Ramona shakes her head, because suddenly she’s not sure she can do this otherwise. “I want more, too.”
Now she allows herself to properly take in the sight of his chest. All that tan skin, the rhythm of his breaths, the curve of his broad shoulders. The auburn hair dusted along his pecs and spreading downward from his navel. Twin dimples on either side of his hips, just begging for her to put her tongue there.
“Oh, so you’re the only one who gets to look?” Nick asks, mouth quirking.
She scoffs. “You’ve already seen me in a swimsuit.”
He reaches for the hem of her sweatshirt. Yanks it off in one fluid motion. “Not the same.”
Her leggings are much more of a challenge, given the way thebrand touted their buttery softness but not how impossible they are for your partner to remove in bed. She’s suing Alo Yoga first thing tomorrow.
Finally,finally, the cursed leggings are off, and Nick’s gazing at her mismatched bra and panties, eyes heavy with want.
“So fucking beautiful,” he says, his fingertips sliding under one bra strap. She reaches around herself to flick open the clasp.
With his mouth on her collarbone, he gently lowers her to the duvet. His cock pushes against the fabric of his boxers in this way that makes her light-headed, certain she’ll faint before she gets her hands on him. This is already different from the office, different from the open house, and not just because of the addition of a bed. Maybe it still feels frantic, but now they know each other.
“The way I’ve dreamed about being able to do this again,” he says, rolling one nipple between his thumb and index finger while he trails his lips across her neck. “This curve of your shoulder…it fucking haunts me.”
He sucks on the soft skin there before giving her breasts his full attention, tongue and teeth finding a slow, agonizing rhythm.Jesus, it’s already too good, and she doesn’t hold herself back from letting him know. Crying out and rocking her hips and fisting a hand in his hair to press his face harder against her chest. Indulgent—that’s how it feels, as though now that they’ve established they’re not in a hurry, he’s going to draw this out as much as possible.
“You’re torturing me,” she says, absolutely drunk on him.
A dark laugh. Mouth on her navel. “Good. You’ve done plenty of it the past couple months.” He hooks a finger into the band of her panties and gives them a snap. “Exhibit A: when you left a pair of these in my bag.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m completely innocent.”
“Like hell you are,” he says, dropping kisses along her waistline.
Then he lifts his head, giving her a questioning look as he brings his other hand to her panties. Thumbs balanced on her hip bones. Waiting for her permission.
“Please,” she says, dimly aware every word from her mouth sounds like she’s begging.
Once he slides them down and nudges them aside, he swallows hard, taking her in. Her whole body, completely on display. There’s only a shadow of her recent shyness—because shewantshim to see her. Wants him to look.
“Ramona,” he says in this low, awed voice. “I can’t believe you’re real. You arestunning, in every single way.”
And though she’s heard those words her entire life, they sound different in his voice. They mean something, coming from him.
Yet her first instinct is to turn away, suddenly bashful.
He tucks a finger beneath her chin and brings her back to him. “I’m serious. When you’re in a room…everything else might as well not exist.”
“You too,” she manages on an exhale as warmth blooms in her chest. Maybe it’s a compliment he hasn’t gotten enough, and he deserves to hear it just as much as she has. She digs a hand into his scruff. “No professor should have a jawline as defined as yours. You’re just…lovely. I never want to stop looking at you.”
She’s worried for a moment that this mention of his job will pull him out of the moment, but he only blushes, because evidently she can still make him blush when they’re like this, andgod, she likes that a lot. He lowers his body to hers, kissing her harder just as she reaches toward the bulge in his boxer briefs.He’s not giving her the right angle, so she stretches farther, skimming her hand over the outline of his length.
But then he grits his teeth. A flex of his abdominal muscles as he circles her wrist with his fingers.
“You haven’t—not yet,” she explains. “We’re uneven.”
When he brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her palm, she’s hit with a surge of affection. “This isn’t a transaction. You have to know by now. Giving you pleasure…gets me off.”
This takes a moment to compute.
“I—okay. Just trying to process years of bad sex.” Then she cringes. “Sorry, not to mention past partners or anything. It’s like I’m cursed when we’re together—my mouth just won’t shut up.”
A wolfish smile. “I’m very fond of your mouth,” he says, a gorgeous hint of pride in his voice as he skates his thumb along her bottom lip. “And you already gave me enough information to boost my ego.”
