoralising to even contemplate, but if the campus were to be quarantined in the event of a zombie apocalypse, everyone would be looking to me for mature, maternal leadership. Damn.

  Being a graduate student only helps a little. It’s true that a lot of people in graduate school programmes are older – there are even a few students who are older than me – but with the new accelerated programmes, there are plenty of kids in my classes. Kids who just started drinking legally and who think the 90s are cool because they’re retro. Truth is, I don’t usually mind being the oldest chick in the room. I get along better with people who are younger than me, but it’s hard to keep up with the slang, never mind the technology, and sometimes I feel my age.

  It was a computer project that was kicking my ass. I can write a twenty-page paper, no problem, but tell me to do something with computer-based presentation and I’m like a deer in headlights. My brother Charlie is always after me to take a class at the local library, but I’m getting my M.A. in English, not engineering, so I figured I could muddle through with the basics of word-processing. That was until I got an English professor who wanted us to ‘think outside the box’ and create a multimedia presentation for our semester project.

  I’d gotten married right out of undergrad, young and idealistic and thinking there would be plenty of time to start a real career. I was in love and content with receptionist jobs – about the only thing I was good at – until my ex took off five years ago and I realised I had essentially been making the same amount of money for eight years while he’d worked his way up the corporate ladder. I couldn’t even afford to pay the mortgage on the house we owned, so he’d bought out my half and promptly moved his twenty-two-year-old girlfriend in with him. I’d decided I needed to do something meaningful with my life and put my half of the house money towards getting a Master’s degree. Now, facing the complications of computer software, I was thinking I should’ve just bought myself a little condo and kept answering phones until I retired.

  Dr Davis – who told us to call him Nathan and was sexy as sin but reconciling with his ex, if the rumours were true – had given me the number of his teaching assistant. Matthew Wheaton was apparently not only an excellent English Literature student, he was also a whiz with computers. He probably looked like a baby-faced sixteen-year-old kid, but on the phone he sounded like an adult. He had a deep, soothing voice, the kind that wouldn’t be out of place in a radio announcer, and was good-humoured as I stumbled my way through what I needed.

  ‘Sure, I can help you. No problem,’ he had said and those few words had been enough to ease the tension my shoulders. Until I actually had to meet with him, of course.

  I had suggested he come over to the house, but either he was one of those super eco-friendly types or he’d already acquired enough DUIs to get his licence revoked because he’d politely nixed the idea. ‘I don’t have a car. But I live right off campus if you want to come by after class.’

  So there I was nervously knocking on the door of Matthew’s right-off-campus apartment, vowing to take a computer class over the summer and never, ever feel this helpless again, when someone spoke behind me.

  ‘Sorry, I ran out for some stuff and it took longer than I thought.’

  I jumped and spun, nearly stumbling. Though I hadn’t spoken to him before, I recognised Matthew from around campus. He had the boyish good looks of a college nerd who didn’t realise his potent charm, with caramel-coloured hair that needed a trim, black-framed glasses and piercing green eyes that crinkled in the corners when he smiled. He wore dark jeans, a T-shirt of one of the bands on the door, and brown sandals, the early fall weather still nice enough for summer outfits. He smiled crookedly and my heart started hammering in my chest like some adolescent girl with a crush. I pulled myself together and tried to act my age.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, sounding like a croaking frog.

  ‘You’re Andrea, right?’

  ‘Oh, right. Sorry.’ This geeky college guy had me stumbling over myself and we weren’t even in his apartment yet. ‘Dr Davis – Nathan – said you’d be able to help me with this presentation.’

  ‘I have all sorts of skills,’ he said with a wink that was more playful than lascivious. For some reason, I didn’t think he even knew how to leer at a woman.

  I found myself wondering what his other skill sets might encompass, but I didn’t ask.

  He manoeuvred past me, opened the door to his apartment and tossed the tangled ear buds onto a kitchen table, followed by the bag of groceries he had been carrying. ‘I was wondering where those went to. Come on in.’

  I’d seen my share of college apartments when I was an undergrad, so I was expecting the worst, but Matthew’s apartment wasn’t so bad. It was small but tidy and, judging by the laundry basket by the door with women’s underwear folded neatly on top, he had a girlfriend. The place smelled like pizza and pot and the furniture was old and worn, but for the most part it looked sanitary.

  Matthew went into the kitchen, which was little more than an alcove with the basics, while I stood awkwardly by the door, waiting for him to put away his groceries. Unlike most college-age guys I had once known, his purchases consisted of wheat bread, some kind of cheese, a few apples and a box of granola cereal. Times really had changed since I went to college, apparently. He kept glancing up at me and smiling from under his mop of hair, like I amused him. I fidgeted nervously, contemplating taking an incomplete in the English class just so I could get out of there.<
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  He wadded up his shopping bag and shoved it into a paper bag by the refrigerator. When he bent over, I could see the white band of his underwear above his low-slung jeans. ‘OK. Now we can get to work.’

  I looked around the apartment, spotting a television, stereo and gaming system, but not seeing a computer. ‘Um, sure … where?’

  After I declined his offer of a beverage, Matthew grabbed a bottle of juice from the refrigerator and headed down the hall. ‘My room.’

  I’m glad he wasn’t looking at me, because I was pretty sure my eyes were bugging out of my head. I had no idea what the hell was wrong with me and as I followed Matthew down the short hall, trying not to notice his cute ass in his jeans, I chastised myself. Good grief, I needed to find a guy my age and just get laid. I had no business swooning over some geeky college boy.

  Unfortunately, whatever mechanism controls the libido wasn’t buying the old-lady lecture. I felt young and horny, ready to do nasty things to the innocent young man who only wanted to help me with my project. I did some mental math and figured out it had been nine months since I’d gotten laid, so it was no wonder I was thinking about Matthew’s bedroom in other than academic terms. But still, this was definitely the wrong place and the wrong time to be thinking like this. Wasn’t it?

  ‘Crash anywhere you want and I’ll boot up my computer,’ he said, dropping into his desk chair, which happened to be the only chair in the room.

  I looked around with a growing sense of dread because there was only one place for me to sit. The bed. I perched on the edge, nearly falling off in the process, more than a little self-conscious. At least the bed was made, I thought, as I watched Matthew sitting close enough to touch. Granted, he was hunched over his computer and not flinging me down on the mattress, but I have a good imagination. Too good, maybe.

  I fixated on the way his jeans rode down when he leaned forward, revealing the top of his underwear again. Something about that line of white above the rugged blue of his jeans made me squirm in my own jeans. It was, quite possibly, the sexiest thing I’d seen in a very long time. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, why I was even thinking like this, but I was wildly attracted to this guy in a way I hadn’t felt attracted to anyone in a long time.

  ‘So, where do we need to start?’

  I was so lost in my fantasy of slowly stripping sweet Matthew and discovering whether his underwear was boxers or briefs that I hadn’t really been listening. ‘Huh?’

  He looked at me over his shoulder. ‘Where do you want me to start?’

  I could think of a few places, but I refrained from offering those suggestions. ‘Well, I know how to use a mouse and I know how to turn on the monitor, but beyond word-processing, I’m clueless.’

  Matthew made a little grunting noise and nodded. ‘OK. Don’t worry, I’ll get you up to speed. You should really invest in a laptop. I could help you find one that will suit your needs.’

  I bit my tongue on the words ‘I want to be on top of your lap so you can suit my needs,’ and simply nodded instead.

  Over the course of the next two hours, a bottle of juice and then three beers (one for him, two for me), Matthew was true to his word and brought me into the twenty-first century. I not only knew how to put together a computer-based multimedia presentation, I had a pretty good start on my Frankenstein: Monster or Man project. I also had a pretty good buzz. That’s another thing about getting older: I couldn’t hold my alcohol any more.

  I giggled and didn’t even care that it didn’t sound very adult-like.

  Matthew gave me a sidelong glance. ‘Um, you OK?’

  ‘Sure? Why?’ I giggled again.

  He smiled benevolently, slow-blinking like a wise owl. ‘Oh? ’Cause you sound a little drunk.’

  Oops. I’d been caught. I felt warm, but I couldn’t tell if I was blushing or if it was just the beer raising my temperature. ‘I don’t usually drink that much.’

  ‘You only had two beers.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘I like you. You’re funny.’

  ‘I like you, too. You’re cute.’

  He studied me like he’d been staring at his computer screen, sizing me up. I winked at him. It might have been a leer.

  In truth, I wasn’t drunk. I knew exactly where I was and exactly who I was with. And exactly what I wanted to do with him. To him. I was just nervous as hell about making my desires known. And even more nervous that he’d laugh at me. It wasn’t the age difference – I was guessing it couldn’t be more than ten or twelve years – it was my lack of experience. I’d married the first guy I’d slept with and in the five years since my divorce there had only been three other guys. None were anything to write home about. Matthew was cute and smart and the first guy I'd ever felt instantly attracted to.

  ‘Come here, Matthew.’

  He continued to stare at him.

  I patted the bed. His bed. ‘C’mon, I’m not drunk and I won’t bite.’ I gave him my best ‘come hither’ glance, hoping it wasn’t too dusty from lack of use to be effective.

  Confusion turned to understanding. Apparently some things didn’t change from one college experience to the next. One minute Matthew was sitting at his desk and the next minute he was sitting next to me. ‘OK, I’m here.’

  ‘Is this crazy?’ I was having doubts. Not doubts about what I wanted to do, but doubts about whether it was a wise choice.

  Matthew shrugged. ‘It’s all good.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What about your … girlfriend?’ I gestured vaguely towards the living room, indicating the panties in the laundry basket.

  He looked confused for a minute. ‘Oh – I don’t have a girlfriend. My roommate’s a girl, but she’s not my girlfriend.’

  So he was OK with me making the first move, OK with the age difference and he didn’t have a girlfriend. I couldn’t think of any other reason to delay what I wanted to do. Well, I probably could have thought of a dozen reasons – but I decided not to dwell on them.

  I smiled. Matthew smiled. I’d love to say it was the alcohol buzz that made me lean forward and kiss him, but it wasn’t. It was lust. His mouth tasted like beer, and mine probably did too. His lips were warm and firm and he definitely knew how to kiss as well as he knew how to make computers do his bidding.

  At some point, Matthew decided I was wearing too many clothes and I felt him unbuttoning my shirt. I appreciated his attention – I didn’t think I had it in me to do more than make the initial first move. I moaned when he fondled my tits, my nipples standing at attention and probably wondering what the hell was going on, they had been neglected for so long. He got my shirt off easily enough, but I had to help him with the bra when he couldn’t locate the clasp because it was in the front. I giggled and fell back on the bed, pulling him down with me.

  ‘This is crazy,’ he mumbled as he kissed and nibbled his way down my neck and across my collarbone.

  ‘I thought you said it wasn’t crazy,’ I said, going suddenly still.

  He didn’t stop nibbling. ‘A different kind of crazy.’

  At least he hadn’t said ‘weird’. ‘Crazy good or crazy bad?’ I asked breathlessly when he latched onto one swollen nipple.

  ‘Good,’ he said, his mouth full.

  ‘Right answer,’ I breathed, happily letting him suck and nibble his way to the other nipple.

  After a few minutes, I was anxious to get things moving past second base so I nudged his shoulder. ‘Hey, Matthew?’

  He looked up, his eyes heavy-lidded with his own growing lust. ‘What? Did I do something wrong?’

  Younger men are just so damned adorable. ‘No, I just wanted to know what you’re wearing under your jeans.’ To accentuate my point, I ran my finger along the elastic of his underwear.

  He looked at me as if I’d asked him who his long-distance provider was. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Boxers? Briefs? Oh, never mind, I’ll find out for myself.’ I reache
d for the waistband of his jeans and got them unfastened. The rasp of the zipper made my clit tingle. ‘Oh,’ I sighed, tugging his jeans down to his thighs. ‘Boxer briefs.’

  Matthew raised his hips so I could get his jeans off and reached for the waistband of his underwear.

  I put my hands over his. ‘Wait,’ I whispered.

  ‘Why?’

  I spoke to his impressive erection. ‘Because I really like your underwear. It’s sexy as hell.’

  Matthew’s boxer briefs fit him like a second skin, hugging the bulge of his swollen cock. I licked my lips. I was looking forward to seeing him naked, but I was teasing myself – and him.

  ‘You’re driving me crazy,’ he whispered, reaching for me.

  ‘It was already crazy, remember?’

  ‘Crazier. Craziest.’ His hands were all over my body, caressing, fondling, trying to get my pants off.

  I pulled back. ‘Wait.’ With a few awkward moves, I got my jeans and panties off and stretched out on top of him. ‘Mmm, that feels nice.’

  I wiggled on him, feeling the press of his cock between my legs.

  ‘C’mon, baby,’ he said.

  It had been a long, long time since I’d heard someone call me baby. I rather liked it.

  ‘Not yet. No need to rush. I want to enjoy this.’

  I kept rubbing against him. The friction of the cotton of his underwear against my clit was nearly enough to make me come. I knew I was leaving a wet spot on his underwear, but I didn’t care. I kept rubbing. He pressed his hips up to meet my downward movements, anchoring his hands on my hips as I rubbed against him.

  As if sensing my approaching orgasm, he started thrusting against me harder. I whimpered, burying my face in his neck as my orgasm slammed into me. He kept sliding me up and down his crotch as I clung to him. I felt like I’d never stop coming and I ground myself against him, wanting something inside my throbbing cunt. Finally, my orgasm subsided and my breathing returned to normal.