The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(72)

“Nothing?” I wish out loud.

Jameson drags a hand up her ribcage, looping her forefinger around the necklace circling her neck. She gives her head a shake. “Wrong.”

My breath catches. “What then?”

“This. I’m wearing this under my sweater.”

“The necklace?” I croak.

“Mmm hmmm.”

“No bra?”

I f*cking knew it.

Stepping forward, she closes the gap between us in one, two, three dainty steps, then bends and clasps my hands in hers, placing them on either side of her waist. My thumbs hit the tantalizing span of belly. Raising her arms, Jameson takes a sweeping handful of hair and holds it back, both hands behind her head.

Her blue sweater gaps open, revealing smooth skin. Stomach. The tantalizing underside of her bare breasts.

“Go ahead,” she urges with that sexy whisper of hers. “Take it off.”

Like I have to be told twice.

My trembling palms glide up her stomach. My nimble fingers pluck one button free. Then another.

I part the sweater, hands sweeping across her ribcage, the tips of my thumbs brushing over her stiff, dusky nipples. My eyes are fastened on them, palms stroking them tenderly, caressing.

Her tits are perfect, full and round, filling the palm of my hand. I want to suck and f*ck them both. Taste them until her panties are soaking wet.

Jameson inches forward, whimpering, her arms coming down, grasping the back of my head. Her fingers plow through my thick hair when I lean forward and drag my tongue over her nipple, flick the tip, draw the entire thing in my mouth.

Suck it. Lick it. Suck it some more.

Her labored moan fills the room, a moan so loud and arduous I thank f*ck my roommates are gone for the night.

I suckle her fantastic tits. Run my tongue along her collarbone. Lick the side of her neck. Our lips connect, tongues so wet and needy with want we’re desperately seeking ecstasy. Deliriously frantically f*cking with our mouths.

She mounts my lap. Straddles my thighs. Lines herself up and covers my giant erection with her hot, wet, *.

Hovers there.

Shamelessly, Jameson grinds down on my dick, giving a lap dance worthy of a goddamn stripper, working her pelvis until my eyes are rolling back into my skull, breasts shoved in my face.

“Shit, f*ck, shit.” I’m close to coming from the erotic gyrations. Jameson’s ass cheeks fill my hands, and, unable to handle the sensations building inside my junk, I bear down, bracing myself before rising to my full height.

Turn. Dump her into the center of the bed.

I watch her perky boobs bounce from the fall on the mattress. Watch her nipples glisten, still wet from my tongue. Watch as she shrugs out of the pale blue cardigan, spread out before me in nothing but her scanty lace panties and prim necklace.

She squirms impatiently.

Inviting me to devour her.

“When I’m done with you, I’m going to f*ck you in those pearls,” I growl, shucking my boxers and climbing toward her across the bed.

Jameson spreads her thighs—spreads them wide—luring me in.

So tempting my mouth begins to water—I’m insatiably hungry and only Jameson can satisfy me.

I linger over her, balanced above where she wants it most. Lean in and drag my flattened tongue up the inside of her shaved bikini line. Pull back the scrap of fabric covering her smooth * and lick.

Once. Twice.

Husky, surprised, moany gasps fill the air when I flick her clit with the tip of my tongue, up and down.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” she cries, pulling at my hair. “Don’t you d-dare…stop. Ohhh…”

I don’t intend to.

Hooking my fingers in the sheer waistband of her panties, I tug them down. Down her hips. Down her thighs. Down her legs. Jameson spreads herself wider, wriggling her hips on the bed, impatient and naked but for the gleaming, shiny strand of pearls around her pretty neck.

My fingers part her and I suck, tongue going deep like our lives depend on it.





Jameson



“Lay on your back.”

The command comes out more demanding than I intended, but has the desired effect. Sebastian scurries to his back, naked as the day he was born, and I marvel at the sight of him. He’s hard angles and calloused hands and firm everything.

But gentle.

I marvel at the fact that my cardigans turn him on.

My pearls turn him on.

So much so that when I reach behind my neck and unfasten the gleaming strand, Sebastian’s dark eyes glaze over with fascination. Lust.

“Why are you taking those off?” he rumbles, weight shifting on the mattress beneath us when he puts his thick arms behind his head to study me. “Please keep them on. I like ’em.”

My eyebrows rise as if to say, You know why I’m taking these off.

“You like these?” I pinch the gold clasp between two fingers and let the ivory rope dangle over his solid, heaving pecs. They hover until I lower them, dragging the warm pearls over provocatively erect nipples.

Sebastian licks his lips, dragging his teeth slowly over his tantalizing lower lip. “Did I say like? I meant love.”

The pearls slide lower across his naked body, down the slick skin of his sternum. Down the ridged plane of his chiseled, rock-hard abdomen. Down his pelvis. I let them dip into the valley between his legs, over his thick pale thighs.