Chapter Thirty #2
He exhales, shaking his head like he’s a general telling his troops their chances of winning this battle are slim.
“Factoring in a few hours for you to sleep, and the requisite recovery time I’ll need between rounds, it looks like we can only have sex like…
three more times before you leave. That’s not enough. ”
He appears so crestfallen that I burst out laughing. “Everett, I’m not going back to Brooklyn until the middle of October.”
“That’s still a finite amount of time, during which I’ll have to share you with other people and things. But since keeping you hostage here and supplying you with endless orgasms isn’t an option, I’ll take what I can get.”
After one more sip of water, I set the glass on the bedside table and nestle along his warm, honed body. He pulls the sheets to our waists, and I lay my head on his chest. If anything has ever felt this good, I can’t name it. It’s even better than playing with baby goats.
“I have an idea for you,” I tell him, playing with the hair on his chest.
“Mmm. I’ve got ideas for you, too.” He slides a hand over my ass.
“My idea is about your problem with Tad Hart and the foundry site. I’ve been pondering it.”
He exhales. “Did you have to put Tad Hart in my head right now?”
“Just let me tell you what I was thinking.”
“Can I tell you what I’m thinking? It involves you leaving lots of claw marks on my back. Possibly some reverse cowgirl. And a number between sixty-eight and seventy, but don’t ask me to tell you what it is.”
“I won’t.”
“Okay, fine, it’s sixty-nine.”
I pick up my head and look at him. “Can I get this out, please?”
He sweeps a fingertip across my cheek and over the bridge of my nose. “I was also thinking about connecting these freckles with the tip of my—”
“Everett.”
“Sorry.” He kisses my nose. “I’m a despicable, filthy beast, and I’m obsessed with you. But please tell me what you’re thinking.”
My heart stutters wildly at his admission—I’m obsessed with you—and warmth floods my face. It takes me a few seconds to recover. “Um. Okay, so at dinner, you were telling me about how cleaning up the contamination will be a long, expensive process.”
“Yes.”
“I might be able to help.”
“I’m listening.” He shifts in the bed and buries his face in my neck, kissing my throat.
“How are you going to listen and do that at the same time?”
“I’m excellent at multitasking.” He brushes the depression at the base of my throat with his tongue, sending a shiver up my spine. “Go on.”
I try to stay focused. “Right out of college, I worked for an educational publishing company, illustrating science textbooks and journals. One of the things I worked on was a research project on hyperaccumulators.”
“Your brain is so fucking hot.” He kisses his way across my collarbone, his hand stealing between my thighs.
I laugh. “You’re not even listening!”
“I am. I am.” His mouth moves lower, his tongue flirting with my nipple until it stiffens into a peak and practically hums with arousal. “Hyper-kazoom-ulators. Sexy. Go on.”
I try my best, I really do.
“Hyperaccumulators. They’re plants that naturally pull contaminants from the ground and store them in their tissues. When harvested and properly disposed of, they gradually clean the soil.”
“God, you’re turning me on.” He takes the tingling tip into his mouth and sucks.
“Everett, I’m trying to teach you something.” I swear I put my hands in his hair with the intention of lifting his head off me, but all I do is hold him to my chest. Arch my back. Open my legs.
His fingers slip inside me, gliding in and out with an easy motion of his wrist. “And I appreciate it. You’re without a doubt the sexiest science teacher I’ve ever had, even hotter than Mrs. Shelton in middle school.”
I picture the thirty-something English teacher with the tortoiseshell glasses and long auburn hair. “You had a crush on Mrs. Shelton?”
“I’ve got a thing for redheads, sue me.” He rolls onto his back, taking me with him. “But would it be possible to postpone the conclusion of this lesson until such time as I’m better able to pay attention?”
Bracing my hands on his chest, I sit up and straddle him. His erection is trapped between us, thick and hard. My heart hammers wildly as I look down at him, and I grow dizzy with disbelief.
How is it possible I’m in Everett McKean’s bed right now? How can I be the girl he’s looking at with fire in his eyes? How is that my waist he’s gripping, my knees bracketing his hips, my finger tracing the lines on his stomach?
I begin to move above him, sliding along his hard length, warm and wet.
He speaks in a hushed, reverent tone. “I still can’t believe you showed up at my door tonight. This better not be a dream.”
I smile. “Not a dream.”
“I don’t know if I believe you.”
I lift myself off him, position the tip of his cock at my center, and lower myself down until my ass rests on his groin. “Is that real enough for you?”
He shakes his head. “Still feels like a dream.”
Smiling seductively, I bring my hands to my breasts and roll my hips in a slow circle. I play with my nipples. I watch his eyes grow glassy and his chest begin to heave. “How about now?”
He sits up, bringing his lips close to mine. “You know what? I give up. This will never feel real.”
I want to agree, but my words are obliterated by his kiss.
My thoughts are next to go, decimated by the way he grabs my ass and moves me against his gyrating hips.
The angle has the tip of his cock tapping that hot button inside me, the one that makes my body clench and quiver.
Then I can’t see, my vision overtaken by stars.
All I can smell is his skin.
All I can taste is his tongue.
All I can feel is the sweet, hot friction where our bodies are joined, where pleasure pulses between us like a drum.
I get very little sleep that night.