Mister O(41)

I smile approvingly when she bestows a nickname on me. “Proper focus. Diligent homework. Thorough preparation. And the willingness to be spanked if you deviate from the lesson plan.”

She moves in closer, loops her arms around me, and says in a deliciously naughty good-girl voice, “You can spank me even if I don’t deviate from the lesson plan.”

Oh holy hell. Harper Holiday is going to be a star pupil in my school of hot, filthy sex. “I’m giving you an A+ so far,” I say in my studious voice. “And I fully expect you to earn gold stars in my intensive course for the next week.”

She pulls back and speaks as herself. “But it’ll only take a week?”

I nibble on her neck. “When the cat’s away . . .” I whisper, hoping my meaning is clear. I speak in my own voice, so we're both on the same page. “It’s just easier for us to do this for the next week, right?”

“Of course,” she says quickly. “Makes perfect sense, Professor Hammer. Does this mean you’ll hammer me?”

She laughs, and I crack up, too, because at last the innuendo of my surname is being used with the right woman. “That’s a guarantee. In fact, I think we should start your coursework right now, and I have a very particular lesson in mind.”

“What is it?” she asks, a little breathless, a lot eager.

I lean in close to her and rub my beard against her cheek. “I want to strip you naked so I can taste every inch of your skin. I want to spread your legs, and make you come on my lips,” I say, as I bring her hand to my jaw and finish the thought, “and all over my face.”

She gasps, and her thighs clench against my legs. “Now,” she says, like a desperate order.

My fingers return to the zipper on her back. A new round of lust pounds through me as I slide it down, undressing her for the first time. But I only get a few inches when a loud trill sounds from the bed.

“Shoot,” she mutters and reaches for her phone on the mattress. “Let me just see who that is at two in the morning.”

She slides her thumb across the screen, falls to the bed, and throws her arm on her forehead, muttering, “Jen.”

She thrusts the phone at me. A text message flashes.



Everyon left. I thin I’m gonna b sick. Wrshping porcelain g d. H l p



I roll to my side, frustration thick in my veins. “Go take care of your friend,” I say, even though I’m thinking Jen is winning the gold medal for cock-blocking. “But tomorrow, Harper? Your first lesson is turning off your phone. Then you’re getting a full serving of multiple orgasms. Is that clear?”

Harper grabs the collar of my shirt, pulls me close, and says, “Yes.” Then she gives me the hottest good night kiss ever.

I jerk off when she leaves.

Obviously.





19





On the train the next afternoon, she steals glances at me.

Family surrounds us. My parents, Harper’s parents, her very hungover, cock-blocking friend Jen, and my siblings are spread out in the first few rows of the car.

Harper sits by the window, next to my sister, and I’m in the seat that directly faces her. It kills me to be this close. I spread the Sunday paper over my lap, grateful that the crossword puzzle serves twin purposes today. Distraction and cover-up. I fill in a clue and then sneak a peek at the hot redhead I intend to f*ck in so many ways.

Her head is bent over her e-reader, and she nibbles the corner of her lips as we roll along the Connecticut coast. A swath of hair falls over her forehead, obscuring the side of her face. Briefly, she looks up at me, and her eyes are hazy with lust.

Her gaze sends a charge through me, and I adjust the paper more over my thighs.

I don’t dare text her now, because I don’t know who’d peer over her shoulder and see my words. Probably Wyatt, and I might as well hire a skywriter if that happened.

My sister types on her phone, and Wyatt leans over the armrest, chatting with my dad across the aisle. My mom talks to Harper’s mom in the row behind us, discussing when the first Holiday grandchild will be born. As soon as those words land on my ears, I tune them out and put in earbuds. I toggle through my music, hunting for something to occupy me for the next hour as the train roars along the coastline, headed for New York.

When Band of Horses appears on my scroll of songs, I stop, remembering when Harper said she loved the song in the coffee shop. Casting my eyes around, I confirm everyone is busy, so I raise my phone, briefly flashing the screen at her.

I’m rewarded with a sweet smile, as she mouths, Love that band.

She returns to her book, and I lift my pencil, ready to tackle more clues. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice her slide her thumb across the screen. Then she brings her finger to her mouth and runs it absently across her bottom lip.

Desire slams into me, full-force, unabated. I would do just about anything to grab her hand, tug her into the train restroom, and kiss the f*ck out of her. Because I know what she’s doing. She’s remembering how I touched her, how I kissed her, how she let go with me last night.

She’s lingering on the memories, and I wonder if she’s even fully aware. Her eyes are on the screen, but she shifts in her seat like she’s turned on.

This train is a straitjacket. All I want is to touch her, talk to her.

She raises her face once more and locks eyes with me. I mouth, Are you wet?