Without realizing it, I’ve made slow circles to the soft swell of her cleavage. My fingers rest just below her collarbone, close to dipping into the secret valley between her breasts.
Heat tightens my balls until they are heavy and throbbing against my thighs. I bite back the groan and mentally scold my overexcited cock.
“I was thinking of wearing my blue skirt tomorrow,” she says. “Do you think the professor will like it?”
A sudden predatory urge hits me. Desire and jealousy burn like a heady cocktail in my veins. I want to push Lacey down, pull out my cock, and paint her skin with my cum until it soaks into her pores and marks her as mine, not the professor’s or anyone else’s.
Mine.
I curl my fist in her hair too tightly, but there’s a ferocity in my grip I can’t turn off. I tug, forcing her head back until she looks at me. “This is about you, not the professor. Do you like your blue skirt?”
Her throat bobs as her tongue flicks across her bottom lip, wet and pink and far too tempting.
She nods.
Our faces are inches apart, so close I can taste the bourbon and orange from her old-fashioned on the back of my tongue.
I loosen my grip on her hair, and my fingers drag down to the base of her neck, molding and massaging.
It’s all part of the lesson, I tell myself. “Then wear the fucking skirt.”
Her lips part on a shallow breath, and her eyes quickly flick from my mouth to my eyes. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
My fingers play across her neck and the base of her skull, massaging points that make her eyes flutter. “Does it feel like I am?”
Her throat bobs. “Yes.”
This is a bad idea, but I’m past the point of giving a fuck. “How long has it been since you kissed someone?”
Her eyes widen. “A while.”
Not since we met, at least. Knowing I’m the closest she’s been to experiencing anything sexual with another person in years fuels the predatory sensation, filling me with a possessive euphoria.
“You can take all the notes you want, but the best way to research kissing…” my heart beats like a hammer in my chest, “…is to kiss.”
Her tongue paints her lips, and her throat bobs, but the steady rise and fall of her chest is surprising. She’s not as nervous about my suggestion as I expected. Has she thought about kissing me before?
“You want us to kiss?” she asks.
I want us to do more than that, but things are moving into dangerous territory. I need to get my arousal under control before I take more than she is ready to give. I offer my usual cocky grin, the one friend-Olly uses, not this strung out, infatuated version. “You asked for lessons. I’m obliging.”
I expect her to punch me on the shoulder playfully like she usually does or roll her eyes and switch to whatever rubbish reality television show is playing, but she implodes my world instead.
“Okay.”
And now it’s my turn to be nervous.
“Maybe we should… to make sure I remember how.” The tremble in her voice lessens with each word, her confidence growing as mine shrinks.
Her eyes drop to my mouth, and I’m afraid they will keep going and see how erratic my heart is beating beneath my sweatshirt.
“For research,” she finishes.
I can’t move, just watch as her fingers touch my chin. One delicate brush, and I’m lost.
I slide one hand into her hair, gripping the strands and tugging until her chin tilts up.
My other palm cups her cheek, and my thumb brushes across her bottom lip, pulling it out from between her teeth. So soft, wet, and warm.
