Need Me (Broke and Beautiful #2)(22)

No, he just had. He’d yanked it away, and now the circle of professors was staring at him. Not Peter, though, Peter was still in the bathroom. Which only gave Ben a few seconds to get out of here.

“I . . . uh.” He made a vague gesture toward his throat. “Need something to drink besides lemonade. Going to make a trip to the vending machine.”

He thought he heard Viv offering to walk with him, but he was already halfway to the door. What the f*ck was he doing? When he found Honey and Johnny, was he going to give them detention? Jesus, he didn’t know. He only knew he needed to stop Honey from having bad dorm-room sex. He just needed to stop her, period, and make her look at him. With that convoluted goal in mind, he rode the elevator to the first floor and strode down the deserted hallway to push open the exit door, thinking he’d see them hopping into a cab or walking hand in hand toward the subway. The thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

Nowhere. He saw them nowhere. Honey, Lolita, his closet girl. She’d been spirited away by a teenager doused in Axe body spray. His head started to pound, drowning out the traffic on Broadway. He felt like he’d just stepped off one of those carnival rides whose sole purpose was to spin until it stole your equilibrium. He hated those rides, but they were nothing compared to this. Without a destination or plan in place, Ben pushed back through the doors leading into the building.

Honey stood at the end of the dim hallway. Alone.

Relief almost doubled him over, but he didn’t have time for that, because he needed to get to her. She hadn’t left with another guy. Halle-f*ckin-lujah. As soon as he started walking toward her—because really, he didn’t have a choice in the matter—she stepped into the classroom to her right. Ben knew exactly what would happen if the two of them got inside that classroom together with the door shut. He also knew it was f*cking inevitable. He’d never wanted anything more in his life, and he wasn’t capable of giving a damn at the moment that a faculty-heavy party was in full swing a few floors up. His girl hadn’t left with another guy and he’d made her * hurt by touching it twice and not making her come. That’s all he f*cking knew.

Last time you touched me there, you walked away and it . . . it hurt, Ben. I still hurt . . . please don’t tease me.

Ben walked faster, faster until he was almost jogging.





Chapter 8



HONEY BACKED AWAY from the doorway slowly, waiting for Ben to appear inside it. This Ben, the one she’d seen at the end of the hallway, was not the Ben who lectured about Hemingway to a hall full of students. This wasn’t even the Ben who’d gotten mad at her in the storage closet. Not even close. The Ben she’d just watched launch himself after her had looked miserable and a little lost. Then. Then he’d looked a whole lot ready for something else. Like, hard, angry screwing. With her.

Good. She wanted it, too. She’d wanted him for a month, and he’d gone after her. Whatever had happened upstairs, he’d gone after her. So she would worry about the rest of it tomorrow. When tomorrow came and went and he realized she didn’t do it for a grade, that niggling issue would take care of itself. They couldn’t be together because he was her professor? Fine. Fine. But she’d watched that woman paw him for the last hour while he’d refused to even make more than the barest eye contact with her, calling territorial instincts she didn’t even know she possessed to the surface.

Did going after him after he’d insulted her character make her weak? No, it didn’t. Weak would be hiding in the back of the classroom for the rest of the semester, pretending she didn’t want him. Denying the attraction until it went away. That wasn’t what she was about. What this was about. She needed him, and if he followed her in here, he needed her right back. In her estimation, acknowledging what she wanted and taking it made her strong.

Ben sounded out of breath when he rounded the doorway into the classroom. He stood outlined by the frame for a moment, looking her over from head to toe. Burning her. God, he looked amazing. If possible, his stubble had grown more pronounced during the reading, hair standing out at every direction. Honey trapped a gasp in her throat when he slammed the door behind him and came toward her, moving so fast her heart shot to her throat. His long legs ate up the distance. The weight of his determined gaze had her gripping the large metal desk behind her for balance.

Just before Ben reached her, she shot forward and met him, their mouths preying on one another’s, hot and hungry. He hauled her body up against his, bending her backwards over his forearm and yanking her back up, as if he couldn’t decide how he wanted her. How to get close enough. His fingertips traced the hem of her dress before slipping beneath to skim up the inside of her thigh. When his warm hand molded to the flesh between her legs and squeezed, Honey broke away with a moan.

“Does it still hurt?” He grated the question at her lips. “Tell me it still hurts so I can lick it better.”

A sharp exhale burst from her mouth. “It still hurts.”

Her ass hit the metal desk before she’d even registered him picking her up. It was the first time she’d ever seen him without glasses. At some point during their kiss he’d taken them off and stowed them somewhere unseen. She’d always wondered if he’d be even more handsome without them on and decided then that he was incredible both ways. With or without. Without, however, he didn’t remotely resemble her English professor anymore. No. With his black dress shirt shoved up to his elbows and hair falling across his forehead, he looked masculine, sexual. Like a man. She’d never been with a man. Only boys. Excitement, anticipation, of what was to come whipped through her midsection before moving lower. Lower.