“Well, it’s a nice house.”
He draws her closer, leaning down until his breath scrapes her ear. “Ramona. You think I’m not lying awake at night, wondering if you taste as good as you feel?” The way she reacts makes him feel drugged. The urgent rise of her chest. The part of her lips. A soft little sigh when his mouth brushes the top of her ear. This girl who’s always in control loves it when he takes charge—he sees that now. “Or that I’m not losing my mind every single time you touch me? Dreaming about kissing you, and holding you, and being inside you—and feeling devastated when I wake up?”
Now the blush travels down her neck, her pupils blown wide. He wants to follow that pretty shade of pink all the way down her body. Find where it ends.
“I dream about you too, professor.” She places a hand on his chest. The way she calls him that shouldn’t make him hard, but it does, and she must be fully aware of it. Maybe she’s saying it on purpose, trying to give him an out he isn’t going to take. “But I don’t want to put your job at risk, and—”
She breaks off with a sharp exhale, distracted by the fingertips that land at her waist. The thumb pressed to her hip bone. With the way her lashes flutter, he can see she’s waging an internal battle.
The wordjobmight as well be in ancient Sumerian for how foreign it is right now.
“What do you dream about?” he asks.
“Locking the door to your office. Taking off your glasses andunbuttoning your shirt.” Then, in a near whisper: “Finally being able to make you come.”
Jesus.He’s hanging on by the world’s thinnest thread. “When I see you in class,” he continues, voice shredded, “I’m worried it’s written all over my face. That anyone can see how badly I want to take you to bed.” He drags his thumb lower, until it dips right beneath her waistband. “Sometimes I think I might stop breathing unless I can have you in any way you’d let me.”
He senses it the same second she does—the shattering of their resolve. The rush of giving in.
“Then fuck it,” she says with a fistful of his shirt. “Have me.”
22
When Nick kisses her, theentire world collapses into want. It’s heat and longing andrelief, sweet fucking relief, like her first sip of oxygen after a lifetime underwater. His hands are already wandering up the back of her cropped sweatshirt while she scrapes her fingers along his jaw and into his hair. God, she loves his scruff and the warmth at the back of his neck and hiships, perfect hips pressing against hers. Every bit as desperate as she is.
Then he’s sliding one hand beneath her knees and picking her up, carrying her down the hall.
Ramona’s laugh is nearly a squeal. She winds her arms around his neck, trying to kiss his chin, the side of his face, as he navigates them to the stairs.
“No way am I missing the chance to get you in a bed this time,” he says, panting. Slowing down. Pausing halfway up to catch his breath. “But…I may have misjudged the distance to your room.”
She pats his chest, indicating he can put her down if it’s too much, but he only holds her tighter. “I’m renovating tomorrow. Or moving into a shoebox.”
Now that they’re stopped, she takes the opportunity to breathe him in. She presses her mouth to his rough cheek, letting his cedar-peppermint scent wash over her.
Any other man, she’d be worried whether he wanted her or merely the idea of her, and until recently, she thought Nick Navarro landed somewhere in the middle.
Now she has no doubt which side he’s on.
At the threshold of her bedroom, he slides her down his body, hands grasping for as much of her as he can get. His mouth opens against her throat just as her toes hit the carpet, and then she’s dragging him over to the bed, climbing into his lap. No,thisis where she’s moving in—right here, with her legs on either side of his hips and his hands in her hair, the hair he washed so tenderly last night.
When she got dressed, she specifically chose an outfit she wouldn’t feel sexy in, but maybe the truth is that she was comfortable enough around him not to mind if he saw her in sweats. Either he’s extremely turned on by French terry or he doesn’t care what she’s wearing, with the way he groans as his hands curve over her ass. He squeezes her through her leggings, pushing her up against his erection. He’s already so hard for her, a sensation that burns all the way down her spine.
Ramona can barely believe she has permission to kiss him everywhere she wants to. It’s almost overwhelming, deciding where to start. Then the gold hoop through his left ear quivers, and she gives it a nudge with her nose before she bites it.Oh—somehow that’s even better than she imagined, especially when she tugs the metal between her teeth and he lets out the filthiest little moan.
“I’ve been wanting to do that,” she says, “for fucking forever.”
“Do it again. Please.” And so she does, harder this time. Hiseyes flutter shut, and the deep red that spills across his face is downright indecent.
He’s wearing too much clothing, and she can’t take another instant of not seeing him. She swipes his glasses and stows them on the bedside table, voice catching in her throat while his fingertips map her lower back. Becausefuck, his face is pretty: rapt gaze, long lashes, faint lines on his forehead and creased beneath his eyes. She puts her mouth on every single one.
With zero grace, she tugs off his shirt, trying to be patient when it gets stuck on his watch. Then she reaches for his belt beneath her, tries frantically to unbuckle it while she’s still in his lap.
“Slow down. We have time,” he says with a laugh, tilting her forward to kiss her again. Only until class tomorrow morning, really. And that’s not nearly enough. “We don’t have to do everything right now.”
“This isn’t just a onetime thing?” The relief makes her dizzy.
“No. Not for me. Unless that’s what you want?”
