It’s torture, if anything is.
Because I must be a secret masochist, I torture myself even more. “Tell me how,” I tell her again.
“Why do you want to know?” she asks, looking down at her hands like she’s self-conscious.
“Why are you embarrassed to tell me?”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“So tell me.”
She is embarrassed, but that doesn’t stop me from pushing. It drives me crazy to know that the selfish bastard of a professor had everything I’ve ever wanted and then just threw it away. It makes me insane. It makes me want to destroy something.
Maybe reminding myself of everything I can never have will give me more incentive to not give in.
Or maybe I just like to torture myself.
“We kissed once, while I was a student in his class. He was helping me with a paper in his office. But we stopped.”
“So when did you go farther.”
“After the semester was over. I went back to his office.”
“You wanted it?”
She’s blushing now and she won’t meet my eyes. “Yeah. Why shouldn’t I? He’s hot and brilliant and…I don’t know…the kind of guy who everyone likes. It was such a thrill that he was interested in me at all, and I’d never been with anyone like him. So, yeah, I was hoping something would happen when I went back to his office after the semester was over.”
I know exactly how wrong it is to resent the fact that she ever wanted a man other than me. It’s the kind of caveman crap that makes no logical sense. But I do. I hate it that she wanted another man—especially that fucking, entitled professor. “So how did it happen?”
“I stopped by to talk about the last paper I wrote in his class. It was late. We didn’t talk for long.”
“Did he kiss you first?”
“Yeah.” She looks down at her hands again, hiding her eyes with her lids and lashes.
“Then what did he do?”
“You want all the details?”
“Yeah, I do. Tell me the details.” I don’t. They’re making me want to claw someone’s face off. But I somehow need to hear them anyway.
“Fine.” She looks flustered and embarrassed and defiant at the same time, and it just makes me want her even more. “He stood up and then pulled me up so he could kiss me. He sort of pushed me back against the desk. He was obviously really into it—like he couldn’t stop himself.”
“Did he fuck you right away?”
“No. There was some foreplay. He touched me all over and everything.”
Now, I’m picturing this fucking bastard of a professor touching her all over, and part of me is enraged and part of me is aroused. It’s not a feeling I like. “Did he take your clothes off?”
“No. It was all kind of rushed.”
“How did he take you?”
Her cheeks get redder and she looks away from me again, this time to the side rather than at her hands.
“So you can do it but you can’t talk about it?”
“I can talk about it. It’s just not your business.”
“Who cares if it’s my business or not. Why are you ashamed to tell me?”
“I’m not ashamed. He bent me over the desk and took me from behind.”
Oh, fucking God, now I’m picturing it, and my cock is so hard it’s physically painful. “Did he make you come?”
“Not that first time.” She jerks her eyes back to mine. “But I came plenty after that first time.”
My pleasure at learning that he couldn’t make her come is stifled at the addendum. I hate the thought of some other guy making her come, just as much as my body aches with desire at the vision of her coming hard, screaming with pleasure, bent over a desk while I drive into her.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, after a minute.
“Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to know.”
“I mean what’s wrong with you right now. You look like you’re about to explode or something.”
That would be one way to put it. I’m about to explode in more than one way, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep it from happening, to hold myself together.
“I’m not going to explode.”
“Okay. Good.”
“How long did it go on?”
“The first time or our whole relationship?”
“Both.”
“The first time lasted about ten minutes. The relationship just three months.”
“Do you miss him?” I don’t know why I ask that. If the answer is yes, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
She lets out a sigh. “I don’t know.” She looks away now, but not like she’s embarrassed. It’s more like she’s thinking hard. “I think I miss the idea of him. Things were exciting with him. I felt like…”
“You felt like what?” Now I genuinely want to know, and my near explosion of anger and arousal has subsided a little.
“I don’t know. I guess I felt like there was more to me then.”
I suddenly understand what she means, and it angers me in a different way. “That’s ridiculous.”
She sucks in a gasp of indignation. “What’s ridiculous? I was just saying how I felt. You don’t have to put me down.”
“I’m not putting you down. I’m telling you that what you were feeling was ridiculous. There is more to you. You’re not just this perfect daughter-student-girl you’ve created.”
To my surprise, my words don’t rile her up even more. She looks at me with those big silvery-green eyes that make me want to melt. Just so you know, I’m not used to melting so it’s very disconcerting. “I don’t really know if there is.”
“There is. I know it. And you’d know it too if you’d just let go a little bit.”
She makes a face at me. “I let go with Carter, and look where it got me.”
“I don’t think you were really letting go with him. You were just putting on a different act.”
She seems to think about that for a minute. Then she makes a face at me. “You’re more obnoxious than normal this evening. Must be the beer.”
And, fuck it all, I want her even more now than I did before—because what’s underlying the perfect princess exterior is so much more beautiful and precious.
But I’m still trying to hold onto control, so all I say is, “Probably. I’m a cheap-stuff guy, and I’m not used to expensive beer.”
At least it makes her laugh.
Five
Chloe
So Jack is still slouched down on my couch, looking scruffy and tousled and exactly like sex. He hasn’t said anything for a couple of minutes, not since he made the joke about the beer.
I have no idea what he’s thinking, except he still looks like he’s aroused. But he’s frowning, and he was the one who ended the kissing before, so I assume he’s not waiting to jump into bed with me or anything.
Not that I’d say no to that.
“Well?” I ask at last, when the silence is starting to get to me. “What are you thinking?”
“He’s an asshole.”
Evidently, he’s still thinking about Carter. I make a face. “I don’t know…”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re not still hung up on the bastard, are you?”
“No. I’m not.” It’s important to me that he knows this, important that I mean it. I was crazy about Carter for a long time, but I’m not anymore.
He pushes a hand through his thick hair, rumpling it even more. “Good. So what do you mean by him not being an asshole. You said earlier you were stupid about him.”
“I was. I’m not saying he was a good choice. Obviously, I was never that important to him—at least not as important as his job. I just mean he wasn’t all bad. He isn’t some sort of selfish, domineering jerk who treated me like trash.”
“Isn’t he?”
“No.”
Jacks blue eyes are speculative, knowing. “His favorite way to take you was turning you over the desk. Wasn’t it?”
I suck in a breath. That was Carter’s favorite position for us. It’s not like I minded it either. I have very vivid memories of how it felt to be bent at the waist, face down on a desk, cheek against a stray paper, with Carter drilling into me from behind. The edge of the desk would poke into my stomach, so it was uncomfortable, even the times I came.
But it was hot. And thrilling. And deliciously naughty. And I thought that was enough.
“What’s wrong with that?” I glare at Jack, annoyed with him now. “Are you saying that can’t be good?”
“Of course, it can be good—but it’s more about him than it is about you. If he couldn’t be bothered to give you what you needed, then I’m never going to think he’s anything but an asshole.”
His gruff words and grumpy expression hit me as rather sweet, that he’s so riled up over perceived slights to me, over Carter not appreciating me the way he should. But, in the interest of honesty, I say¸ “He was never mean or pushy with me.”
“I never said he was. All I’m saying is that it’s clear he was always thinking more about himself than about you.”
“And you don’t do that?”
“Think about myself? Damn right I do. A lot. But if I was with you, then I’d make sure you always came first.”
My breath hitches at the words, at what they conjure in my mind. I can suddenly picture myself with Jack all the way, and I know exactly what kind of boyfriend, lover, partner he would be. I can see it in a way I was never able to see with Carter.
“Was that intentionally dirty?” I ask, trying not to dwell on romanticized notions that will never come true.
He blinks, obviously thinking back over what he just said. Then he grins in an irresistibly predatory way. “Entirely accidental.”
All right. There’s only so much a girl can hold back, when I guy is looking at her that way and also looking so hot and disheveled. I lean over and let my lips hover just a glance away from his. “I don’t believe you.”
He groans and pulls me into his lap, devouring my mouth with his. Since this is exactly what I was hoping would happen, I don’t object to the arrangement at all.
I’m just starting to get into it again when he drags his lips away with a different kind of groan. “What?” I ask, although it’s more panting than asking. “What’s wrong?”
“We shouldn’t.” He moves me off his lap in a way I have no choice but to submit to. I’m off-balanced from moving back and forth, and I kind of slide to the floor, my back to the couch.
It’s comfortable enough, so I stay there.
I’m not the kind of girl who throws herself at a guy. Sometimes I wish I were—since maybe I’d be luckier in the romance department—but there’s something inside me that resists. Even with Carter, I just made myself available and waited for him to make the moves.
The fear of being rejected is simply too strong.
So instead of crawling on top of him again, which is what I really want to do, I say, “Fine. If you don’t want to kiss, then we won’t kiss. No big deal.”
It does feel like a big deal. A really big deal. My body is still throbbing for him. But there’s no reason he has to know I’m so desperate.
“You think it’s that easy?” His voice is still that low, sexy, rough one—the voice that turns me to mush. He moves down on the floor so he’s sitting beside me.
“Do I think what’s that easy?”
“Not kissing you.”
Okay, I have no idea what’s going on here. I think I’m a pretty smart person in general—my mind works quickly, I always do well on tests—but my mind isn’t working at all right now, and I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Unfortunately, this fact makes me sound rather stupid. “Not kissing me isn’t easy?”
As inarticulate as this question is, evidently Jack understands it. “Of course, it’s not easy.” He turns so he’s facing me more. “Every day, every minute, every second, I have to fight not to kiss you. Not to do even more. But if I kiss you again, I’m not going to be able to stop.”
“That’s what you said before. And I still don’t know what’s wrong with that.” Kissing and doing even more seems like a very good plan to me right now.
“If we do more, things will get messy.”
“Oh. I guess that’s right. Sex might be against your code of conduct.”
“Right.” He reaches out and pulls me closer to him. He actually moves my body. “That would be wrong.”
“And your dad would probably not approve.” My hands have ended up back on his shoulders, which seems about right to me. I’m getting all excited again because the fire has returned to his blue eyes.
“He definitely wouldn’t approve. I might even get fired.” He lifts me up over his lap again, and I straddle his thighs with mine. It’s a little harder on the knees, since we’re on the floor, but not so that it matters.
Overall, it’s a very nice position—with a big, sexy man between my legs.
“You’d have to find another job.” I stroke my hand across his face, his stubble generating all kinds of yummy feelings against my palm. “You might even have to join the Navy and become a SEAL.”
“I’d hate to be a cliché.” His hands slide down to cup my bottom again, spanning the curve of it possessively.
“Plus,” I add, rubbing my groin against his, which is as nice and hard as it was before, “I’m on a man-fast.”
“Then we definitely shouldn’t kiss,” Jack murmurs thickly, moving one hand from my ass to my head to bring my face into alignment with his.
“It would be a big mistake.”
“A huge mistake.”
“A very messy mistake.”
And that’s the last thing we say before the kiss.
Now, maybe there are some people who can make mature, reasonable decisions at times like this, but sadly I am not one of them. I want Jack like crazy and there is no way I’m going to pull away, when everything about this feels so good, and so right, and so exactly what I need.
The kiss is growing deeper by the second, and my whole body has come alive in the wake of it. I can’t stay still, so I’m squirming all over him, trying to feel him as much as I can.
He’s definitely enjoying it too, if his deep groans and groping hands are any indication.
I’m so into it now that I’m fumbling at the top button of his trousers, trying to free his cock, trying to get closer to what I really wanted—which is him inside me all the way.
“Fuck, Chloe,” he mutters, pulling out of the kiss and easing me back slightly. “You’re going to kill me.”
“That’s okay, as long as you fuck me first.” I reach down for the bulge at the front of his pants again and massage it shamelessly, loving how his body tenses up immediately in response.
Then his fingers close down around my wrist and he pulls my hand away from where it wants to be.
I huff in frustration and fight his grip, but he’s way stronger than me so I can’t free my hand.
“Wait, princess,” he says, his blue eyes raking over me with an entitlement I can’t help but love. “If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it right.”
“What does that mean?”
He releases my wrist and moves both of his hands so they’re curved around my ribs, just under my breasts. I’m still straddling him, hot and panting and desperately aroused. “It means we’re not going to rus+h through it like horny teenagers. We’re going to take our time.”
“I don’t like taking my time.” This is sadly the case. Patience has never been one of my virtues—assuming I have any virtues at all.
“You’ll like it once I show you how good it can be.” His voice is an erotic caress, and he gently lifts me off his lap so I’m sprawled out on the floor. I stare up at him, dazed with lust and gasping like I’ve been working out all day. But, just in general, I prefer not to act so spineless that I just cave to anything some guy wants to happen.
So I say, “You think you
’re going to show me something I don’t already know?”
“I do. I promise I will.” He moves so he’s holding himself above me, braced on his arms.
“I’ve had hot sex before, you know.”
“I believe you.” He leans down to kiss my lips, and I’m not ashamed to say that I immediately forget the thread of the conversation, since his lips and tongue and—God!—his teeth feel so good.
I gasp some more when he pulls his mouth away, and then arch my neck with pleasure when he rubs his rough jaw against my cheek, the friction unbearably sensual.
“I believe you’ve had good sex before,” he murmurs, trailing kisses now along the line of my jaw and then down my neck, until he mouths the throbbing pulse in my throat.
“I have,” I manage to say. I’m trying to hold his head in place, since whatever he’s doing to my neck feels better than anything I can imagine. One of my legs has now wrapped around his hip, which is an excellent position for generating friction right where I need it most.
So I’m basically dry-humping him from below, but I can’t tell you how much I don’t care right now.
He groans again, against my neck, and he reaches down to unwind my leg from his hip.
I whimper, since the satisfying friction is gone.
“Fuck, you’re so eager,” he says thickly, lifting his head enough to stare down at me.
So I blush a little—or maybe a lot. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His hands are on the top button of my shirt, and he slowly starts to undo it. “I love that you want me so much. But if it’s going to be as good as you deserve, then we’re going to have to slow down.”
“Kind of conceited, aren’t you? You really think you can fuck me better than anyone ever has?”
Now, the truth is I’ve only ever had sex with three men—my high school boyfriend, the guy I dated for several months in sophomore year, and Carter—but there’s no reason Jack has to know that.
“I know I can.” He’s undone all the buttons now and he slowly pulls the fabric apart, revealing my bare skin and pink lace bra. He stares down, his eyes blazing like he’s seeing something really special, something he wants more than anything.
Knowing Jack Page 8