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I sighed and sank down onto the couch, near enough to smell her subtle fragrance but not touching. She smelled like me again. “You’re wearing my cologne.”
She looked at me over the bowl of popcorn, chewing. “It smelled good.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to figure out why I was turned on by the idea of her wearing my cologne. I gave up after a moment and shrugged. “Okay. Help yourself. And I’m fine. Just struggling with this theorem.”
“Theorem?” She paused the television and looked at me.
“Arrow’s Impossibility Theorem. I’m doing my thesis on it.”
“Oh.” She held the popcorn out and I grabbed a handful. “I would say that’s Greek to me, but I actually know Greek. So it’s… Swahili to me.” She grinned playfully and I clenched my jaw at my body’s natural response.
“Greek, huh?”
She pointed her thumb at herself. “Classics major.”
It was in that moment that I realized none of us really knew anything about Jude Tiernay. Now I knew two very interesting things about her that didn’t really jibe with each other. I settled back more comfortably into the cushions. I liked mysteries and conundrums, and she was both. “So... you know Greek. And Latin, I assume. And you work in a breastaurant. Doesn’t add up, roomie.”
She lifted one delicate shoulder. “It’s good money.”
“And you need money.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Well, no, not really. Anything in particular, or just income in general?” I was being nosy, I knew, but my curiosity was piqued.
“Nunya,” she said succinctly, and pressed play on the remote. The movie started back, and I realized she’d been watchingAlien, that horrifying old movie about a space crew and an alien. I side-eyed her and shifted fractionally closer.Brains, boobs, and sci-fi.My stomach clenched.Could she be any more perfect?
An hour later, as the credits rolled, I looked sheepishly down at the girl I was sprawled against, holding on to for dear life. She was still in her spot in the corner of the couch, and I had wrapped both arms around her waist and was using her as a pillow. “That was terrifying,” I lifted my head and told her, and she grinned.
“Are you always such a wuss?”
“Only when aliens and Sigourney Weaver are involved. Otherwise, I’m quite macho.”
She squirmed a little beneath me, her face entirely too close to mine for me to focus. “I don’t believe you,” she sassed. My blood sang, and I hitched my hips closer, wanting her to feel me, to know what she did to me.
“Yeah?” I murmured. “How about now?”
She froze beneath me. “Did you just... is that really your way of showing how manly you are?”
“No,” I said. I lowered my head to hers, our lips a breath apart. “This is.” I closed the distance and sealed our mouths together, the kiss blowing past sweet and speeding from hot to incendiary instantly. She gasped upon contact and I took the initiative to lick into her mouth and stroke her tongue with mine. She tasted like Coke and popcorn, along with a subtle underlying sweetness that was distinctly her.
And she smelled like me. Likemine.
I moved my lips to her face, scattering quick, biting nips to her jawline and further, down her neck, where I inhaled my scent on her skin. I could feel her pulse racing in her carotid and pressed my mouth there, suctioning gently until she made a sound in the back of her throat. When I pulled back to inspect my handiwork, I was pleased to see a bloom of red against her pale skin. It would darken beautifully by the morning, and everyone would know someone’s lips and tongue had feasted on her.
Gale and Baron would know who that someone was.
With a quick jerk to her hips, I pulled her more fully to the couch so she was on her back beneath me. Her breasts pressed, full and soft, against my chest, and I was suddenly desperate to have one in my hand, in my mouth.
I levered myself slightly up, breaking the connection of our mouths for a moment. “I want to touch you,” I told her baldly, one hand poised on the hem of her shirt. “May I?”
She bit her lip, hooded eyes glancing down at that hand. Then she nodded, and lifted her chin to reclaim my lips with hers.
My hand stroked swiftly beneath the thin material of her tee shirt, sweeping across silky skin and a slender rib cage to the plump curve of one breast. I squeezed gently, and she released a raspy exhale as my thumb found her nipple and rolled it to a stiff peak.
“Oh, dear God,” she muttered. “That’s… fuck… that’s good. So good.” Smiling myself, I lowered myself until my face was level with her chest, and then, watching her carefully, started to lift the hemline. I had wanted to see her tits, touch them, kiss them since the first day she’d arrived, even dressed as she had been in an oversized sweater. I could see the outline of them, high and round beneath that sweater, and the desire to touch had gripped me.
It had been unrelenting ever since.
