Harder (Caroline & West #2)(89)
And because it’s always his mouth for me. That mouth, and the way he moves, and the way he is, so … West. Even more West than he used to be.
More West every day.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
He cocks his head. “You weren’t listening to me.”
“I was.”
His eyes narrow, and one corner of his mouth tips up. “You weren’t. You’ve got that look.”
“I don’t.”
I deny it even as I’m widening my legs in the chair. Leaning into the table with both elbows and arching my back just a little bit because it tilts my hips up and tilting my hips feels good.
Tilting my hips feels positively necessary.
He hops up on the tabletop, putting his jeans-clad thighs directly in front of my face. Raffe and Annie aren’t paying attention. West lowers his head toward me, drops his voice, and says, “What was I telling you about, Caro?”
“Copper pipes.”
“That was a while ago.”
“Threading tools.”
“Getting warmer.”
“Adhesives.”
He leans down and brushes his lips over my forehead. “Lucky guess. I’m always talking about adhesives.”
The way he says it, it sounds like he’s telling me he wants to lick my *. It sends a shiver racing down my back that tightens my nipples, liquefies my low belly, and lands between my legs with a wet kiss.
West gives me a wide, dirty smile. “What brought you over here anyway? I thought you were working on that paper.”
I was, but I got bored. Alone on the fourth floor of the library, my mind wandered, and it’s always dangerous to let my mind wander up there, because there’s too much West-and-Caroline history for my mind to get lost in.
Distracting history. The kind that makes it easy to convince myself I should take a break and come see how West’s project is coming along. Just in case he’s bored, too.
West never gets bored when he’s working in the studio.
He is, however, usually receptive to taking a certain type of break.
“Your sister’s at Nadine’s for the night,” I say.
His smirk widens, that wolfish gleam in his eyes intensifying. “I know.”
“So I was thinking.” I’m tracing a pattern on his thigh with one finger.
“What were you thinking?”
“Maybe we should do something we couldn’t normally do. Instead of just spend the whole evening apart, working.”
“You want to head over to the Union?” he asks. “Grab a slice of pizza?”
“I’m not sure I’m hungry for pizza.”
“What are you hungry for?”
I fold my arms over his thighs, because it gives me an excuse to grope them. He’s leaning in so close, our noses almost touch. “I’m not sure. Nothing sounds good.”
“I bet I could change your mind.”
“I should probably get back to the library.”
“I’ll walk you.”
He jumps down, roots around in his bag, and comes up with something closed in his fist that he pushes into his pocket.
“I’m gonna walk Caro to the library,” he says casually. “Back in a few.”
“Sure,” Raffe says. “That’s completely plausible.”
“If a few turns out to mean an hour and we bail, you want us to put your stuff away?”
“Yeah,” West says. “Thanks.”
He pushes me out the door with his hand on the small of my back.
We near the staircase at the end of the hall. “Where are we going?”
“Up,” he says. “Ladies first.”
I climb, thinking we’ll go to the second floor, where there are empty music classrooms. But when we get there, West slips his hand between my thighs, cups my *, and says, “Keep going.”
I climb some more. Throbbing.
What’s on the third floor? Offices, I think. Does he have a key to an office? Or maybe we’ll end up in one of the bathrooms, locked in a stall—not sanitary, but he’s got his hands all over my ass and I’m breathing so fast, way too excited to care where we end up as long as it’s somewhere, soon.
The landing. “Which way?”
His hand on me again, the ridge at the base of his thumb drawing a line of pressure back and forth along my slit.
Every muscle in my legs melts.
“Keep going.”
“That isn’t possible.”
He squeezes, and I close my eyes against the hot slick pulse of it.
“Up.”
I stagger upward. At the top of a short flight, I stumble into a door. West dangles a key in front of my nose.
“The roof?” I ask.
He spins me, presses me into the door, and kisses me so deeply, with so little warning, I just about black out.
Can you faint from the combination of three and a half flights of stairs and the deep and unrelenting desire to be f*cked?
It seems likely.
His thigh moves between my knees. His hands grip my waist and lift me up, and I can’t do anything but dissolve all over him, take his mouth and his grip and his hard heat, the beat of the pulse in his neck where my hand rests, the moan he makes when I find his cock through denim and cotton and rub my hand up and down, tracing the length and shape of him with my fingernail.