Frayed (Connections, #4)(97)

I raise my hand like the good student I never was.

She squares her shoulders. “Yes, Ben, you have a question.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. She really would be a good teacher if I ever gave her that control. “Can you explain what you mean by fictional virtuosities?”

The corners of her lips tilt up. “I can tell you’re surprised. Believe it or not, I paid attention in school.”

My laughter rasps. “I believe it.”

She continues. “A variety of personalities are portrayed in the text, including children who are smart, women who are full of grit, strong old ladies, men with confidence, fools, drunks. The book is just a cornucopia of complex characters.”

To be honest I am rightfully impressed, but I continue to play along with our little charade. “So you enjoyed it?”

“Students’ hands should always be raised.”

I pull her to me to say, “I thought we were doing this later, but if you’re ready, I think we should take it to the bedroom, where I can show you just the kind of student I am.”

She nods, breathing heavy, and then pulls the strings of the sweatshirt I’m wearing and yanks me up toward her. “You found your sweatshirt.”

“I thought it looked familiar. Was it your choice of contraband sweatshirts back then?”

She pushes me to the couch cushion and tries to hold my arms down, but fast as lightning I flip her on her back and pin her wrists above her head. “Are we moving from student/teacher to submissive/dominant? Because I’m up for that too,” I growl. A rush of arousal floods me at the thought of tying her down.

Her eyes burn into mine, lust looming in their depths. “Are you staying tonight?” Pressing my raging hard-on into her belly, I return her stare. “I didn’t realize there was a question as to whether I would.”

“Kiss me,” she purrs, and ignores my statement.

“You understand I’m the dominant, right? That means I take control, not you.”

“Kiss me, please,” she repeats.

And I do that and so much more.

? ? ?

I stare at her for the longest time, trying not to breathe so as not to wake her. She stirs and flips around. Fuck me, my cock lies pressed against her ass and I don’t know if she’s awake and doing it on purpose or if she’s sleeping.

I kiss her head and slide my leg off the bed. Obviously not on purpose since she doesn’t stir.

“Where are you going?” she asks. So—maybe on purpose.

Before leaving the room, I bend down and kiss her head. “I’m going to go get us some coffee.”

“Oh God, I love you,” she says sleepily.

I freeze on the spot, but she doesn’t say another word as she settles her head into the pillow and falls back asleep.

I pass her comment off as what it was, gratitude for much-needed coffee, but I can’t keep her words from echoing in my head the whole drive to Starbucks and back. Love is the last thing I’m looking for right now. I just got myself together and I’m not looking for overly serious.

When I walk back into her apartment, I check my thoughts at the door the minute I see the green bikini still lying on the back of the sofa. I pick it up and with my tray of coffees I head into the bedroom, but she’s not in the bed. I hear the shower and walk into the bathroom.

Setting everything down, I lean against the wall to look at her through the steamed glass. The shape of her perky breasts, the curves of her perfect-sized ass, and the contour of her legs couldn’t be more defined. I find myself biting my lip as she lifts her arms and scrubs her hair, then squeezes body wash into her palms and rubs it along her body, but when her hands rub circles across her tits, I can’t suppress a groan.

She opens the door and peeks out from the shower. “Are you watching me?”

I pick up my coffee cup and sip from it. “I was going to join you, but you looked so good from here I got caught up in the show.”

She shrugs. “Finish your coffee.”

Fuck, I almost choke. How could anyone not love her? I go back to watching and sipping my coffee. But the minute she lets her fingers wander to her *, I have to jump in. “I’ll do that.”

The shower water is hot, but nothing feels hotter than the feel of her skin against mine. I can’t get enough of her. We’ve spent two days together, had sex more times than I’ve had with any one person in a forty-eight-hour window of time, and I still want more.

“The water’s getting cold,” she whispers to me.

I reach to pull the lever and turn it off. “We’re clean enough.”

She shivers and I reach for some towels, wrapping one around her shoulders and then dropping to my knees to pat her body dry. Once her legs are dry, I make my way up her body to the areas I want to concentrate on the most—the silky skin between her legs and her breasts. When I stand back up, I wring the water from her hair and take a moment to stare at her. “Leave your hair curly today.”

She nods. Her palms are flush to the tile wall and her chest is visibly rising and falling.

So I drop back down to my knees and flick my tongue against her clit. Clutching her ass, I pull her closer to me. I work my mouth eagerly, loving the feel of her beneath my tongue, the taste of her, how wet she is. Her hands clasp my head and I can feel the muscles in her legs tighten. I clutch her ass tighter as I consume every inch of her sweet *. Tension coils in my own body. But the sounds she makes practically make me come on the spot—her stuttered sighs followed by her soft moans that become louder as she calls out my name.