Getting Schooled (The Wright Brothers #1)(31)

I laughed. “Here we go, huh?”

“What?” She smiled, leaning back in her chair as she played with the end of one of her braids. “That’s not an insult, just an observation. Because I observe.”

“If you were so observant, you’d remember that I did fuck something out of you. Jay, Jay, Jay, right there, Jay, oh my God, Jay,” I said, imitating her feminine tone.

Once again, her eyes went wide, and she pressed her lips together tight to keep from smiling. “You sure you want to wait? Don’t you need to, I don’t know, go study, or go to work? Something. Anything.”

I shook my head. “Not today. Day off.”

“And you want to spend it waiting to talk to your professor about your grade?”

“No,” I grinned. “I want to spend it getting on your nerves.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know, I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“What?” I scoffed. “Don’t try to act like you don’t enjoy this dynamic, like you aren’t having fun.”

Reese pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, scraping it between her teeth before she released it. That little action reminded me that with all the sexing we did that night, we hadn’t kissed, and I couldn’t think of a good reason why not.

“So… you’re trying to “have fun” with me now?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”

“I guess you could say that. I’m just making sure you don’t think something changed because we slept together.”

I chuckled. “Sleep is the least of what we did.”

“True.” She eyed me for several moments, then let out a little sigh. “All of that not sleeping we did, and barely any foreplay. Are you always so eager?”

Oh.

So she was thinking about what we hadn’t done too.

“Me, the eager one?” I leaned forward over her desk, heard the little hitch in her breath, and smiled. “You were wet before I even touched you, princess. You’re probably wet now.”

She rolled her eyes. “So typically male, thinking that foreplay is just about getting you wet, instead of treating it like an important part of sex, to enjoy just as much as penetration.”

“Oh I enjoy it plenty. Exploring, tasting, savoring, learning the sensitive areas on a woman’s body. It’s important to me.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “But you didn’t do that.”

“Because that’s not what you asked for. You asked to get fucked, so that’s what we did. The other stuff is reserved for someone who belongs to me. You trying to belong to me?”

I was still leaning over the desk, my gaze locked with hers. When I said that, she broke the gaze, looking away and clearing her throat.

“Belong? Wow, Jason. I thought you were a lot more progressive than that. Thought you knew people only belonged to themselves. That they aren’t objects for you to take ownership of.”

I laughed. “I agree with that… generally speaking. But in a relationship, there’s absolutely a certain justified sense of ownership. You’re entering into an agreement – a partnership. Your time, your body, your attention, your thoughts… your heart. That’s not saying that you’re that person’s slave, or that they’re yours. That’s not saying somebody has to bow to your ideals, or follow your commands. But because of the desired, reciprocal connection, yes… a part of them belongs to you, while you’re together.

That’s why we get pissed about cheating, right? Especially “emotional” affairs. They betrayed you, gave away something you thought was yours. Gave away your laughs, your orgasms, your moans, your quiet contemplations. The shit you wouldn’t dare give somebody else. It may not be “progressive” or politically correct, but hey… I never claimed to be either. I’m just speaking my mind.”

She nodded. “Okay. I guess I see your point. But you can’t be throwing around the word “belong” all willy-nilly around here. The professor would’ve lit your ass up.”

I chuckled. “And I would’ve accepted my ass-lighting and still argued my point. Wouldn’t budge.”

“You think you could handle her?”

“I handle you don’t I?

Reese shook her head, showing me that pretty smile she seemed to like to keeping closely guarded when I was around. “I let you think you’re handling me.”

“Nah, I let you think you’re not getting handled.”

The smile stayed. “What’s your story, Jason Wright?”

“My story?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Military vet, mechanic–slash–car salesman, student, asshole… amputee. How did life bring you here?”

“Oh, so you’re interested in me now, huh?” I grinned.

“You know what… yes. I am.”

I shrugged. “Okay. I’m the youngest of three boys—”

“Which is why you’re a crybaby. Makes sense.”

I laughed. “Are you gonna let me tell it?”

“Yes, continue please.”

“Like I said, youngest of three boys. We’re 28, 31, and 34. By the time I was graduating high school, the college money had been exhausted between my brothers, and I didn’t want to add more financial burden to my parents. And, I wasn’t interested in school anyway.”