Page 25 of Working for the Teacher

“Really good.”

He finally digs in himself, and for a while neither of us says much of anything, just trading bites of pie while half of Forge Creek pretends not to watch.

We pull up in front of my house a little after nine. Ryder puts the truck in park but doesn’t shut off the engine right away. Neither of us moves.

“I had a really good time,” I say.

“Yeah. Me too.”

He kills the engine. I reach for the door handle, but he’s already out and walking around to my side. He opens the door for me and I step down.

We walk up the path together. At the front door I dig for my keys. When I finally get the key in the lock I turn to say goodnight, and that’s when he kisses me.

It starts soft. Just the press of his mouth against mine. I lean in and the soft edge disappears. His hand comes up to cup the side of my face, and the kiss deepens until I’m pressed back against the door and my keys are dangling forgotten from my fingers.

When we break apart, we’re both breathing harder.

“Come inside,” I whisper.

He follows me in. I close and lock the door behind us. For a second we just stand there in the dark entryway looking at each other. Then he steps closer, frames my face with both hands, and kisses me again.

We make our way upstairs without turning on any lights. My bedroom door is half open. The moon is bright enough through the window that I can see the outline of the bed, the crumpled quilt, the pillow I forgot to straighten this morning. Ryder’s hands settle at my waist as we cross the threshold.

He turns me gently so my back is to the bed and keeps kissing me as his fingers find the hem of my sweater. He pulls it up and over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him before his mouth finds mine again.

His hands slide down my sides to the waistband of my jeans. He unbuttons them, eases them over my hips, then crouches to help me step out of them.

When he straightens, I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my bra and underwear.

His gaze drags over my body, and the heat in his expression makes my pulse jump.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says.

I reach for the hem of his shirt. He lets me pull it over his head. My palms slide over the warm plane of his chest. He shivers when my fingertips trace it. Then he’s kissing me again, walking me backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress.

We go down together. He braces his weight on one forearm, and the other hand works the clasp of my bra. When it comes free he tosses it aside and lowers his mouth to my breast. His tongue circles the peak, then he draws it between his lips and sucks. I arch into him, fingers sliding into his hair.

He takes his time. Moves from one breast to the other, then trails open-mouthed kisses down my stomach. When he hooks his fingers in the sides of my underwear I lift my hips so he can slide them off. He settles between my thighs and just looks at me for a long moment.

“I could stay right here forever,” he groans. “Just looking at you.”

Then his mouth is on me, licking me with long, slow strokes, learning what makes my breath catch and makes my hips lift off the bed. When he seals his lips around my clit and sucks, my hands fist in the sheets.

I’m already close when he slides two fingers inside me. The stretch is perfect. He curls them while his tongue keeps working, and it sends me over the edge with a soft cry.

When he rises over me again, his mouth finds mine. I taste myself on his tongue. He kicks off his jeans and boxers, and then there’s nothing between us. The head of his cock brushes against me. He doesn’t push in right away. He just rocks against me, letting the friction build until I’m lifting my hips in silent request.

He sinks into me slowly, eyes locked on mine the entire time. When he’s fully inside, he stays still for a moment, breathing with me. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way. I wrap my legs around his waist and he starts to move.

The rhythm is different from last night. Every stroke is slow and intentional, like he’s trying to memorize the way I feel around him. His hand finds mine and threads our fingers together against the pillow. The other braces beside my head so he can watch my face.

“You feel perfect,” he says. “So fucking perfect.”

I turn my head and press a kiss to the inside of his wrist. He makes a low sound and thrusts a little harder, still controlled but with more heat behind it. The shift makes me gasp. He does it again, angling so he drags against the spot that makes my vision blur.

“That’s it. Let me feel you.”

My free hand slides down his back, his muscles shifting beneath my palm with every movement. I hold on tighter as the pleasure starts building again, stealing my breath.