Unethical

by Jennifer Blackwood

  “How do you want me?” Blake asked.

  On top of me in my bed? Yep, that sounds good.

  “Whatever feels natural. You’ll be holding it for a couple hours,” Professor Hayes said.

  He took a seat on the stool in the center of the room, and the spotlight shone directly on his face. He propped his left foot on the middle rung and put his elbow on his knee. His head rested in his left hand.

  I wiped the corner of my lip with my sleeve. Holy crap, I was drooling. Drooling! I had been reduced to a slobbering Neanderthal. Or whatever my professor called those primitive humans in anthro.

  Once he found a comfortable position, the whole room went silent except for the sound of pencils scratching against paper. The fevered shading of the artists put me back into drawing mode. No big deal, just a model I needed to draw. No need to panic because all his goods sat on display for everyone to see. Nope, not a big deal.

  I focused on drawing his face first. His dark brows, the playful way his curls swept across his forehead, his lips that plumped out into a tiny pout. I kept erasing, never able to get his nose just right. He broke it a few years back with an elbow to the face during a scrimmage. Now it had a little bump at the top of the bridge of his nose that somehow made him even cuter.

  His eyes met mine, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He lifted his one eyebrow, resuming our eye-fucking match. And I was drooling again. I needed him, badly. A thousand pins pricked the back of my neck, and heat pooled low in my belly. I shrugged off my University sweatshirt. What did they keep this building at ninety fricken’ degrees?

  I worked my way down his body and began drawing his hand. The hands that, at one time, brought me so much pleasure. The ones that made my back arch and my body quiver. I shifted in my seat, the heat between my thighs turning to a slow ache.

  I drew the dark hair of his happy trail, ending at the band of his boxer briefs. Usually, Blake wore boxers—I used to steal them in high school because they were so comfy to sleep in—but with these skin-tight boxer briefs that hugged every contour of his legs, and the delicious V lines disappearing beneath the fabric, I changed my mind. I was totally team boxer brief now.

  With twenty minutes to spare, I made it to my favorite part of his body—his calves. The way the hardened muscles bulged against his skin when he flexed to readjust on the stool did bad things to my insides. He deserved a shrine for the way the taut muscles constricted as he ran down the field…or fought the build of his climax. That was how I knew he was close to coming—he always flexed his calves.

  As class ended, Jules and I strolled over to Blake, who still sat on the stool in the middle of the classroom. He stretched his arms over his head, the muscles in his stomach pulling into tight ridges.

  “Nice job, Hiller, but I think you need to do a few more sit-ups. You’re starting to lose it.”

  Blake smiled and shook his head. “Good to see you, Jules.” He nodded to me, his eyes softening. “Payton.”

  “Hey, Blake,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly out of my element. Since when couldn’t I say hi to people?

  “I’d better go get ready for my internship. There’s a cute intern I keep bumping into in the supply closet.”

  He pulled on his robe, slipped on his sandals, and strode out of the room.

  Jules grabbed my arm and bounced. “He totally wants you. This is so exciting.”

  A shiver ran through me; my life was finally getting back to normal.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Blake

  Brittany called fifteen minutes before my shift to say her kid was sick and she had to leave work, canceling tonight’s internship session. Major bummer since I wanted to spend the time with Payton. Her being in my arms as I helped her down off that shelf filled that missing piece. We fit together perfectly. Too bad Brittany had to come in and ruin it. Not that it was a smart idea to be fooling around at work. Better to save that for a date. If I ever got that far again. I texted to see where she was tonight, but I didn’t get an answer.

  I really didn’t feel like dealing with Andrew or any of the cleanup tasks at the fraternity, so instead of heading home, I headed in the direction of the library. I forgot my jacket at the frat that morning, and my body formed into one big Otter Pop by the time I reached the library doors.

  The second, fifth, and sixth floor rotundas were all full as I searched for an open table. Only one other place in the library came close to a good study spot—the basement. With cement walls and old school shelves, the basement was a legit quiet space to study.

  The elevator dinged as the doors slid open, and the smell of musty books and cleaning products smacked me in the face as I exited the shaft.

  I scanned the room, most of the tables already taken, but a couple in the corner behind a large oak bookcase were free.

  My backpack clunked as I dropped it on the table, and I opened the zipper, digging around for my chemistry textbook. I sat down and stretched my back against the rungs of the chair, my back popping in a few places.

  “You know that’s not good for your back.”

  My shoulders tensed, and the tension I had just released returned full force. What were the odds? For once, I liked these odds. The Big Man held up a glass of scotch and toasted me. I mentally saluted him.

  “It must have been from the laborious task of modeling,” I said to Payton.

  She sat at the table next to mine, drumming her fingers on the surface. Damn, I must have been more tired than I thought if I hadn’t noticed her when I came in.

  “Didn’t know you were studying here. I texted you earlier.”

  She looked at her phone and frowned. “No cell reception. Sorry.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “Wanna come over here and study with me? From the sound of your backpack, I’m guessing you’re studying for O chem, too.” She flashed purple index cards with neatly printed writing on them.

  “Already made your flashcards for the test?” Typical Payton. Always one step ahead of everyone when it came to studying. And always a step behind when it came to anything besides school.

  In high school, she could not wrap her head around the possibility that guys found her attractive, let alone a stunning siren. And there was that one time she crossed the street without looking and almost got hit by a car. Smartest girl I knew, and yet sometimes she had no common sense. It made me want to shake her and hold her close all at the same time.

  “Rewriting them. Smudged a few equations.” She held up her ink-stained hand and said, “Curse of the lefty.”

  I grabbed my backpack and took the seat next to her. It was a four person table, but I didn’t see any other supplies indicating she had a study partner. She couldn’t have been here long, since we both got the message from Brittany a little bit ago.

  “Studying alone tonight?”

  “Jules closes at GNC tonight, and I didn’t feel like studying at my apartment.”

  “Guess it’s your lucky night I came around.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Yeah, Mr. Model, I’m so lucky.”

  “I think I make a great model, thank you very much.”

  She thumped my stomach. “The only reason they keep you around is the abs,” she teased.

  I put on my best shocked expression—the same one my aunt gave every time I told her the amount she’d given me for the term wouldn’t even feed me for two weeks. “I beg your pardon. I think they liked my arms.” I flexed and wiggled my eyebrows. Damn, I could see Andrew doing something this cheeseball. More the reason to distance myself from him.

  She swatted my arm. “Put those away before you hurt someone, Casanova.”

  I held back a smile, sniffed, and said, “I understand. You just can’t handle it.”

  Her lips pressed into a hard line, but the corners tipped up slightly, fighting a smile. She crossed her arms over her stomach and leaned against her chair. “Is that so?”

  “Maybe.” I moved in, closing the space between us.

 
She scooted to the edge of her seat, our faces now a few inches apart, and whispered, “Maybe you took one too many soccer balls to the head, because I distinctly remember I could handle you pretty well back in the day.”

  I would love her to handle me again. All over. My pulse hammered as I thought about her handling me in my bedroom after prom. Her beautiful naked body as I unzipped her dress and it hit the floor. My dick rose to attention. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Fucking A, I couldn’t be hard in the library. That just seemed so wrong. Although, I always had wanted to bend someone over a desk in one of the private study rooms. My dick twitched again, and I shifted and readjusted myself.

  Staring at her lips, I glided my tongue over my own. If I closed the gap between us, what would happen? Would she let me kiss her? No one would notice if I took her behind a bookcase and—I couldn’t finish that thought. She was classier than some freaky rap song. “I don’t know. I’ve changed a lot in the past couple years. I bet you’d have a hard time keeping up.”

  She smiled and leaned in closer, leaving only an inch between our mouths. “Is that a challenge?”

  This is it. Go for it. She never backed down from a challenge. “It’s not a challenge if I know I’m going to win.”

  A shaky breath escaped from her lips, fanning across my face. She looked into my eyes, then down at my lips. “You’re on.” She closed the gap between us and tugged my bottom lip between her teeth, sending jolts straight to my cock.

  She kissed my neck and whispered, “I’ll see you around, Blake.” Pulling away slowly, she gave a sly grin. Her hand brushed over the bulge in my jeans, and it took everything in me to keep from groaning in the middle of the library. Before my brain could form a coherent thought other than the primitive me horny, me fuck you now, she packed up and left the table.

  When the elevator doors closed, I leaned my head back, blowing out a deep breath. I was playing with fire.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Payton

  My phone buzzed on the coffee table in the living room. I sprinted from the kitchen with a dripping spatula in my hand. Alfredo sauce dripped on the carpet as I read the text.

  B: We still on for tonight?

  Heck, yes. I did a little victory dance around the coffee table. Our first date. Well, our second first date. He knew we had plans to hang out; he’d confirmed last night. And the night before. My guess? He just wanted an excuse to talk to me. Or I hoped.

  P: Yep. My place at 9.

  My pulse hummed in my ears as I waited for his reply. How many times had I hung out with him? Too many times to count, but somehow this was different. We were different.

  B: Sounds good. I’ll bring the movie. Prepare yourself for awesomeness.

  P: More like lameness.

  B: Be nice to he who picks the movie.

  I couldn’t help but smile. I loved our back and forth teasing. Jules had left for her parents’ on Tuesday, leaving me no one to gush to about the date. No roommate for the next three days. No sharing the bathroom. Happy Snoopy dance to that thought.

  At exactly nine, someone lightly knocked on the door. I bolted from the couch, checked my hair in the mirror in the bathroom one last time—like it had magically changed since I last checked it, two minutes ago—and opened the door.

  Blake had two movies in one hand and a bouquet of sunflowers in the other. My favorite. My heart pattered against my chest, doing flips and roundoff back handsprings. He remembered my favorite flower. My throat squeezed tight, and I pushed away the tears that welled up behind my eyes.

  He handed me the bouquet, and I immediately brought them to my nose and inhaled. They smelled like spring, fresh and alive, and also my favorite season. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

  “You’re welcome. I thought these were the kind you liked.”

  I nodded. “They are.”

  He cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels, one hand shoved into his pocket. I realized that we were still awkwardly standing in my doorway. And the gold medal for Worst Hostess Ever goes to Payton Daniels. “Sorry, come in. What movies did you bring?”

  He had that mischievous grin again, the same one he used when conning me into this date. Not that I would have said no.

  No more games. I knew what I wanted: Him. And just like med school, he was next on my to-do list.

  “I brought some chick flicks since I know you love them so much.”

  Ugh. Seriously? My lip instinctively curled. He knew I hated chick flicks. Why was he subjecting me to this torture? He remembered my favorite flower, but missed the fact that I loved explosions…not relationship drama? I had enough of that as is.

  He smiled and handed me the movies. “Just kidding.” He brushed past me and went straight for the kitchen. I closed the door and looked at them. Die Hard and Die Harder. A man after my own heart.

  He opened and shut a few cupboards then turned to me. “Where are your vases?”

  “Cabinet above the fridge.”

  I tossed the movies to the coffee table and followed him into the kitchen.

  As he reached into the high cabinet, his shirt climbed up his stomach, exposing a strip of his solid abs. My gaze zeroed in on his tanned skin. More, please.

  “Can you get the one in the back? I like that one the most.” Heck, I didn’t know which vase was in the back, but I needed to see more.

  He reached farther into the cabinet, and his shirt inched higher. Dear God, I wanted to lick his stomach so bad. I didn’t know what was up with me and licking lately, but I’m sure Freud would have a heyday analyzing it.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  My cheeks warmed, and I looked at the sink and scrubbed a speck of dirt with my finger nail. How did he know? He was still facing the fridge; no way had he seen me at that angle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Seeing as the vase in the back is the exact same as the one in the front, I figured you just wanted to check me out.” He smiled and handed me the vase. “If you want, I can just take my shirt off, and then I won’t have to throw my back out reaching into awkward places.”

  “No.” I blurted this, but the warmth spreading low in my stomach told me that was exactly what I wanted.

  He smiled, walked to the living room, and grabbed the movies off the coffee table. My fingers fumbled over the cellophane as I unwrapped the sunflowers. I filled the vase with water and arranged the flowers, taking a second to admire them before joining Blake in the living room.

  “Which do you want? Hard or harder?”

  I sharply inhaled and choked on my spit.

  Second option. Pronto.

  “Excuse me?”

  He held up the movies, one in each hand, and said, “Hard or harder?”

  Of course he meant the movies…of course. The lower half of my body didn’t understand that, and a slow burn flooded my stomach. “Hard.”

  He clucked his tongue and frowned. “Damn, I was hoping for harder.”

  Okay, wait, were we talking about movies? I was way over the movie. I’d sit through ten chick flicks to get whatever harder meant. I looked at him. He was still staring at the movie in his hand. His curls lay in a perfect mess across his forehead, and his shirt brought out the green in his eyes. I always used to joke that he had mood eyes that changed with his emotions. Really, they changed with whatever he wore, but I distinctly remember his eyes always being greener when we made love. Maybe green was his lucky color.

  A nervous laugh slipped out. God, could you be any more awkward? Play it cool. “Want something to drink?”

  “Sure. Coke?”

  I scurried off to the kitchen before I could embarrass myself. How many dates had I been on with him? A lot. No big deal. Just two people hanging out. Watching a movie. Hopefully not watching a movie. Not watching a movie, naked, in my bedroom. I shook my head, grabbed two Cokes from the fridge, and ventured back into the living room.

  Blake sat on the left side of the couch with his arm lazily draped over t
he armrest. His legs were propped on the coffee table, his relaxed posture beckoning me to fall back into old habit. Nothing compared to curling up beside him and resting my head on his chest. Along with that niggling need to straddle him and have him show me what he meant by harder, but that might have to wait until later. Hormone meter: over-deprived red zone. The movies weren’t the only explosions I wanted to see tonight.

  I handed him one of the sodas and sat beside him on the couch, hyperaware of every single movement he made. Every time he shifted his body, it sent the delicious aroma of Blake—a mixture of soap, a hint of cologne, and just his wonderful natural scent. My body responded without hesitation, my cheek pressing against his chest. He wrapped his arm around me and grabbed the remote off the armrest.

  “Previews or no previews?”

  “Blake…seriously? The movie came out, like, fifty years ago.”

  “Fine then. Less time to spend together.”

  “Let’s watch the previews.”

  His chest vibrated against my head as he chuckled. I nestled deeper, enjoying the low bass sounds rumbling in my ear. He ran his thumb down my arm in circles, and it sent tiny bubbles fizzling through my blood. He pressed his face into my hair and inhaled deeply. What the?

  “Did you just sniff my hair?”

  “What if I did?”

  “That’s kinda weird.”

  He pushed his finger to my lips. “Shh. You’re ruining the previews.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “You’ve seen them a million times.”

  “Maybe I missed something the first million.”

  “Mmhmm.” I nuzzled my head on his chest and ran my hand across his stomach. His muscles tightened, and his breath picked up as I fingered every ripple of his abs. His pulse beat rapidly underneath my ear, matching the pace of my own heart. I smiled into his shirt, happy to know that I could still elicit this reaction from him.

  As tempting as it was to stick my hands under his shirt and feel the warmth of his skin, we hadn’t even made it past the first preview, and I didn’t want to show him how desperate I felt.