The Love Hypothesis (Love Hypothesis #1)(79)

It was clear now, in the damp ache pooling between her thighs, in his eyes that were all pupil, how it would be between them. Heady and sweaty and slick. Challenging. They would do things for each other, demand things of each other. They would be incredibly close. And Olive—now that she could see it, she really, really wanted it.

She stepped close, even closer. “Well, then.” Her voice was low, but she knew he could hear her.

He shut his eyes tight. “This is not why I asked you to room with me.”

“I know.” Olive pushed a black strand of hair away from his forehead. “It’s also not why I accepted.”

His lips were parted, and he was staring down at her hand, the one that was almost wrapped around his erection a moment ago. “You said no sex.”

She had said that. She remembered thinking about her rules, listing them in his office, and she remembered being certain that she would never, ever be interested in seeing Adam Carlsen for longer than ten minutes a week. “I also said it was going to be an on-campus thing. And we just went out for dinner. So.” He might know what was best, but what he wanted was different. She could almost see the debris of his control, feel it slowly erode.

“I don’t . . .” He straightened, infinitesimally. The line of his shoulders, his jaw—he was so tense, still avoiding her eyes. “I don’t have anything.”

It was a little embarrassing, the amount of time it took for her to parse the meaning of it. “Oh. It doesn’t matter. I’m on birth control. And clean.” She bit into her lip. “But we could also do . . . other things.”

Adam swallowed, twice, and then nodded. He wasn’t breathing normally. And Olive doubted he could say no at this point. That he would even want to. He did put up a good effort, though. “What if you hate me for this, after? What if we go back and you change your mind—”

“I won’t. I . . .” She stepped—God, even closer. She wouldn’t think about after. Couldn’t, didn’t want to. “I’ve never been surer of anything. Except maybe cell theory.” She smiled, hoping he’d smile back.

Adam’s mouth remained straight and serious, but it scarcely mattered: the next time Olive felt his touch it was on the slope of her hip bone, under the cotton of the T-shirt he’d given her.





Chapter Sixteen



HYPOTHESIS: Despite what everyone says, sex is never going to be anything more than a mildly enjoyable activi— Oh.

Oh.



It was like a layer peeled away.

Adam yanked off the shirt he was wearing in one fluid movement, and it was as though the white cotton was only one of many things tossed in a corner of the room. Olive didn’t have a name for what the other things were; all she knew was that a few seconds earlier he’d seemed reluctant, almost unwilling to touch her, and now he was . . . not.

He was running the show now. Wrapping his large hands around her waist, sliding his fingertips under the elastic of her green polka-dot panties, and kissing her.

He kisses, Olive thought, like a man starved. Like he’d been waiting all this time. Holding back. Like the possibility of the two of them doing this had occurred to him in the past, but he’d set it aside, stored it away in a deep, dark place where it had grown into something fearsome and out of control. Olive thought she knew how it would be—they’d kissed before, after all. Except, she realized now, that she had always been the one to kiss him.

Maybe she was being fanciful. What did she know about different types of kisses, anyway? Still, something in her belly thrummed and liquefied when his tongue licked against hers, when he bit a tender spot on her neck, when he made a guttural noise in the back of his throat as his fingers cupped her ass through her panties. Under her shirt, his hand traveled up to her rib cage. Olive gasped and smiled into his mouth.

“You did that before.”

He blinked at her, confused, pupils blown large and dark. “What?”

“The night I kissed you in the hallway. You did it that night, too.”

“I did what?”

“You touched me. Here.” Her hand slid to her ribs to cover his through the cotton.

He looked up at her through dark lashes, and began to lift a corner of her shirt, up her thighs and past her hip until it caught right under her breast. He leaned into her, pressing his lips against the lowest part of her ribs. Olive gasped. And gasped again when he bit her softly, and then licked across the same spot.

“Here?” he asked. She was growing light-headed. It could be how close he was, or the heat in the room. Or the fact that she was almost naked, standing in front of him in nothing but panties and socks. “Olive.” His mouth traveled upward, less than an inch, teeth grazing against skin and bone. “Here?” She hadn’t thought she could get this wet this quickly. Or at all. Then again, she hadn’t really thought much about sex in the past few years.

“Pay attention, sweetheart.” He sucked the underside of her breast. She had to hold on to his shoulders, or her knees would give out on her. “Here?”

“I . . .” It took a moment to focus, but she nodded. “Maybe. Yes, there. It was . . . it was a good kiss.” Her eyes fluttered closed, and she didn’t even fight it when he took the shirt completely off her. It was his, after all. And the way he was studying her, it brooked no self-consciousness on her part. “Do you remember it?”