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His eyes fill with heat. Oh my. Maybe that flash of us doing the horizontal mambo isn’t so out of the realm of reality after all.
“Name?” His voice comes out sharper than before.
“Everly Sinclair. Today’s my first day. I’m supposed to collect my schedule and dorm information and whatever the heck else it is you all think I’ll need.”
He stares at me for a second more, my skin feeling warm where his eyes move over me. Abruptly, he breaks the connection by turning the doorknob and shoving it open.
“Mr. Aslanov!” the female gasps as I step into the room behind him. Her hand is on her chest as if he shocked her with his entrance, but I find that hard to believe.
Standing beside him now, I realize he has such a presence about him that it would be impossible for her not to feel he was close.
Says the woman who didn’t even feel him approach.
Okay, fine. He’s just a man, not a god. But he sure looks like he was carved from marble and blessed by a—
“Miss Sinclair?” Aslanov calls my name, making me snap my focus to him.
“Take a seat while I talk to Miss Smith.”
“Sure.” I shrug and walk around the pretty teacher, who tucks her honey-colored hair demurely behind her ear.
I move to the chairs and come to an abrupt halt when I see a familiar handsome face.
“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” the surly voice snaps.
I rummage through my designer purse for my cell phone and do just that.
“What the fuck?”
“Spank bank material?”
When he doesn’t say anything else, I wonder if he even understands me.
“Flicking the bean, jilling off, joining the cliterati.”
Everyone in the room turns to look at me oddly.
“Tough crowd.” I sit beside the grumpy asshole and frown.
“I’ll be back to deal with you two in a minute,” Aslanov growls.
“I can barely contain my excitement.” I beam a wild smile at him.
His eyes squint as if I’m a bug and he’s considering squishing me under his shoe.
Turning back to the teacher, who was making googly eyes at the side of his face, he ushers her into the office at the back of the room.
Once the door closes, the silence lies heavy between me and grumpy until I break it. I can’t help it. I hate awkward silences unless I’m the one intentionally making things awkward.
“So, do you usually get head in the parking lot?”
He opens his eyes, which he had closed to show me how much I bore him.
“What are you talking about now?”
“Damn, how shitty are her skills if you can’t remember you were getting your dick sucked like ten minutes ago?”
He frowns before I see a lightbulb go off above his head. “You know what people say, so many women, so little time?”
“Yeah? Who says that? Show me these people you speak of,” I mock, looking around the room for these so-called people.
“Hey, I’m just doing a service, really. You know, helping the female student body hone their skills.”
He closes his eyes and leans his head back, officially shutting me out again.
“How benevolent of you. But really? How hard is it to give a blow job? It’s just a little sucking, a little stroking. Make it hard as steel, then get it nice and wet”—I whisper—“before taking as much in your throat as you can.”
Slowly, he turns to face me, interest gleaming in his eyes now.
“Hmm…would you like to give me a demonstration? Just so I can give you a few pointers. I’m a giver like that.”
I tap my chin and pretend to think it over.
“Tempting. They do say practice makes perfect,” I muse, reaching over to slide my hand up his thigh before I pull it back and grin.
“But unlike your blow job apprentices, I’m already pretty fucking skilled, so who needs practice? What are you doing in here anyway?” I frown as I work through the obvious thing that my dick-obsessed brain missed earlier, thanks to breathing in Aslanov’s womb-spasming pheromones.
“There is no way you made it from the parking lot to here before me, and what was it you were getting reamed out for?”
He cocks a brow and I have to admit that the look on his face makes me want to get on my knees and blow his mind, but I won’t. At least not today.
We stare at each other until he sighs and leans back once more.
“Miss Smith is a bitch. She caught me with my fingers inside Paige Jones and had a hissy fit. Some women just get jealous over stupid shit when there is plenty of me to go around.”
“You a hooker or something? 1-800-dial-a-whore?”
He sits up abruptly, the sexy glare back in place.
“The fuck?”
“Hey, there is no shame in your game. If you like to make a little something-something while getting a little something-something, who am I to judge? Some of my best friends are whores.”
His hand covers my mouth to shut me up as he leans into me.
He smells of a sexy cologne I’m not familiar with but want to roll myself in and—
I shove his hand away.
“You might want to wash your digits, or everyone will know you had tuna for lunch.”
His eyes widen for a minute before he throws his head back and laughs.
I watch his throat. I don’t know why I find it hot, but I do. There must be something wrong with me. I’m like an animal in heat or something. Thank God I brought Bob, Sue, and Betty—my trusty vibrators—with me. I have a feeling I’m going to be needing them.
“The guy you saw outside getting sucked off?”
