That made me shudder with revulsion. “Red is my dad’s actual name, so absolutely not.”
Travis wrinkled his nose. Then he had to straighten his glasses.
So cute.
I’d always thought Travis was gorgeous and sexy as sin with his long legs and lean, cut muscles, but cute had never crossed my mind until now.
“Well then, it sounds like you’ll have to settle for Mr. Know-It-All,” Travis said with a grin before he rotated in his chair away from me. I resented the dismissal. I wanted him to keep flirting with me. I didn’t want him to put the distance of a nickname between us.
“I won’t answer to that,” I responded, but it came out as a growl.
Smooth, man. Real smooth.
Travis shot me some side-eye, and I wasn’t sure if his expression was ornery or amused.
Dr. Greer signaled for the class to quiet down and directed us to the partner assignment on the projector screen. It was two questions about society’s perception of insects, arachnids, myriapods, worms, snails, and slugs. It was only the second class, and there had been no assigned reading, so the questions were asking for our own opinions and experiences.
“I’ll do the second question, and you do the first. Then we can write them on the same paper to turn in,” Travis said with such confidence I didn’t try to explain that we were supposed to discuss the questions together. That was kind of the point.
“If that’s how you want to do it,” I said.
“It is.”
“Fine.”
Travis wrote out his answer to the second question, and I half-assed my way through a response to the first. I hated that he flustered me, and that I wanted to respond by lashing out. That even after the kiss we’d shared in that closet, I couldn’t help but flash back to our first encounter at the Lumberyard.
It was one of those memories that I usually only revisited late at night when my disappointments and mistakes played in a nightmare loop and kept me awake. With darkness blanketing me, I could imagine the best responses to Travis’s vitriol when I’d told him that I didn’t like to kiss. When he’d called me a “self-hating prude.” I’d thought I’d moved past it. But with Travis’s presence, his scent, the heat from his body so close to me now, I couldn’t help but relive all those ugly memories when I should have been concentrating on a million other things.
Like class.
I finished my question before Travis, and watched him scribble out his answer in a notebook with unruled paper. How could anyone take notes on paper without lines?
He abruptly ripped out the paper from his notebook and handed it over. “Here. You can copy this onto your paper to turn it in. I’d hate to ruin your answer with my messy handwriting.”
I clenched my jaw and snatched the paper from him, which made him smile. If we’d been alone, I’d have kissed that self-satisfied grin right off his face.
His handwriting was messy, but his words weren’t. His answer was about the use of imagery in children’s literature, from caterpillars in Alice in Wonderland and The Very Hungry Caterpillar to the pests in The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse and Charlotte in Charlotte’s Web. The references were lost on me except the spider from Charlotte’s Web. His answer was more thoughtful than mine, which aggravated me. I’d have loved to hear him talk about this. Out loud.
I finished copying his answer onto my paper, then wrote both of our names at the top.
“Do you want to read my answer?” I asked. I would never turn in a partner assignment without checking a partner’s work.
He took the paper from me, and I watched as he read, his plush bottom lip between his teeth. He had a very pronounced Adam’s apple, which drew my greedy eyes.
“You’re using semicolons wrong here and here,” he said, snapping me out of my ogling.
“If you say so.”
He downright scowled at me. “I’m an English major.”
Did that automatically make him right when it came to punctuation?
“I know you are,” I said without thought. His eyes flared with unexpected heat, then his gaze fell to my lips. My mouth went dry, and my palms ached with the sudden need to touch him. I’d essentially admitted to knowing personal information about him, information he’d never told me, and he’d liked that.
The tension was thick between us. I was so lost to it that I jumped when Dr. Greer said, “Okay! Wrap up your answers and pass them to the end of your aisle. Make sure both of your names are on the top of your paper.”
Travis handed our paper to the girl on his right without fixing the semicolons.
After Dr. Greer’s TA dimmed the lights in the large classroom, Travis shrugged out of his leather jacket. The heat from his arm distracted me for endless minutes of the lecture about taxonomic ranks and insect anatomy.
I felt every single one of his breaths.
Every time his fingers twitched.
Every restless wiggle in his seat, as if he were sitting in my lap.
I didn’t know how I felt about Travis, but I definitely liked the idea of him in my lap.
As class was wrapping up, I got my head back in the game and scribbled a to-do list for the class assignments in my planner. When I snapped my planner closed and glanced up, Travis was staring at me. All the heat from earlier had evaporated. With his eyes pinned to me, I packed up my stuff.
College-ruled notebook, notecards, pens, textbook, whiteout, planner, and highlighters.
“You’re very . . . precise, aren’t you?” Travis said, but his emphasis on “precise” was odd, as if he didn’t think it was a good quality.
“I like things to be in order.” Defensiveness slipped into my voice.
I shouldered my backpack and made a move to pull away from our table. Travis grabbed his stuff and followed me into the hallway. We walked down the stairs from the sixth floor to the fifth.
The tension grew between us again, but this time it didn’t feel heated, just uncomfortable. Were we going to walk far together? I hated that moment when you said goodbye to someone, but then walked in the same direction.
We reached the fourth-floor landing, and Travis touched my elbow briefly. It jolted through me. We both stopped walking and moved out of the way of the other students using the staircase. He was breathing hard, and I was mesmerized by the lifting of his chest.
He shook his head angrily. “I’m not sure I like you very much.” His voice wasn’t angry, though, but confused.
I almost smiled. “Feeling’s mutual.”
We eyed each other for a loaded beat.
“Want to go make out in that closet again?” he asked.
Holy shit.
My body reacted immediately—heat flushing my skin and blood rushing south.
I didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
TRAVIS
I turned on my heel and headed toward our clandestine storage closet. Connor had said, “Okay.”
Okay, as if he weren’t super lucky to get another shot at this ass. Okay, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other.
I hated his tepid okay with the passion of a million soap stars, but it also sent a blast of excitement through me. I strode off, with him three steps behind, so he wouldn’t see the smile I couldn’t keep from my face.
The hallway was deserted again, so I snuck into the storage closet undetected. Connor was seconds behind me. He pushed the door shut and locked it with a clack of the deadbolt.
That locked door should have scared me, but for some reason, it didn’t. I was normally cautious about where I hooked up, or in this case—made out. I didn’t go places I wasn’t familiar with, and I didn’t fuck around in public, ever, unless it was a safe queer space.
But this was the third time I’d gotten close to Connor in public. The first time had been in the alley behind the Lumberyard, which had been dumb and incredibly risky. The police presence around the college bars was robust, and all of heaven and hell knew I would have been the one on the ropes if cops had found me with this White du
de’s dick in my hand.
Now here I was again, in public, thirsting for Connor Blume.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Kissing. Nothing else,” I whispered.
He nodded, his gaze flashing to my mouth, and I smiled. I wanted him to take control like last time, because it had been hot, but he made no move.
“Well, you gonna do it?” I asked.
His eyebrows twitched, and he cocked his head to the side. Was he analyzing me? Coming up with a game plan?
Jesus Christ, he was annoying. I sighed in exasperation and stepped into his personal space. His chest brushed mine when he inhaled, and I wanted to grope him, strip his clothes off, and see his secrets.
Would he tremble when I touched him? Would he be loud and slutty? Did he have chest hair? Please God, I needed to know what his dick looked like in the daylight.
But I’d settle for necking if he’d just get in gear.
“Fucking kiss me, Connor,” I gritted out.
His palm landed in the center of my chest and gently pushed me against the door.
“Don’t boss me around.”
I grinned because being a bossy brat was my favorite thing, and if we were going to do this on the regular, he’d have to get used to it. Or start doing the bossing himself, which I was not opposed to at all, especially if spanking was involved.
He cupped my cheek with his free hand, a move too sweet for secret storage closet kissing, and everything in me tried to realign and go pliant for him.
I couldn’t let that happen. This was not about rainbows and snuggle bunnies and intimacy and getting to know each other. This was about him being so hot and fussy that I couldn’t get through a class without wanting to wreck him.
I needed to make that crystal clear, but before I could speak, he rubbed his thumb across my top lip, tracing the bow as if he needed to catalog it for later.
His lips, which mesmerized me now that I could feel his breath on my chin, quirked into a near smile, and I might as well have been a puddle on the fucking floor.
He kissed me on a harsh breath, and my lips parted with a gasp. His kiss was so sweet, all chapped lips and clutching hands.
I responded too eagerly, sucking on his lips and chin and neck—anywhere I could reach. His hand, still pressed against my hammering heart, curled into a fist, pulling and stretching the neck of my sweater.
“Dude, this is cashmere. Have some respect,” I joked.
He pulled back, which was the last thing I wanted. With shaky fingers he straightened and patted my sweater where he’d wrinkled it, then dropped his hands completely.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’m teasing you, Connor.”
His expression started to change in reaction, but then he shut it down to blankness.
I groaned. “Oh God, you’re impossible.”
His eyes blazed, that frozen look going up in flames. But it wasn’t with lust, and it hit me—Connor didn’t take teasing well. It should have been obvious to me from the beginning.
“I’m sorry. I said that because you fussed about your shirt last time,” I explained, hoping to bring us back around to the good stuff.
“Oh.” Rosiness rushed from his neck to his cheeks and ears. He was cute as a kitten, with the mouth of a sinner, and I either needed to make tracks or get those fine lips back on my skin. I certainly wasn’t going to waste my lunch hour surrounded by office supplies and Clorox wipes if he wasn’t going to kiss me again.
“Touch me,” I said, my voice low and raspy. I slid my hands up his pecs and over his muscular shoulders, hoping I could set an example.
See me touching you? Reciprocate.
He got this frowny expression on his face and said, “I want to take my time.”
I froze. “Do your worst, babe. I’ll follow your lead.” Even if I died of boredom or old age.
He crowded me against the door again and brushed the lightest of kisses against the arch of my cheekbone. He was so weird, kissing my fucking cheek, but a moan tripped out of my throat because I felt that butterfly kiss in my toes.
“Quiet,” he whispered in my ear, and I nodded.
My breath picked up when he sucked on the tendon in my neck. I imagined his fingers on my pulse, his palm on my Adam’s apple, my breath strained, my neck totally bared to him. I wanted that more than I cared to admit, but I couldn’t fathom allowing that level of vulnerability. Ever, with anyone. Instead, I arched my hips off the door until they came into contact with his body.
It was like I’d lit an M-80. He smashed his body against mine until I was sandwiched between him and the door, both unyielding, and I gasped so loud it echoed in the small room.
His teeth found my lips, sharp and intense, but he also cradled the back of my head in one of his large palms so it didn’t grind against the wood. It was at once overwhelming and sweet. Then he was just kissing me—slow, as if we had all the time in the world.
Small sounds escaped me each time I managed to get enough leverage to rock against his hard body, and he was hard everywhere. My hands flitted over his shoulders and biceps, down to his abs and back up his spine in a frantic panic. I needed to touch the whole of him in case this didn’t happen again.
He pulled off my mouth and bit my earlobe. Fuck, I loved that sting. I wanted more of it. Wanted him to hold me down and spank me until I couldn’t see straight. I wanted his fingers to stretch me without pausing to let me adjust. I wanted some pain to rocket all this pleasure into the stratosphere.
Not that I’d ever tell him any of that, since we were making out in a closet in the fucking ag building.
I turned my head to the side to give him access, and my cheek landed on one of the stars on the back of the door. It was smooth and the glow filled my vision.
He feathered a kiss right below my ear and then said, a slight twang slipping into his voice, “You’re so stinkin’ sexy. It’s not fair.”
Honest to God, I about came. His little country drawl—that loss of precision and control—vibrated through my chest like he’d struck a chord.
My breath was leaving me in embarrassingly fast gasps, and desire had flushed my skin with heat. I was undone and overwhelmed and couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this desperate for it.
He had on a thermal shirt, and I easily found his nipples through the waffle texture. They peaked against my fingers, but I didn’t pinch. “Tell me what to do,” I whispered into his ear. His forehead ground against mine and a shudder wracked him. That was the only indication he enjoyed my words.
He made next to no noise, no gasps, no moans, just the slight hiccup in his breath. “Use your mouth.”
I ground against him hard, and his arms snapped around my waist, arching my back off the door.
“Where?” I asked. “On what? Tell me what to do. I can tell you like that.”
“I do, Travis.” He leaned back and met my eye. “I like it so much.”
The happiness, the sense of rightness in his voice, made me ache all over. I kissed him softly, parting his lips, but not pushing too hard. It was obvious he didn’t like to kiss with tongue, but his kisses were so lush and complete that I found I didn’t miss it.
Connor unwrapped an arm from my waist and touched the backs of my fingers, which were idly playing with his nipple. “Use your mouth here.”
“On your chest?” I asked, my mouth immediately watering. He nodded, so I tried to lift his shirt.
He gripped my wrist before I could see anything besides an appealing line of fiery hair disappearing into his jeans. “No. Through the clothes.”
That was . . . different, and deliciously hot, but, “Why?”
“Because I knew you’d whine about it.”
“Fuck you!” I laughed.
His eyes flashed with humor, and my heart stuttered in my chest. I tried to tamp down that little thrill because I was not going to develop feelings for this man. He needed to stop being cute.
He lifted my wrist to the closet do
or and pressed it against the wood, essentially controlling and restraining me.
“Travis, bite my nipples through my shirt, please.”
Well, since he asked so nicely. I ducked down as much as his hold on my wrist would allow me and licked his nipple until the thermal material was wet and clinging to him.
Fucking beautiful.
He cradled the back of my head with his free hand when I finally nibbled on him. The quickening of his breath, the restless shuffling of his feet, the clench of his fingers on my wrist, echoed through me as if he were moaning my name.
I licked and bit his nipples until he was dry humping me like a champ. Right as I thought he was about to come, his muscles tightening and his hips jerking against me, he gripped my chin and lifted my mouth back to his.
The kiss shifted until we were simply clutching each other closely. Connor pulled back to catch his breath. His eyes were dazed with desire and his cheeks flushed hot pink.
“What are you doing tonight?” he said, voice so quiet I had to lean into him.
All right, I didn’t have to lean. I just fucking wanted to.
“Going to an adult coloring meetup at the public library.”
He gaped, and I smiled. I was obsessed with the Elkville Public Library. They fed my need to learn weird skills. Next week I was attending my second meat-butchering demonstration there. The first had made me a vegetarian for a week before I’d given in to a late-night Arby’s craving.
“What about tomorrow night?” Connor asked.
This line of questioning was suddenly making me uncomfortable. Plus, we’d been in this closet way too long.
“Why?”
“I wanted to know if you’d get dinner with me.”
Was he asking me on a date? Because that was not what I wanted with him. I wanted a no-strings-attached make-out session. Connor had burned me before, and while I needed to reevaluate that night, I didn’t know this guy well enough to date him. Plus, dating with graduation looming sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I kissed him lightly to reduce the sting.
“Ah. Okay.”
Okay. I was getting pretty sick of that word, despite goading it out of him.
Clean Break Page 4