The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(62)

“You are nothing like those girls. Nothing.”

I want her to get it; I need her to understand. Using the only tool I have to communicate, I show her with my body. Stretching my large frame across the bed, I scoot across the bed, dragging her down so she’s positioned flat on her back. Balancing my elbows on either side of her face, I look down into her face.

She is truly beautiful.

I’ve always thought she was cute, but with her hair fanned out on my navy quilt, staring up at me all wide eyed and trusting, she’s a total knockout.

I want to wrap the gleaming locks of her hair around my fist and tug, so I twirl some into a curl with my finger.

“I’m sorry Jim. I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Ask you out. Date you. I would never treat you—” I stop, not knowing how to finish my thought. “Jameson.”

“Sebastian.” Her lips twist into a patient smile.

“Nothing about you is easy…”

Her soft laughter fills the room. “Thank god for that.”

“I can’t believe I’m f*cking saying this, but for someone who started off as just a study partner, you’re all I can think about lately.” Her glossy hair slips from my fingers, greedy hands raking through the hair spread across my bed. “Night and day. Being on the road and not seeing you is killing me. That’s never happened before. Not talking to you was killing me. Dreaming about you—”

“Was killing you?”

I still, narrowing my eyes at her. “You didn’t look like such a smartass the day we first met.”

James cocks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What did I look like?”

“Smart and sexy.” Confident and complicated.

Jameson snickers. “You did not think I looked sexy. You thought I was a dork, don’t lie.”

I respond by raising my eyebrows and lowering my voice. “I’m going to date you, and one of these days, Jameson, I’m going to pluck all the buttons off your cardigan, one at a time, and screw you senseless while you wear nothing but your pearl necklace.”

“There are no buttons on this cardigan,” she whispers.

I lean in closer, lips resting above her ear. “I know.”

“That’s not fair,” she complains, shifting restlessly beneath me.

“What’s not fair?” The tips of our noses brush while I finger the neckline of her soft, pink sweater. It’s delicate and pretty and so very Jameson.

“The way you make me feel.”

“How do I make you feel? Tell me,” I plead.

I’m okay with begging.

I have to know what she’s thinking, hoping it might help make sense of the tangled shit I’ve got going on in my own damn head.

“You make me think about not studying,” she whispers, arching into me, nose nuzzling a trail up my neck to the valley below my ear.

Whoa!

I move my hands, bracing them on either side of her thighs, and tilt my head to give her better access to my neck. “Is that good or bad?”

“Both.” She sniffs it. “Mmmm. You smell good, though half the time I want to strangle you with my bare hands.”

“What about the other half?”

Jameson feigns a sigh in my ear so blissful and sweet it sends a shock straight down to my cock. I resist the impulse to climb all the way on top and pin her down.

“The other half, I want you to do all those dirty things you’re always threatening to do to me. Like right now, I want you out of that shirt. I want to touch you, feel your bare flesh against the tips of my fingers.”

“Oh yeah?” I croak.

“Yeah.” She’s still running the tip of her nose up the side of my neck, up and down, up and down, breathing me in. “Allison says I should let you screw me into a coma.” Her tongue flicks my earlobe and she blows lightly. “What do you think about that?”

“Holy shit, yes.” I breathe, dick officially hard inside my mesh athletic pants—painfully so. The thin fabric strains and pulls against my erection. “I knew I liked Allison.”

“But what I think I should do now is…”

“Yes?”

“Leave.”

“Leave? Why? We’re just getting started.”

Jameson pulls back, cupping my face gently in the palm of her hand. “If we don’t stop, we won’t stop, and I don’t want whatever this relationship is to be based on sex. That makes sense right? Oz, tell me it makes sense.”

“It makes sense,” I echo unhappily, crossing my arms to pout.

She’s right, of course; this relationship shouldn’t be based on sex. Or orgasms. Or blowjobs. Or round, perky tits. It should be based on getting to know her personality and her likes and dislikes. Her hopes and dreams and— Holy shit, what the hell am I even saying?

Her lips are moving and she’s speaking, but the stiff dick in my pants is straining angrily against my boxers, cutting off the blood to my brain and making it impossible to concentrate.

“So you agree?” Jameson says, licking her lips. Her glossy, juicy, pouty lips…

I jerk out a nod. “Whatever you just said, I agree. Okay. I’ll do it.” I expel a shaky puff of air and gulp back my raging disappointment. “Wait. What did I just agree to?”