Chapter 22 #2
I take a deep breath and squeeze his hand, imagining I can borrow some of his strength through the contact.
Which is silly since this is Sawyer and he loves me and I have nothing to be afraid of.
But it’s still difficult to voice my thoughts out loud.
“I’m going to defend my dissertation in the spring. ”
Sawyer sits up straighter and leans toward me. “Yeah? That’s great!”
I nod and charge onward. “I’m going to defend my dissertation, and then I’m going to graduate, but I’m not joining Boyer Pharmaceuticals.”
I lift my chin, almost daring Sawyer to argue with me. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He smiles with pride shining in his eyes.
“That’s awesome.”
“I am,” I repeat, my voice rising as I gather steam. My pulse races as words spill unbidden from my lips. “I’m going to say no to Dad. I’m going to make him listen. I’m going to stand up to him.”
Sawyer nods. “That’s amazing.”
“I can. And I will. I’ll do it.”
“I believe you.”
“I’m going to talk to Professor Graves and tell him to schedule the defense.”
Sawyer blinks and it looks like there’s moisture in his eyes. “He’ll be thrilled.”
“And then I’ll tell Dad. At Christmas.” I blurt out the last bit on a whim. I haven’t actually given that part much thought—when and how I’m going to have that conversation—but I’m determined to figure it out.
“I… I don’t know how exactly. But I will.”
Sawyer gives me one more firm, decisive nod. “I’m sure you will. And I’ll be there to help if you need me.”
I will need his help. And I know he’ll be there. Because he loves me. I make a promise to myself that he’ll never regret it.
Later, after we’ve finished cleaning up and are getting ready for bed, I sneak up behind Sawyer and slip my hands under his shirt. He turns and smiles at me with so much love in his eyes even I can’t mistake it.
Carefully, I rise onto my toes and kiss him, melting into him when our lips connect.
I lick at the seam between Sawyer’s lips and he opens for me.
I swipe my tongue across his and he moans, his arms tightening around me and hauling me against him.
Heat races through me, creeping up my neck and making my head spin.
I figured out there’s nothing wrong with the thermostat in our apartment.
All my overheating is Sawyer’s fault. He makes me so hot. He makes me burn.
The thin t-shirts we wear are in the way and I’m desperate to feel his skin on mine. So I sacrifice the feast of his lips for a moment to tear at our clothes. When we’re both naked from the waist up, I kiss him again.
One of my favorite things in the world now is how Sawyer’s chest feels against mine. His skin is always so warm, so smooth, soft, and yet firm at the same time. I love rubbing myself on him, dragging my sensitive nipples over the mounds of his pectoral muscles.
“Fuck, Preston,” Sawyer murmurs as he takes over the kiss. His hand on the back of my head angles me just right for him to ravage me with his tongue, his teeth, his lips.
I arch against him, searching for the friction that will ease the ache in my dick—Sawyer said I’m not allowed to call it a penis anymore.
He kisses his way down my neck, stopping to suck on my collarbone until I shiver at the delicious sensation, then down farther to my nipple.
He rakes his teeth across the sensitive flesh, then soothes it with the flat of his tongue.
He flicks it, then sucks it into his mouth and the negative pressure feels like it’ll turn me inside out.
My hands are in his hair, holding him to me, tugging at the strands. “Sawyer!” His name feels like a prayer, like a plea.
He growls and wraps his arms around me to pick me up like I weigh nothing.
I curl my legs around him, locking my ankles behind his back.
I love that he can carry me around. I love that he’s strong enough to manhandle me however he likes.
It makes me feel small and protected and safe.
It makes me feel like Sawyer’s got everything under control and everything’s going to be okay.
He covers the short distance to the bed and we tumble onto it, me pinned under him, exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Sawyer resumes his assault on my nipples, switching to the neglected one this time.
I writhe and squirm, knowing that his weight will keep me anchored to the bed. He’s solid, steady, strong.
Sawyer’s hand goes to my pants, tugging the drawstring loose so he can reach inside. He cups my dick, massages it, and kneads it gently with his fingers. It’s exactly what I need and yet not nearly enough.
“Sawyer!”
He rears up, grabbing the waistband of my pajama pants and briefs at the same time to strip them off my legs. Then he jumps off the bed to rid himself of the rest of his clothing too. But before he can take up his spot between my legs again, I stop him.
“Wait.”
Sawyer freezes, one knee on the bed, the other foot still on the floor. The lust in his eyes is abruptly erased by concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I want you to fuck me.”