Page 52 of Doomsdate

Everett’s right—I do feel vulnerable, and it does turn me on even as it sets my pulse to racing. I suck in a breath just as his full lips meet mine. It feels like cymbals crashing, this kiss I’ve thought about a hundred times in the last two days. It starts slow and deliberate, with Everett leading the way, our mouths dancing together, then apart, but like a nuclear reaction, it picks up speed, doubling in size and intensity, a chain reaction neither of us seems willing to control. I blame the feel of his large palm dragging roughly down my breast, the terry cloth between us adding friction, a thousand tiny points of sensation against the hard peak of my nipple. I collapse onto my back, and Everett breaks our kiss, panting for permission to touch my legs.

“Yes,” I say toward the ceiling, and the word has never felt so good between my lips.

Everett runs his palm down my body before dipping inside my robe and pushing between the soft, yielding flesh of my thighs.

“Open your legs for me, Maisie,” he rasps, and my legs spread wide like a book turned to a new page. “Can I lie between them?” He’s staring at the pink of my flushed skin as he runs his knuckles down the inside of each leg, then sucks air through his teeth. “Can I press my hard cock against your soft little cunt?”

“Through our clothes?”

“Yes.” His lips part as he drinks me in, his even tone corroding in real time. “At first.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak right now.

My professor rises to his knees and bends my leg to my chest, his pupils blown wide as he takes in the wet ruin of my panties. I understand the science of this part, at least. I’ve read all about the mechanics of sex, and after our kiss two nights ago, saw the physical evidence of my arousal for myself. But this, this is on a whole new level. The ache between my legs seems directly proportionate to the warm, slick feel of my flesh there, it’s just the proportions are completely out of control. My cheeks burn hot as he stares at me greedily, his face almost pained. “I want to touch you, Maisie,” he grates out, his professorial tone gone. “I want to make you come so bad.”

“Then touch me,” I gasp. “Do it.”

He looms over me as he positions himself between my legs, his erection large and thick and all for me. He grabs it through the thin cotton of his pants, sliding it against my slick panties until I clench with pleasure, before dropping to his palms on either side of my head.

“Not. Yet,” he urges into my hair, and then he’s back, my professor, as he slowly, slowly grinds his hips between my own. The hard pillar of his cock slots between my legs, parting me from ass to clit. The gruff, vertical slide of pleasure is like nothing I’ve ever felt, and I’m no stranger to sex toys. I always assumed the real thing had to go in to feel good, but the full pressure of him against me is so rich, so maddening, it feels like I might break beneath it.

“Wrap your legs around me, Maisie. Tight as you can.” And when I do as he says, he falls to his elbows, his big hands gently cradling my face as he groans.

“Like this?” I flex my legs around his solid core, bringing him flush against me, trapping him there. Wanting his approval.

His eyes darken, studying me as intently as I’m studying him. The pad of his thumb rubs lazy circles into my cheek until it drags over my bottom lip. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

“Should I suck it?” I ask as he parts my lips. I take his ragged intake of air as approval and wrap my lips around his thumb, pulling lightly, sucking until his eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Jesus, Maisie.” He crashes against me, and I think maybe I could come like this. The pleasure-pain of his grinding cock, the feel of his round thumb filling my mouth—I definitely have questions about why this is turning me on so much—the sound of his nearly incoherent speech as he struggles to remain composed.

“I never thought,” he murmurs, lips parted, eyes dilated and fixed on my mouth, “I’d do this again. Never—thought,” he groans as I release his thumb, and he rubs the wet skin across my cheekbone, “I’d be ready for this again.”

He dives in for another earth-melting kiss, but his words stutter in my chest.

“But you said you were ready.” I press my palms against his collarbone, halting him over me.

“What?” His eyes, starry and lust-blown, take a second to return to me.

“You told me you were ready for a new relationship in our messages.” I frown at him. “Were you lying?”

Everett’s brow furrows, like he’s weighing how to respond. I increase the pressure on my palms, and he sits back on his haunches, over me. He runs his hands down his face and exhales.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Chapter Twelve

Everett

Fuck.

Maisie’s propped up on her elbows, her legs still spread wide before me, but her eyes, so trusting, so achingly hungry minutes ago, now glint with anger, suspicion. Fear.

“Tell me what?”

I sit all the way back, and she grips the loose sides of her robe tightly closed, then sits up, too. I should’ve told her before now, I knew I should’ve told her, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings more than I already had. We were only traveling together for three days—I thought I could maintain the secret until then. Spare us both the discomfort of knowing what really brought us together.

I was wrong.