by Geneva Lee
Searching my face with his penetrating brown eyes, he finally leaned in and brushed a soft kiss over my lips. It said everything I needed to hear and everything he didn’t need to say. What had happened between us was more than a simple fling or an infatuation. It was a living, breathing, vital part of my life from this day forward.
He pulled away and took my hand “Shall we take a look?”
The closest I hope I’ll ever come to walking the green mile was walking into that bathroom. The test sat on the counter and looked like it was a million miles away. I picked it up, glancing to Roman for reassurance. I sucked in a breath and looked down.
One line.
One line.
One line.
“What does it mean?” he asked.
“It means…I’m not pregnant.” All the feelings I’d kept trapped inside for the last few hours flooded through me. Joy. Relief. And something that strangely felt like disappointment. I shook my head as if to clear the swirling confusion from my body. It didn’t help. The tears started again and I didn’t try to fight them.
Roman didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask me for details or push me to talk. Instead he held me tightly. Usually this proximity to his body sent me into a horny spiral from which there was no return, but this time I relished the security of his embrace. It was where I was meant to be.
“About what I said before,” he whispered against my ear, “I meant every word. Tell me what you want—what you need.”
I closed my eyes and buried my face in his shoulder, letting go of all the logic and lists. “I need you to stay.”
I didn’t have to ask again.
Chapter Twenty-One
I pushed the lid shut on the pizza and slid it a few feet away, rolling over so I wasn’t lying on my stuffed belly. This was our new Friday routine: pizza on the floor with books. As in Roman and me, because we were officially a couple even though we weren’t spending much time at the movies or hitting the bars. Between Roman’s upcoming dissertation defense and my MCAT next week, we’d had to resort to study dates if we wanted to see each other at all. March had passed in a blur, both of us trying to keep up with papers and classes while finding time to be together. Memorizing viral life cycles while your boyfriend refined his argument on communications dynamics in social media relationships wasn’t exactly romantic to most people, but it worked for us.
Roman glanced up from his laptop and grinned at me. “Full?”
“Stuffed and happy,” I said, patting my stomach. “I think I could take a nap.”
“That sounds amazing. Is it terrible that my own research makes me yawn?” he asked.
“I think that’s the nature of academia.”
“What are you working on?” Roman leaned over to eye my book, which was open to a diagram that detailed the attachment of viruses to host cells.
I gave an overdramatic yawn of my own. “Nothing sexy. Basic stuff I need to know.”
“Not sexy, huh?” His hand crept toward my stomach, slipping under my shirt to massage deep strokes across my abdomen. “You make it look sexy.”
My back arched up to meet his touch, but I forced myself to pull away. “I have to be able to nail this material before I can nail you.”
Roman’s mouth curved into a smirk at my announcement and he grabbed for my book.
“Hey!”
He wagged a finger at me, pushing up to sit against the wall. His hair was tangled from running his fingers through it as he read and his jaw was peppered with the stubble he ignored starting on Friday morning. By Monday he’d be clean-shaven Markson in his khakis and button down, doing his best to not draw unwanted attention from his female students, but right now he was Roman—my Roman—in his thin, white V-neck and jeans. Later his five o’clock shadow would scratch teasingly across my skin. I could almost feel the delicious tickle of it now, and it was very, very distracting.
“I think we should find a way to make studying sexier,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow, already up for the challenge. “Interesting plan.”
“I thought so. I will quiz you on viral life cycles and for every answer you get wrong, you have to take off a piece of clothing.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, his grin widening.
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. “So this is sexy studying for you.”
“I’m wounded.” Roman grabbed his chest. “I’m a feminist, Jessica. I’m all about equality.”
“You are, huh?”
“If you get the answer right,” he said, “I’ll take off a piece of clothing.”
“How many questions are there?” I asked, straining to see the page he was looking at.
“Twenty.”
“So we can’t possibly lose.” I stretched my arms over my head innocently, pretending I didn’t notice how his eyes lingered on the neckline of my tank top.
“I’m pretty sure we’re on the brink of a revolutionary discovery about the learning process,” he said, flipping the pages of the book. “Ready?” There was a challenge in his words. One I was eager to meet. “An autoimmune disorder which attacks and destroys the villi of the small intestine would have which of the following impacts on digestion?”
“Inefficient nutrition absorption,” I answered without batting an eyelash.
“That sounds terrible.”
“Stop stalling,” I said, snatching the papers out of his hands, “and strip.”
Roman’s mouth crooked into a grin. “You want me to start with the socks?”
“I think you should reward me with something more…substantial.”
“Lady’s choice then.”
I watched as he grabbed the back of his shirt. He paused, waiting for my okay, which I gave him with an eager nod. Roman pulled the shirt slowly over his head, aware that he had an audience. Inch by inch he revealed his smooth, toned abs, each one a new reward for me. Reaching for the paper, he settled back onto his heels with a smug smile plastered on his face. I rubbed my hands together, realizing I knew this stuff backwards and forwards. That meant I could take a break tonight. It didn’t hurt that I got to show off for my boyfriend and get him down to his birthday suit.
“The primary difference between furanose and pyranose rings is?”
“Furanose is a six member ring. Pyranose is five,” I said, already wondering if I could talk him out of his jeans next. Two questions in and I would have him down to his drawers.
But Roman shook his head.
“What? Furanose is a cyclized carbohydrate.” I began rattling off a description of its purpose, but he held up a finger.
“That’s probably all true. But furanose is a five member ring.”
I slouched against the wall, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. It was such a stupid mistake to make, but Roman didn’t seem to mind I that was wrong. He seemed pretty happy about it.
“Gentleman’s choice?” I offered.
“I’m not a gentleman,” he said without missing a beat. “Now take off your shirt.”
Taking a page from his book, I hooked my fingers around the hem of my tank top and drew it over my head as slowly as I could manage. The grin on Roman’s face widened.
“Next,” I prompted.
“Need to get out of that bra?” he asked.
“I need to get you out of those pants.” It was on now. If he thought he could get me naked before he was down to only his dignity, he was mistaken.
“The most widely-used differential stain for bacteria is?” He waited for my answer.
My heart sped up under his patient gaze. After choking on the last answer, I needed to pull myself together and prove to him—and myself—that I was prepared to take this exam. Having recently faced the prospect of not becoming a doctor, I was more determined than ever.
“Gram stain,” I answered confidently.
“Tell the lady what’s she’s won,” he said in his best game show host voice.
“Oh, I hope it’s your pants!” I squealed and clapped li
ke an excited contestant.
“If you’re good, I’ll show you what I hide behind door number one.” Roman jumped to his feet and unbuttoned his pants teasingly slow. My teeth sank into my lip as he pushed them past his hips, revealing gray boxer briefs that did nothing to hide that particular prize. He let them fall to the floor, kicking them off and shooting me a smug smile. How could he be this hot? Curving, defined muscles. A hint of sun lingering on his skin. That sexy mess of black hair that fell into his eyes, and the dusting of it across his chest—just enough to grab onto as I came.
I made a mental note to exhibit a picture of him naked the next time I had to do a presentation on evolution. He was a clear example of survival of the fittest.
“I have an idea,” I purred, dropping to my hands and kneeling before him. “How about we study a little anatomy?”
“Miss Stone,” he said, pretending to be shocked, “it sounds like you’re trying to get out of studying.”
I went along with it, fluttering my eyelashes innocently as I sat back up and unhooked the front closure of my bra. It burst open and I shrugged it off. “These are breasts.” I ran my fingers lightly over them to emphasize the fact. “This is an areola—” my thumbs traced circles around the pink ring and my nipples furled with anticipation—”and these are nipples.”
“That was very…elucidating.” Roman swallowed, shifting a little on his feet as the prize behind door number one became discernibly larger.
“The female breast,” I continued, “was made for sucking.” I reached up and ran my hand down his stomach and over his shaft. “Now this wasn’t, and yet…”
Roman’s head fell back as I tugged down his boxers and took him in my hands. I licked up the length of him and took him in my mouth. He groaned as I sucked, shifting to allow me deeper access and I obliged.
“Christ, Jessica. Do you know what you do to me?” He was practically growling as I continued to suck him off.
Roman placed a warning hand on my hair, but I ignored it, growing more excited as he released. He dropped to his knees, and I was pleased to see his eyes blazing. “My turn.”
His hands circled my wrists and pinned them over my head as he dipped down to kiss my neck. This was quickly becoming the best study session ever. He pressed against me, urging my body to the floor as he continued his descent toward my own prize package. Lingering at my belly button, he blew softly across my skin, sending ripples of desire bubbling through me. But he didn’t stop there. Still holding my wrists together with one hand, the other hooked the band of my panties and ripped them off. I was ready to buy a vowel: oooooo. His tongue licked across my bikini line and my hips bucked against his mouth.
He clicked his tongue. “Patience.”
“Good girls are patient,” I whimpered.
“Aren’t you good?” he asked, sending warm breath tickling along the swollen nerves between my legs.
“I used to be. I wanted to be teacher’s pet.”
“And you are,” he promised.
A finger traced down my sensitive region and I shuddered at the contact, aching for more. “No, I’m definitely not. I’m a bad apple.”
Roman released my hands and pressed my legs open wider and settled between them, grinning. “If that’s true, I want a taste.”
“Careful,” I warned him, my breath coming faster, “I bite back.”
“I’m counting on it.” Then his mouth closed over my clit, sucking hungrily as pleasure trembled through me. I was so close, brought to the edge by the innuendo and naughty games, but I clung to the brink, wanting to savor it as long as possible. But even as I did, my muscles contracted, my body tightening as he licked and nibbled. I arched into the air, fighting to be closer to him, desperate for this moment to never end and desperate for my climax. Roman pushed a finger inside me and I lost control, spiraling outward as I shattered against his tireless tongue.
My legs clamped in warning against his head, and he shook free of their vice grip with a laugh, planting a swift kiss down there before he crawled up to take me in his arms. His skin brushed mine, sending sparks shooting along my nerves. I already wanted him again. Reigning in my nympho, I cuddled against his chest.
“Do you…” I let my question trail away, suddenly embarrassed to admit my inexperience to him.
“What, mi bella?” he asked, searching my face, his deep brown eyes content but interested.
“Do you think sex is like this for most people?” I forced myself to ask the question even though I had to look away first.
“No,” he said. I knew he was smiling. “If it was, the world would fall to ruin because no one would ever leave their beds.”
“I didn’t think so,” I admitted. “It’s never been like this…for me.”
“It hasn’t for me either.” If he felt embarrassed confessing that, it didn’t show. There was no vulnerability in his words. None showed on his face. In fact, he looked somehow more certain saying it, as though he found comfort in the fact.
Part of me understood that. Sex had always been an expectation. A relationship milestone. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy sex before I met Roman. I did. But there was something more to sex with Roman—a playfulness that had been absent in my previous sexual encounters. It made it easy to be with him. And it made me want to be with him all the time.
Too bad the rest of the world still expected me to get out of bed every morning. Or back to studying, even on Friday nights.
“We should get back to work,” Roman said as if he could read my mind.
“You are defending a dissertation this week.”
“And you have some important test, right?” He pretended like he’d forgotten. As if anyone who knew me could forget I had my MCATs on Saturday. If all went well, we’d both be celebrating by this time next week. I didn’t want to think about what we’d be doing if we crashed and burned.
“You’re overthinking things.” He rolled over and pinned me to the ground. “You can always retake the test, Jess. But you won’t have to. You are ready for this. Now if I fail my defense, that’s another story.”
I swatted at him, which was difficult with his body smothering mine. I’d read his dissertation and it was genius. “The committee is going to see how brilliant you are and beg to give you a doctorate. No questions asked.”
“I wish it worked that way.” He swept a kiss over my lips. “Should we get back to work?”
“Or round two?” I suggested. “I think it would be beneficial to my understanding of the human male to see all the ways his anatomy can function.”
“Well, anything to help you ace your exams.” And with that we dissolved into one another until we forgot there was an outside world at all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Saturday night we beat everyone to Garrett’s and grabbed a booth. The MCATs were behind me, and I felt good about them. I probably wouldn’t break any records, but I thought my score would be strong enough for applications. The real celebration was that Roman had passed his defense. In a few weeks, he’d graduate, but all that was technical. He had his PhD, and I was buzzing with pride. Despite the accomplishments, I was more than a little nervous to be here with Roman—in public, particularly a college bar. Jillian had begged and argued her case. Then Cassie had gotten in on the action. God help the American justice system if those two ever opened a law firm. I glanced around shiftily like I was about to rob the joint. It wasn’t as if most people would think anything of seeing the two of us together. He wasn’t much older than me and dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt he just looked like another hot guy at the bar.
But I knew and couldn’t help but feel nervous.
“Stop fidgeting, mi bella,” he whispered, taking my hand into his so I couldn’t bite my nails.
“What if the dean walks in or something?” I asked.
“I hear he hangs out here all the time,” he said wryly. “And even if he did, he has no clue who I am. I’m not a tenured professor, remember? Just an instructor. No one i
n my department is going to show up at a bar on a Friday night.”
He was right, but that fact did nothing to calm my racing heart. Without the others here to distract me with stories and bad jokes, I had time to think and there was only one thing on my mind: getting caught. Although technically we were both students, I knew our relationship existed in a gray area. I’d always been one to follow the rules. My driver’s license photo probably appeared under the definition of good girl in the dictionary. The trouble was that the initial thrill of rebelling had been usurped by something scarier. Being found out wouldn’t just spell trouble, it likely would force us apart. I didn’t even want to think about it.
Thankfully I was distracted from my analysis by the appearance of Cassie. She strutted to the table, looking her usual fashionable self and then unleashed a string of curses that would put a sailor to shame.
“Having a good day?” I asked, already feeling more comfortable.
“Computer crashed, so I have to rewrite an entire paper by next Friday.” She waved over Frank to place an order for the special: frozen pizza cooked in their toaster oven. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was cheap and a tradition.
Frank, the resident bartender, ambled over, scratching at his bushy eyebrow. “The usual?”
“You have a usual?” Roman asked under his breath.
Frank might have as much hair growing in his ears as on his head, but he caught it, glancing at Roman with disapproval. It was the look he gave any guy who dared to sit with us.
“Yeah, but double it,” Cassie said. “We brought the boys.”
“Where’s your boy?” Frank asked.
“No more boys for me. Unless you’re available, Frank.” She batted her eyelashes at him suggestively.