The Locker Room(41)

“Lots of oral.’’ I roll my eyes. And even though I should feel stressed by this overzealous sports hotshot, I’m smiling. He’s a nut . . . but he might become my nut.

“Exactly, you got it now, babe.” He squeezes me and I chuckle, loving how he can make me happy in a matter of seconds. “Okay, I think we have one rule left.”

“Only going with four?”

“Why not? We don’t want to make things too difficult right off the bat. Let’s keep it at four. And the last one is, no matter how casual we are, we are always exclusive. That means my penis is the only penis you’re fondling. Got it?”

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see my face. “I know what being exclusive means and trust me, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” My voice comes out more snide than I meant.

“Hey.” He turns me on his lap so he can see me, and I can see how he’s switched to serious Knox. “Are you worried about me cheating or something?”

“No,” I say, hanging my head and playing with the drawstring of my hoodie. “You’re a good guy, and I don’t think you have that in you. But it will probably be something that’s in the back of my mind.”

“Because of your ex-boyfriend?”

“Yeah, because of him.”

He moves his hand around my back, and the heat of his palm warms me. “You’ll never have to worry about that with me, Em. I promise. I may not have been in a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in monogamy. My word is my word.”

“Thank you,” I say, cupping his face.

I lean forward, staring at his lips. I’m about to press my mouth against his when he says, “Are we really going to have our first kiss in the dining hall with all these onlookers?”

I smile. “I’m game if you are.”

A wicked gleam lights up his eyes. “You know I am.” One of his hands slides up my thigh while the other cups the back of my head and lowers me to his lips.

Nervous—because Knox is only the second guy I’ve kissed—I try to be as loose as possible when his lips touch mine.

Soft with the perfect amount of pressure, our lips fuse together. The sounds of clanking silverware against plates and students chattering fade away, leaving only the thrumming of my rapidly beating heart to fill my ears.

Our lips part at the same time, wanting more, exploring. My tongue slips into his mouth while my fingers thread through his hair. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his grip on my thigh tightens. Our tongues work in tandem together, seeking more, reaching for more but never sloppy. Little flicks, tiny kisses, our mouths never extending too far. Gentle but new, the tension in our hands is a contradiction to the soft movements of our mouths. I’ve missed this. This softness. Intimacy. Honesty.

I could kiss this man all day. That’s how good he is. How patient and relaxed he is, almost like he’s letting me take charge, but I know deep down he’s not. He’s guiding me with his movements, slightly tilting my head, flicking his tongue over my lips, leaning into me. He uses his entire body when he kisses, and I can feel the power move from his spine to the tips of his fingers, letting me know just how much he wants me.

It’s perfect.

It’s—

“Yeah, Gentry. Get it, man,” some douche cheers off to the side.

On a deep breath, I pull away and tuck my head into his shoulder, embarrassed that I lost control in the dining hall.

Keeping my head tucked, I ask, “How many people are staring?”

He soothingly rubs my back and says, “Pretty much everybody.”

“Perfect.” I laugh.

“I’m not even mad about it, because now every dickhead in this building knows you’re mine.”

“And I just became enemy number one with all the girls here.”

“Nah, they’ll just talk behind your back,” he jokes.

“Great.” I lift away and keep my eyes trained on him. I draw my finger across his bottom lip and say, “You’re a really good kisser.”

“I practice on my hand every day.”

“Shut up.” I push his shoulder, causing him to laugh even more.

When his laughter dies down, he says, “You’re a damn good kisser too, Em. Too good.” He sneaks one more kiss in. “Fuck, I hate that I have to get going now.” With a sexy smile, he pats my backside and says, “Walk me out?”

“Of course. There’s no way I’m staying here with all the ravenous beasts waiting to spring on me.”

We gather his things, stuff them in his bag but not before signing the “rules”—so ridiculous—and then take off down the stairs and out the doors.

Once outside, he brings me to the side where he reaches into his pocket and hands me his phone. “It’s time I get that number, don’t you think?”

I glance at his phone but don’t take it. “I don’t know. If we’re keeping it casual, we can still just talk through student chat.”

“Over my dead body. Phone number, Ealson. Now.”

I cross my arms over my chest and jut out my hip. “Do you really think you’re going to get what you want by talking to me like that?”

He pulls on the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “How are we going to do all the oral if I don’t have your phone number?”