Or, more likely, she’s a rotten liar. Because that rhythm she’s squeezing is—
She wants me to teach her, not the other way around.
—it’s too good. Too. Fucking. Good.
That is how this arrangement needs to work.
I’m going to come in my jeans if she doesn’t quit.
This balance, this teacher-student dynamic is theonlyway I can survive this. How I’ll manage to be friends and do all of theweird, nasty,filthyshit I want to do with her down the line. It’s the only way I can leave with all of my heart and sanity in tow in a few months’ time.
I moan, feeling my orgasm build at the base of my spine. “No. That’s enough of that,” I groan, grabbing Prue’s hands and pinning them behind her. I press them against her lower back, holding tightly as she fights it. “You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”
She looks up at me, pouting and downright petulant. How she manages to look so innocent and adorable while pissed off is beyond me. This blushing darling cannot be the same woman who just tried to test my will and get me off through my jeans.
I lean down, laying my cheek against the soft cushioning of the hair on top of her head, my chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. “I mean it, Killer. We need to stop there for tonight.” I breathe her in, then press a kiss against her peppermint-scented hair before straightening. When our eyes meet and I instinctively tighten my hold around her wrists, she lets out a breathy moan. A shudder courses through me as I struggle to maintain control. “If you feel this way tomorrow,” I tell her sternly, “you know where to find me.”
I step back, releasing her in one painful swoop. Three steps closer to shore, I stop to take her in—the softened, moodier version of her heightened by the lantern and what little moonlight there is. She is a trulydevastatingcreature, stunning in a way that is beyond the words I know. I’m only as fluent in Russian as my parents’ daily use provided and there isnoway they ever felt strongly enough about each other to teach me that sort of word.
“Good night, Killer,” I say, slowly, to capture the mental image of her in my mind so I can sketch it later before I bring it to mind in less honorable ways.
Prue goes shy on me, her head ducking between us as shequickly fixes her sweater back into place. Her arms fold in front of her chest, as that soft pink hue I’m obsessed with turns to a deeper red I donotlike.
No,some part of me screams,you can’t leave her like that.
Three steps later, I’m back in front of her—in new, fumbling, unfamiliar territory. “If I’m going to stay, it’s going to be as your friend,” I tell herandmyself. “We can’t tonight. I can’t—”
“Okay,” she interrupts.
Was I really about to leave this girl on a dock by herself, surrounded by shit both she and I carried down here, on her birthday? What thefuckis wrong with me?
“I’m new to this part of it too,” I confess. “The…”
“Decency?” She offers a teasing smirk, filling me with relief.
“Yes,” I agree, smiling back. “I’m more of a hit-and-run kind of guy.”
“Don’t you have tohittorun?” she asks, eyes narrowing as she slowly lowers to sit on the blanket with her legs out in front of her.
“Right, which is why”—I sit down next to her feet, my legs extended next to hers—“I don’t need to run?” I ask it, as if it’s a question.
“Exactly.” She reaches to her left, grabs one of my beers, and holds it out to me.
“Sorry,” I say, taking it from her, attempting to avoid the electric shock of her touch.
“Don’t be.” She leans back onto her palms, stretching her beautiful neck up to the sky. “Sorry for trying to get in your pants on night one.”
“Yes, not verydecentof you.”
She returns her gaze to mine, smiling. “I guess we both have a lot to learn.”
“Want to keep playing?” I ask.
She nods slowly. “Yeah, but…we should probably…if…”
“Avoid the sexy kind of questions for the sake of our shared interest in not fucking up this arrangement between us before it begins?” I ask.
“Yes,” she half says, half giggles. “I would hate to begin mauling you again.”
