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He unzips my hoodie. Then his hands are on my stomach. My skin burns at his touch. Midterms seem so irrelevant now, but I'm not done teasing him yet. It's too much fun.
"And molecular biology," I say. "That was impossible."
He tugs at my t-shirt. I lift my arms to help him get it off.
His eyes pass over me slowly. Then it's his fingers skimming my sides. "You should have said hard."
My cheeks flush. "I, um..."
He unhooks my bra and pulls it off my arms. "Um…?"
I plant my hands on his chest and press my crotch into his. Hard. Yes, he is absolutely hard.
Deep breath. I want him desperately, but I want his smile as much as I want his cock. "And my Roman Poetry elective."
He unzips my jeans and pulls them off my ass. "That's a shit choice for an elective."
He runs his fingertips over the waist of my panties. A gasp escapes my lips. Midterms. Electives. They're so quaint, so far away, so much less important than this.
I rub my crotch against his. "It's better than you'd expect."
He shakes his head. "You're making this hard."
"I can tell."
He smirks. "But I'm going to beat midterms."
"You really can't." I press my lips to his. Damn, he tastes good. And I feel good. Light. Like I can float.
"That so?"
I nod. "It's all biology."
He laughs.
Then he makes me forget what year it is.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next three weeks are a blur. Miles seeps further and further into my life. He texts me during the day. I text back between classes, while I eat lunch, on the walk home from the hospital. It's little things—jokes about Star Wars or promises to make me come until I'm screaming his name or details about our day—but I smile every time I see a new text from him.
This feels good. Better than it should.
For once, I allow myself to soak up the joy. He picks me up from work every Friday night and drops me off at Kara's every Sunday morning. The time between, at his place in Malibu, is ours and ours alone. It's like the rest of the world doesn't exist. Like nothing can ever hurt us.
Time goes so fast. All of a sudden, it's the day before Thanksgiving, and Miles is at school. A surprise. He takes me out for sushi and a special showing of The Matrix. Then he drives me home and makes me come more times than I can count.
* * *
When I wake, Miles is already dressed and ready to go. I speed through my morning routine, packing and dressing as carefully as I can manage.
There. Done. Now to spend two days at my parents' house. I can handle that.
Miles's eyes pass over me. "You look nice."
Nice is hardly the compliment I expect from Miles, but it's exactly right. I'm in my most parent-pleasing outfit—a polka-dot cardigan, skinny jeans, ankle boots.
"Thank you."
