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“You’re the most dangerous kind,” he says, in a voice so low I can practically feel it in the soles of my feet. “Bad trouble that feels good.”
The bulge makes contact just before his mouth does, and I summon all my willpower and grab his shirt in my fist instead. He presses me backward, into the counter, and he kisses me harder and I open my mouth under his and he’s got one hand in my hair, fingers sifting through it, the other around my ribcage, his thumb stroking the spot just below my bra’s underwire.
Tentatively, I put one hand on his chest, over his shirt, and I slide it down, feeling the warm muscles under the fabric as he pushes into me a little harder, the countertop digging into my back.
I think of what he said last time we were like this. My body is yours. My breathing’s gone erratic as his thumb slides up and over the curve of my lower breast until it finds my nipple, and even through two layers of fabric I inhale sharply, heat twisting through me.
My hands dip under his shirt, wandering, exploring. He runs his thumb over my nipple again, now a stiff nub, and he circles it slowly, his other hand skimming down my body, landing on my thigh.
I kiss him harder, deeper, and he grinds against me, very hard and very big against my lower belly, and I don’t mind or panic or wonder what I should do.
I just like it. I like the effect I have on him. I like that he so unabashedly wants me, and he twists my skirt between his fingers, drawing it up and I hook my fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and I pull at them, ever so slightly.
He groans, softly. He flicks his thumbnail over my stiff nipple and now his palm is against my thigh, moving up, and then he pulls his mouth away from mine as his thumb slides under the elastic of my panties, over my hip.
“How serious were you about dinner before dessert?” I ask, pulling his sweatpants another millimeter lower over the hard muscles of his hips as he rocks against me.
Caleb hooks one finger through my underwear, twisting it, playing.
“I’m willing to reconsider,” he teases, his voice raspy.
“And?”
“And my bedroom’s upstairs, first door on the left.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just gives me one more kiss and then releases me, takes my hand in his, and pulls me through the kitchen and into the dark upstairs, then through a door and into a bedroom.
The bed is made. The only light is from a small lamp on one of the two bedside tables, books stacked next to it. The room also has a bookshelf crammed with books, more books stacked on the floor, two dressers, and a shelf with a few plants on it.
It’s simple, clean, cozy, a far cry from the dorm rooms and student apartments that my few other experiences have been in. Everything feels at home, like it’s exactly where it should be, including me.
The door clicks shut, and I turn just in time to se Caleb pulling his shirt over his head.
At exactly that moment, I realize I’ve never seen him with his shirt off before. Even in the stairwell he was still dressed — we both were — half-blind and in the dark, exploring each other by touch.
No professor should look like this. It should be illegal to have a Ph.D. and a six pack, shoulders that broad, arms that muscled, and an Adonis belt.
That’s the pelvic V that points right to the dick. I learned the name in an Art History class I took, but this is the first time it’s ever come in useful.
Oh, and the bulge is still there, only now it’s less of a bulge and more of a sideways Mt. Everest.
“Ta da,” he says, walking toward me. “I forgot to offer you the tour. This is my bedroom. Office is over there.”
He jerks one thumb over his shoulder as he closes the distance, my fingers find the tie on my dress.
I pull, slowly.
“Is that going to be on the quiz?” I ask.
He watches my fingers as I pull the bow undone, then release the square knot at its base.
“Quiz?” he echoes after a long pause, stopping midway to where I’m standing, by the bed.
“Dumb joke,” I say, and let my dress fall open, pulling the tie loose from around my waist. My heart is pounding and I feel like I can barely breathe, but it’s not from nerves or anxiety. I’m not afraid of what’s about to happen, not even a little.
I’m just excited, breathless with anticipation. Caleb’s staring at me, stopped in his tracks, all his attention utterly focused on me.
It’s a powerful feeling, the sensation that right now I could tell him to walk to me on his knees and he’d do it. I push my dress over my shoulders, pull the sleeves off, let it drop to the floor.
