CHAPTER 66 #2
After making a stop at my mother’s condo with groceries following work, I return to my pile of math and science textbooks on the navy sofa of Troy’s apartment.
The furniture’s quickly turning into a top contender for studying locations, much preferring it to the smaller grey one right across from it; the latter’s scratchy as hell.
While parting my first textbook open, a physics one, Troy strolls into the living room, his hair a deeper tone of brown than usual, droplets of water staining around the neck of his blue sweater.
Even from a distance, his faint scent of citrus and musk run up my lungs, an intangible clean note always lingering above, drifting me away from the page I should have already started reading.
A real estate textbook clutched in one arm, he moves toward the grey sofa—the same tone of his pants—plopping onto it, his legs stretched out.
Because the fucking asshole had to wear grey sweats.
But, I’ll be gone from here soon enough, Lucy sent me a text just this morning explaining how our plumber only needs a couple more weeks until our place is livable again.
Which means, only a couple more weeks to stand this guy.
“My roommate just let me know our repairs should be done in a few weeks,” I say, my eyes locked on my book.
“Okay,” Troy says, his voice blasé.
“I’ll be back at my place, so you’ll have your guest room back.”
“Nice having you.”
Nice having you?
The cold remark makes me shoot my eyes up at him.
Troy lifts his own book up, blatantly trying to cover my face with it now, the same moment he lifts his legs above the glass coffee table between us, folding one over the other, unfazed.
“Could you please not sit there?” I ask, knowing how childish—and maybe even, a little out of line—I sound, but he started acting like a baby first.
“Why?” he says.
“It’s distracting. And I’m trying to study.”
“This is my apartment, dearest, and I focus the best here.” He brings the pages down to reveal his gaze. “You’re welcome to go to your room. Or my room. Unless that brings up unwanted memories?”
I scoff. “Extremely unwanted memories.”
“Hm.”
He flips a page, all obnoxious, all attention-seeking.
“What?” I snap.
“Nothing,” he replies airily.
As my eyes drift back to my own textbook, I hear Troy drawl out, “You just sounded pretty enthusiastic when you were begging me to let you come. Then again, maybe I was just hearing things.”
Another page gets turned.
Flicking my eyes up at him, even though the jerk isn’t even looking at me, I huff out a breath, then relax my chest, letting the anger fizzle out of my system.
Stay calm.
His eyes are on his book, mine are submerged into mine, then why do I feel a green-tinted gaze burning through me? Must just be my mind playing tricks on me.
“That must be an exciting page,” he coos when I’ve finally, finally started to get in the zone, “considering you’ve been on it since I got here.”
Shoving a middle finger in the air, I keep it there for a good, extended second.
Calm and collected.
When he snickers, I contemplate hurling my textbook at his face.
Very calm, very collected.
“You come and read this for yourself,” I snap. “I guarantee that this page is harder than anything in all your textbooks combined.”
His brows flicked up, he tosses his book to the side. “You sure you want me to come over there?”
Taking my eyeroll as a yes, Troy lifts off the smaller couch, moving around the coffee table, sitting himself down behind me.
The sudden press of his chest against my back tickles when I feel his breath near my neck.
Leaning his weight over my shoulder, I can feel him scan the page, a tilt from my cheek bringing our lips as close as they were last night.
Luckily, he chooses to speak the same moment my mind was about to lurk into the gutter and remember things I’m forbid of.
“And this is in English, right?” he quips. “You need a complimentary distraction to help you study.”
“You just made that up,” I say, turning over my shoulder to meet his gaze.
This close again, my airways start to decompose.
“Nuh-uh,” he says in a tone that makes his face suddenly very kissable. “Something to help you relax, while you’re studying.”
“Yeah, and what do you suggest as a complimentary distraction, Troy?” I say mockingly.
“Keep reading, and I’ll show you.”
I feel my legs clench, both still sprawled out before me, my textbook sandwiched between them.
Without awareness, my fingers clutch onto the page beneath when smooth hands begin running up and then down my back.
Starting at my shoulders, slowly moving lower, capable fingers roam just above my ass.
When short nails gently scratch up my spine, my head—involuntarily—throws back, feeling the vanquished moan try and bubble up my throat, my free nipples peaking against my cotton tee.
“Always so tense,” Troy breathes along the side of my neck, his hands still soothing the skin of my back.
A soft whimper escapes my chest, my eyes forgetting they were closed only after they open to find my textbook further from grip.
“You’re still on the same page,” he points out, his voice thick.
“Maybe you need to give me another example,” I say, ignoring my brain and leading with my throbbing clit.
“Yeah?” I can feel him smirk. “Something a bit more hands-on?”
“Possibly.”
Pulling in closer, Troy sits himself up so that his body shapes around mine from behind, a leg fastening on either side.
He snakes his hands through my looped elbows, tauntingly slow, slipping them into my shorts. “Like this?”
“Yes,” I gasp out.
I uncross my legs, nudging the physics reading to my side, forgetting this distraction was supposed to help me study.
No memory is coherent when Troy’s thumb passes over my underwear, rubbing my sensitive flesh over the silk. My breath hitches, my hips wanting to lift, to move along with each circle he’s sketching, trying their best to stay in place.
My mind trying its best to not go there, but he breathes against the back of my neck, and—fucking boom—I’m there.
I unravel in his arms, by the second, blinded by my pleasure, my looming release, everything I still want from him, from his body.
His body that’s growing against my hips, turned on by my arousal, and the frustration consumes me.
Telling him to keep things professional, meanwhile, the thought of having his dick in my mouth continues to lust over my lips.
He got to have a taste last night but I didn’t. That doesn’t seem fair.
Fuck professional.
I tilt my face around with a restless hunger, kicking the textbook by my feet to the edge of the sofa. Searching for his lips with my open mouth, I moan right into his tongue when he slips it in.
Eating at each other’s mouth’s until they’re thoroughly sore, I break away, Troy startled probably by the insatiable turn in my features.
“What?” he asks, his lips swollen from my ravaging kiss.
He’s not going to let me hear the end of this. But I’m too turned on to care right now.
“I want—”
Staring at his glowing cheeks, the confliction and desire continue battling one another.
“What do you want, Ana?” Troy says, his tone less patient.
“I want your cock in my mouth.”
My wicked words twist his eyes into a smirk.
“You think I should just give you what you want after what you said to me this morning, hm?”
“If you don’t want to lose your chance to come down my throat, then yes.”
He grips my chin, his lips now smirking. “I’m not so worried about that.”
This man, he knows exactly how to push me. Why does my body want him this bad? He’s so obnoxious.
“Besides,” Troy goes on, glancing down at his pants, “you hurt his feelings, so you’d better apologize to him, first.”
Anger and some sensation like a scoffed, high-pitched laugh bursts out. “You’re psychotic if you think I’m going to apologize to your dick.”
“Now, now, you’re not behaving professionally to me.”
“Stand up,” I order.
He tilts an ear toward me, waiting.
I clench down my gritted teeth. “Please.”
He obeys, lifting himself off the couch. When he turns to face me like he still has the upper hand in all of this, I pull at his sweats with one aggressive tug. “I’d practice your deep breaths right now, Larsson,” I warn.
“I’m not hearing an apology, yet…” Troy says arrogantly.
But then flinches when my nails dig into his pubic bone before yanking his briefs down.
My overflowing confidence shrinks when his thick, long cock juts out, bumping my chin. Voice broken into its shell, gasping is off the table, so I reach out and wrap my fingers along the underside of his shaft.
“I’m sorry, asshole,” I say only because it feels good to mock him.
I flick my eyes back up at Troy, who looks too smug for someone who doesn’t know what’s about to hit him. Rising up from the sofa, replacing our positions, I push him onto it, while sinking to my knees.
“That wasn’t very professional—”
He grunts—loud. At half his length disappearing into my mouth at once.
“What the fuck.” Troy scrapes his nails on the sofa at the sudden, rough move. “Do that again.”
Even with half his length, my mouth’s almost full, so I tilt my head back a bit, creating more room to push him further, and I think the move is much appreciated by the even raspier groan he lets out.
The dangerous spark between us feels too sudden, too uncontrollable, too heightened, that after slipping half his length out, I bite over the edge of his cock head, darting my tongue out when he hisses to smooth the sensitive slit running along his tip.
When he moans, Troy Larsson full-on moans—making a mental note to later add the accomplishment to my diary—I smirk around his cock with giddy feminine power.
But I make the mistake of forgetting this is a game. And the first rule of chess breathes into my ears, never show your hand. Or, never let your skating nemesis drop his hands into your hair mid-blowjob.
Because Troy drops his hands to my hair.
And the whole dynamic shifts.
Those deep green magnets and unfairly long lashes know I’m losing the control, when he tugs on my waves, tilting my face back to give me even more of him. When I feel him hit the back of my throat, a moan ripples right there, squeezing my thighs together to not drip down my legs.
Watching me squirm in my arousal, rubbing my thighs together to relieve the throbbing in my clit, swallowing him up, his chest tightens against his t-shirt, his eyes sparkling with pride.
“Look at what a good girl you are, Ana,” he praises. “Keep sucking.”
And I moan at that, too.
Feeling my pussy viciously clamping around air, the desperation of wanting to grind against something to void the emptiness is harder and harder to ignore. When I want more fullness.
Need it.
“If you keep being good,” he says, thrusting into my mouth, “I’ll let you choose where this goes next.”
Another moan.
“I think you want it in that tight pussy of yours, though, right?”
Not sure how, or at what point this became about me, but the climax is taking over my body, not letting it go.
“Take it out,” he demands.
Precome leaks from the corners of my mouth as his hard, swollen length leaves my lips.
I’m so turned on that if he just touched me I’d burst.
And that’s what he does.
He rips off my t-shirt while I do the same to him, discarding my shorts and silk underwear off in one, haste move as he helps my legs fall around him into a straddle.
And his view when I tilt back just a bit makes him belt out a deeper grunt.
“Fuck, you’re soaked.”
“Mmm,” I whine out. “Put it in.”
“Nah, I’d rather watch you do that.”
Reaching for his cock, gasping out at how good just holding him feels, once he slips on a condom, I guide his length to my dripping core, sensing the scream at just the tip sliding in with ease.
Soft, warm lips hover by the shell of my ear, and whisper, “Now show me how unprofessional you can be, baby.”