Chapter 5 #2
"Rory, stop." The words lacked any conviction. They were a whisper, a plea for him to do the exact opposite.
"Tell me to stop," he challenged, leaning closer, his lips brushing against my jawline. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this."
I turned my head, finding his gaze. The gold in his eyes was swirling, molten and alive. The Wolf was there, right at the surface, looking at me with a hunger that should have sent me running.
But I didn't run. I was the storm, remember?
"I don't want you to stop," I confessed.
Something in him snapped.
He grabbed my waist and lifted.
I gasped as I was hauled out of the chair and deposited onto the granite countertop in one fluid motion. He stepped between my legs before I could even settle, pressing his hips against mine, effectively pinning me to the cabinetry.
"Good girl," he growled.
He captured my mouth.
It wasn't a tentative first kiss. It was a raid. It was an invasion. His lips were rough, demanding, and hot. He kissed me like he’d been starving for a decade and I was the first meal he’d seen.
I whimpered, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my hands in his thick, dark hair. I pulled him closer, needing to eliminate the millimeter of space between us.
He tasted of coffee and mint and something purely male.
His tongue swept into my mouth, tangling with mine, dominating the rhythm. It was overwhelming. It was messy. It was perfect.
His hands were everywhere. One was tangled in my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the angle. The other was on my thigh, squeezing, kneading the muscle.
"So small," he groaned against my mouth, breaking the kiss to bite lightly at my lower lip. "So soft. You smell like sugar and sin, Zoe. It’s driving me f*cking insane."
"Rory..." I panted, my head falling back as he trailed kisses down my throat.
"I can hear your heart," he murmured against my pulse point. "It’s beating so fast. Are you scared?"
"Yes."
"Good." He bit down gently on the sensitive cord of my neck. "Fear keeps you sharp."
He moved his hand. He slid it between our bodies, his palm cupping me through the fabric of my leggings.
I bucked against his hand, a shocked cry tearing from my throat.
"Please," I sobbed. I didn't even know what I was asking for. I was a virgin. I had never been touched like this. I had only read about it in books that I hid under my mattress.
"Please what?" he taunted, rubbing his thumb over my clit through the spandex. "Use your words, smart girl. Calculate the trajectory."
"Touch me," I begged. "Please, Rory. Touch me."
He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in his chest against mine.
"I shouldn't," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. He was panting now, fighting for control. "You're the Dean’s daughter. You're innocent. If I start this… I don't know if I can stop. The Wolf… he wants to claim you."
"I don't care about the Dean," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I reached down, my hand covering his hand on my thigh. I pressed down. "I care about you."
He looked at me, his eyes wide with shock.
Then he snarled.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and shoved them down.
The cool air of the kitchen hit my skin for a second before his warm, rough hand replaced it.
Skin on skin.
I gasped, my back arching off the counter.
His fingers were calloused, huge, and incredibly gentle. He didn't rush. He explored. He traced the curve of me, the wetness that had already soaked my panties.
"So wet," he whispered reverently. "For me?"
"Yes," I choked out. "Only you."
"Good girl."
He slipped one finger inside.
My world exploded into white light. It was tight—too tight—but he paused, letting me adjust, murmuring soft praises against my lips.
"Relax," he soothed. "I’ve got you. Breathe, Zoe. Just like in the gym. Breathe through the pressure."
I did. I breathed. And as I relaxed, he began to move.
It wasn't physics. It wasn't logic. It was pure sensation. Friction. Heat. Velocity.
He kissed me again, swallowing my cries as he picked up the pace. His thumb worked magic on the outside while his finger stroked the inside. I was unraveling. The jar was breaking.
"Rory, I’m… I think I’m…"
"Let go," he commanded against my mouth. "Give it to me. Break for me."
And I did.
I shattered.
The climax hit me like a rogue wave. My entire body clenched, my vision blurring. I screamed his name into his mouth, my nails digging into his shoulders, anchoring myself to him as the only solid thing in a spinning universe.
He held me through it, his hand not stopping until the last tremors faded.
He pulled his hand away slowly. He didn't wipe it. He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean while watching me with those predatory, golden eyes.
"Delicious," he murmured.
I slumped against his chest, utterly boneless. My leggings were around my knees. I was exposed, ruined, and messy.
And I had never felt better.
Rory pulled my leggings back up, adjusting my hoodie with surprising tenderness. He smoothed my hair back from my damp forehead.
"You realize," he said, his voice raspy and serious, "that we are in big trouble now."
I looked up at him. The "New Normal" had shifted again. We weren't just allies. We weren't just tutor and student.
We were playmates. And the game was dangerous.
"I know," I whispered, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw.
He caught my hand, kissing the palm.
"Get some sleep, Zoe," he said. "Tomorrow, we tackle friction coefficients."
He stepped back, putting distance between us. He looked like he was in physical pain to leave me.
"Rory?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I finally understand torque."
He let out a short, rough laugh. "Yeah? What’s the lesson?"
"Once you get it spinning," I said, looking at his lips, "it’s really hard to stop."
He stared at me for a long moment, the hunger flaring back up in his eyes.
"Impossible," he corrected. "It’s impossible to stop."
He turned and walked out the front door, leaving me sitting on the counter, my lips swollen, my body humming, and my heart completely, irrevocably in freefall.