Lessons in Love

23. Kelsey

Chapter twenty-three

Kelsey

Still early in the morning, I woke up. Bleary-eyed and with a stiff back, I sat up. Quentin was already awake, and by the looks of it, he had been for a while. He was freshly showered and dressed and was meddling with the coffee machine in the kitchen nook.

“Good morning,” he said. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Not a breakfast person,” I said, stretching my sore muscles. “But I’ll take the coffee.”

He poured me a cup and brought it over. “Sorry about the sleeping arrangements. I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

I took the cup from him and smiled. “Worth it if I got to cuddle with you.”

Quentin smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I could tell he was feeling uncomfortable.

“What? Are you not a cuddle person?”

“I am, actually,” he said. “It’s just… It has been a while since someone said something like this to me. ”

I took his hand and pulled him down on the couch with me. “Quentin, how do I get this through to you? I like you. I like you this way .”

A tinge of red appeared on his face. “I like you this way too,” he mumbled.

“I sure hope so,” I said with a smirk, “after what happened last night.”

That made Quentin blush in earnest. Before I could continue my teasing, a sound from the other side of the wall startled us both. The TV was blaring.

“Shit, my mother,” I said, putting down the coffee mug. “I’d almost forgotten about her.”

That was a good sign. If being with Quentin was good enough to blast my mother from my brain, I wanted more of it.

In an attempt to look more presentable, I straightened my crumbled clothes and ran my fingers through my hair. “Do I look like I just had sex on a couch?”

Quentin grinned. “To be honest, yes, you do.”

I hesitated for a second then shrugged. “So what? None of her business.”

“You’re leaving already?” Quentin asked, clearly unhappy about the fact.

“I need to deal with her. The sooner the better,” I said. “Do you have plans for tonight? We skipped yesterday’s lesson. Can we catch up later today? I don’t want to fall behind.”

“Of course, yes. I’m free.”

“Great. Thank you for the coffee.” I kissed him on the cheek. “And the orgasm.”

I hurried along the walkway to my own apartment unit and threw the door open without a warning. My mother was sitting on my couch, wearing a bathrobe, eating a strawberry yogurt. Some kind of reality show on a tropical island was on the TV. My mother scrunched her nose when she saw me walking in.

“You smell like man,” she said. “Finally paid up for those private tutoring sessions, huh?”

“Get out,” I said calmly.

“I’m eating breakfast.”

I did not bother to argue. I simply grabbed my mother’s bag and started stuffing all the things she had strewn around the apartment into it.

My mother jumped up from the couch. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Packing,” I said. “Or would you prefer to get on the bus in just your bathrobe?”

“I’m not getting on any bus.”

“Oh, yes, you are.” I threw the half-open bag toward her, nearly hitting her head.

She stared at the bag for a moment, then she crossed her arms and huffed like an upset preschooler. “I’m not leaving until you stop playing this stupid game and go back to your husband.”

“Why do you care?” I yelled, full of frustration. “Why is this so important to you? Why can’t you just support me?”

My mother’s lips got very thin. “Ryan is paying off some debts,” she finally admitted. “You know Lyle is on disability. We can’t afford to lose that money.”

“What? How much debt?”

My mother avoided my gaze. “None of your business.”

“Mom, how much?”

“About forty thousand,” she mumbled.

“Forty thousand! How on earth did you manage to amass that much debt? ”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said quickly. “What matters is that Ryan is helping us out. He’s a really good guy, Kelsey. You can’t get any better than him.”

“Because he’s rich?”

“Isn’t that worth putting up with a bit of a temper from time to time?”

I took a deep breath. I’d asked that question myself plenty of times, but after last night, I finally knew the answer. “No, I don’t think it is, Mom. Now, get out.”

Thirty minutes had passed since we moved our study session from the dinner table to the couch and about ten minutes since I wiggled close enough to make our knees touch.

My mother was gone. The trouble she had caused had left with her, and Quentin was the only thing on my mind.

The heat that seeped through two layers of clothing was enough to drive me insane. Ridiculous, considering that man’s head had been between my legs the day before. How could knees touching make me so dizzy?

“Let’s go through it again,” Quentin said, sounding completely professional. “Name the five most influential creators of the Declaration of Independence .”

“Benjamin Franklin,” I said, trying to sound seductive even though I had seen pictures of Benjamin Franklin, and that man was probably the least sexy person I’d ever seen.

“Correct,” Quentin said. Mmmh, the way he said that… I had to fight off a flood of kinky student-teacher fantasies that involved him taking me all sprawled out on his teacher’s desk .

“Thomas Jefferson,” I managed to remember despite the heat in my lower regions.

I stretched out my arm, resting it on the backrest, brushing my fingers against the back of his neck ever so slightly.

Only a twitch of his mouth told me he noticed, but he kept his composure. “Keep going.”

“With the founding fathers?” I asked. “Or with this?” I caressed his neck again, and this time, he shivered and shifted his body.

“Both.”

Success! His professionalism was draining quickly from his voice.

“Abraham…” I breathed, lightly scratching my fingernails over his skin, “Lincoln.” Then I leaned in for a kiss.

“No.” He dodged away. “Abraham Lincoln was born thirty-three years after the Declaration of Independence . You got this right last week.”

I huffed in frustration. “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted by my super-attractive teacher. What does a girl gotta do to get laid?”

I did not expect the effect my words would have.

Quentin turned away from me, looking like I had slapped him across the face.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” His eyes flickered over my body. “I want to, believe me.”

Now, that sounded like it was going in the right direction. I moved closer again. “Okay…”

“My clothes have to stay on.”

I froze. Okay . That would be a bit of a challenge, but if that was what he needed, I was on board. “That’s fine,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “I can work with that. Lie back.”

He nodded hesitantly and complied, resting his head against the armrest of the couch. His body was still stiff, ready to bolt at any moment .

“Try to relax,” I said. “We’ll go slow, and we stop any time you want.”

Despite my reassurances, he still looked like he was waiting to undergo a very unpleasant dental procedure, but I was determined to change that.

I leaned over him for a kiss, carefully bringing our lips together, and waited for his response. It took him a moment to warm up to me, but soon enough, he was kissing me with passion. For a while we just did that, kissing like teenagers in the back seat of a car, before I pried myself away from his lips and moved my mouth to his neck.

When I sat back up, Quentin was flustered and panting. Risking a glance downward, I could see an erection straining against his pants.

Encouraged, I let my hand wander up his arms and over his chest, gently caressing the firm muscles. I knew he must have more scars under his shirt, so I was careful not to touch too firmly. “Tell me if I hurt you,” I said, just to make sure.

“You’re not,” he said, his voice raspy.

I let my hand wander lower, over his stomach, feeling the muscles there tense under my touch, and lower still, down his thigh, and then back up, getting very close to my object of desire, but carefully avoiding it. I would wait for his signal, verbal or nonverbal. His comfort was more important than the pooling heat between my legs. I’d already decided this was going to be all about him. After what he’d done to me last time, we had a score to settle.

I put my hand on his thigh and felt the heat of his skin through the fabric of his pants, but I wanted more. He didn’t want me to see him, but was touching allowed?

I carefully untucked his shirt, letting my fingers graze at the hem for a while, so he had a chance to stop me. He didn’t, so I pushed a hand under his shirt, touching his stomach. No scar tissue was there, only firm muscles and hot skin .

Quentin covered his eyes with his hand and groaned.

“Look at me,” I asked gently.

He complied, and his eyes were dark with desire, making my heart race.

I withdrew my hand and tapped against his belt buckle. “May I?”

His breath was coming out in short, hard huffs. He swallowed, then he nodded. “God, yes.”

That was what I wanted to hear. I quickly undid his belt buckle and opened his pants, drawing a sigh of relief from him.

My hand came to rest on his thigh again. Now that I was so close to my goal, my courage faltered. Many years had passed since I’d been with anyone but Ryan. What if I did something wrong? Something Quentin did not like . He was finally allowing himself to be vulnerable with someone. I had to make it good for him. Everything depended on it.

My hesitation lasted so long that Quentin lifted his head to look at me. Whatever he saw in my face made him sit up and scoot away. “You don’t have to,” he said quickly, reaching down to rezip his pants, “You don’t have to do anything just because I—”

I quickly caught his hand and gently pushed him back down, pressing a quick kiss on his lips.

“Quentin, you have no idea how much you turn me on, do you?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but I quickly sealed it with another kiss, deeper, more heated this time. He relented.

My heart was pounding, and my face felt flushed when I pulled his underwear down and reached for him, hot and hard, gently closing my fingers around his shaft.

Even this light touch made Quentin groan and tense with pleasure.

I let my fingers travel up and down for a while, just grazing, barely touching, before gripping him more firmly .

His hips bucked toward me, his fingers dug into the couch.

I started to move my hand in a steady rhythm.

“Oh God,” he panted. “Slower. Please.”

I immediately complied, slowing my movements, easing my grip. “Too intense?”

He nodded, his eyes clenched shut like he was desperately trying to hold on to the last bits of control. “I don’t think this is going to take very long.”

“That’s fine,” I reassured him. “Just let go. Allow yourself this.”

I picked up the pace again, drawing more moans from him. The sound made my mouth dry. At that moment, I felt like I’d never seen anything sexier than uptight, controlled, mild-mannered Quentin writhing in pleasure under my touch.

The tensing of his muscles told me this would indeed not take long. I tightened my grip a little more, and shortly after, his whole body tensed up, and he choked out a groan as warm liquid met my hand.

I waited for his body to relax and his breathing to slow before I gently let go of him, wiping first my own hand then Quentin’s stomach with a tissue.

“Don’t look so guilty,” I told him with a smile. “This was super hot. Did you like it too?”

“I think that was evident.”

“Well, your body spoke a clear language,” I said, “but what about the rest of you? Do you feel okay?”

He looked lost in thought for a moment, like he wasn’t quite sure what the answer was. “Yes,” he finally said.

“I didn’t push you too far?”

He shook his head. “I’m glad you pushed a little. I’d almost forgotten that my body is capable of feeling… pleasure.”

“Wait, are you telling me you never do this just by yourself? ”

He blushed. I couldn’t believe the question made him blush after everything that had happened between us.

“Rarely,” he said, “but that feels nothing like what you just did to me.”

I grinned. “Get used to it,” I said, pulling him toward me for a kiss. “Because I plan to make this a regular occurrence. I think that will do you a whole lot of good.”

He exhaled. “You don’t mind? That we’re not having… proper sex?”

“No.”

“I promise we’ll get there.”

I took his head between my hands and gently caressed his cheek, waiting for him to make eye contact again. “Quentin, it takes as long as it takes, okay? This right here is fine. More than fine, it’s amazing. I mean… weeks of foreplay? Sign me up.”

He carefully tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I want to take you out on a date this weekend.”

“A real date? Or a platonic date?”

“I think we moved past platonic in the last two days,” he said.

I giggled. “I moved past platonic weeks ago. A real date sounds nice. And you’re in luck. I’m free this weekend.”

He smiled a smile that warmed my insides. “I have no idea how this happened.”

“How what happened?” I asked. “Us?”

He nodded.

I shrugged. “Me neither,” I admitted. “I just followed my heart, and it led me to you. Does that sound cheesy?”

He rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. “No. It sounds wonderful.”