Fifteen
The third tutoring session is going…fine.
Though it would be going much better if Wes weren’t intent on destroying the last scrap of her sanity by parading around his apartment shirtless.
After completing a timed Logical Reasoning practice test, he handed it back to her for grading before disappearing into his bedroom. She was so focused on checking his answers that she didn’t notice until he passed her at the table on his way to the kitchen.
When she did, she nearly choked on her spit.
She tries—tries so hard—not to stare as he stands in front of the open refrigerator, perusing its contents, naked except for a pair of gray joggers slung low on his hips.
For years, she’s managed not to replay the memory of herself at eighteen, standing in front of a bare-chested boy she didn’t know. Now it flares to the front of her mind.
Ignoring his physicality and athleticism for the past three years has been easy, since she’s only seen him clothed, and she’s been able to bury her feelings in the deepest hole in her brain. But standing just feet from her now, he is a sight to behold.
He shuts the door and opens a cupboard, each movement revealing a new muscle, his upper body firm and defined.
Cords of definition undulate across his chest, his abdominals flexing with the slightest movement.
His broad shoulders taper into a lean waist, the lines of his Adonis belt dipping below the waistband of his joggers, a trail of fine blond hair leading down from his navel like an arrow to his cock.
Her mouth goes dry when she spots a tattoo inked on his left shoulder—some kind of Celtic symbol—and then he faces her, holding a bag of Twizzlers. When he catches her stare, a slow, satisfied smile appears on his stupid mouth.
Charlie looks away, her face blazing.
“What are you doing?” she croaks.
“Getting a snack,” he replies.
She grips her pen tighter at the smugness dripping off his words. “I mean…” Charlie clears her throat, willing herself not to spontaneously combust. “Why are you shirtless?”
“I’m hot.” He approaches the table and hovers next to her seat. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
Charlie scoffs. “No. I just find it unnecessary.”
“You’re welcome to join me.”
She shoots him a glare and gestures to his half-graded practice test. “We’re supposed to be studying.”
“And I think we deserve a break,” he replies, offering her the bag of candy. “Twizzler?”
She scowls but accepts one. “Do you think you deserve a break?” She takes a bite.
Wes rips off a chunk of his own red candy with his teeth. “Yes. You did an excellent job tutoring me, as usual. Five stars.”
She sighs. “Quinn—”
“Rogers.” He shifts closer, leveling her with his gaze.
“I promise I’ll be fine.” He lifts a hand to her hair, pulling on a loose curl, his fascination with her hair apparently endless.
“You deserve a break, too, don’t you think?
” He wraps it around his finger before letting go, his mouth softening into a knowing smile.
“You’ve been jumpy from the moment you arrived. ”
“I have not.”
“Oh?” He shifts to stand behind her, and her body thrums. “So I’m only imagining the way you’ve been refreshing the Male Perspective feed for the past two hours?”
Charlie presses her lips together, annoyed at his ability to notice details she thought she hid well. It’s infuriating.
“I’m nervous,” she admits. “You know the podcast dropped today.”
“I do. But that means that whatever happens is out of your control. You did everything you could, and now we can only wait for the response.”
She releases a frustrated groan, knowing what he said is true. “I hate not being in control.”
He laughs. “Truer words have never been said.” He leans closer, his breath caressing the skin at the nape of her neck. “What happens when Charlotte Rogers loses control?”
“Everyone dies,” she mutters. “Game over.”
She presses a finger to her temple. After listening to the podcast episode first thing that morning, she felt hopeful, for the most part: Theo aired the full discussion with Victoria, and Charlie could not be prouder of how confident and professional her boss sounded.
After her incredible explanation of the benefit of sex toys in the bedroom, the episode did an excellent job highlighting the importance of keeping clinics like The Wild Rue open for all kinds of sexual and reproductive care.
But Charlie’s uncertainty persists. She’s not sure if it will be enough.
Wes rounds the table, coming to stand behind her, and she avoids looking at his bare chest.
“Rogers, I promise if anything changes in the next hour, you can spend all the time you want refreshing the comments section. But have you been able to relax at all today?”
“Right before I opened my eyes this morning.”
He laughs softly. “Even more reason to take a break.”
She glances at him in her periphery. “What did you have in mind?”
“What’s next on your list of experiments?” he purrs.
Even though he’s not touching her, she feels like all of her nerve endings are on fire. Why can’t she get hold of herself? Why does every touch, every minuscule brush of his fingers, melt her into a lusty puddle?
“Fingering,” she whispers.
“Is that something you’d like to try today?” His touch is a live wire as he brushes his fingertips along her neck and collarbone.
She swallows. And nods.
“Words, Rogers,” he whispers. “I won’t move forward until you give me the green light.”
“Yes,” she breathes.
His hands settle on her shoulders. She leans into him, the memory of the last time his mouth was on her skin rushing to the surface.
“Remember we’ll only go as far as you want,” he whispers. “This is all up to you.”
She nods. “Okay.”
His fingers skim down her throat and then pull away. “Come with me.”
Wes strolls to his bedroom. Charlie steadies herself before following him, a mixture of calm and anticipation warring in her gut. But most importantly, there’s a feeling of absolute comfort, something that has never been present with anyone before him.
His room is painted pale gray, and framed photos hang on the walls. A queen-size bed covered in a navy duvet and gray throw pillows takes up most of the space. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf sits on the opposite wall next to a window overlooking the parking lot.
Wes stands in the middle of the room, relaxed, watching her take in the space.
“I like this for you,” she says. Then her eyes land on a candle flickering on one of the bedside tables. She stares at it pointedly, then at him. “Really?”
He shrugs. “Don’t overthink it.”
“This isn’t supposed to be flower petals and lit candles. It’s an experiment.”
He shakes his head, chuckling. “God, your dirty talk is positively toe-curling.”
She rolls her eyes and steps toward the bookshelf, but he wraps his fingers around her wrist, tugging her to his side.
“No you don’t, Rogers.” He presses his mouth to her throat. “You can do a closeup examination later.” His lips brush the curve of her ear. “Go lie on the bed.”
Wes’s bed. A place she’s only ever dreamed she’d be.
At his assertive command, her blood ignites, a shiver of anticipatory excitement racing down her spine. It’s maddening how comfortable she feels with him, the prickly unease she felt with Nash entirely absent.
“Why do you have so many throw pillows?” she asks, tossing one to the floor.
He kneels beside her, his eyes gleaming. “Why do you ask so many questions?”
She arches a brow, challenging. “Why don’t you do something about it?”
He barks with laughter. “So mouthy.” He nips the notch between her neck and collarbone, then moves his mouth over her throat. She gasps, the sensation somehow more exquisite than it was the first time.
“And so responsive.” His hand hovers over her waist. “May I—”
She nods before he finishes. “Yes.”
His palm burns as it slides under her shirt, dancing up her rib cage, light and delicate, before curving around her breast. Pushing her back against the pillows, he sucks at the hollow of her throat.
When she moves her hand to the nape of his neck, dragging her fingers through his hair, he lets out a soft moan.
“Do you touch yourself, Rogers?”
His words spark a match, igniting the fire inside her. Her pulse races faster, and he slides his hand down her neck to rest on her collarbone. She wonders if he can feel her erratic heartbeat. There’s no way he can’t.
“I’m not a prude.” She fights for the last bit of control over her sanity before she spontaneously combusts from his touch. “Just a virgin.”
A smile tugs at his lips, his mouth so close to hers, and she considers letting go and…leaning in.
“Teach me how to touch you,” he whispers. “Show me how to make you feel good.”
His hands skate down her rib cage to her waist, hooking into the waistband of her leggings. His eyes, dark glittering jewels, rise to meet hers. “Can I?”
Her breath stutters, and she nods.
He sucks on her pulse point. “Words, Charlie.”
“Yes,” she gasps.
Slowly, he rolls down her leggings and underwear, and she shifts her hips to help him.
“Gorgeous,” he breathes when she’s bare in front of him for the first time.
His gaze never leaves her center as his palms slide down her hips, over her thighs, wrapping around her ankles.
Spreading her wider, his lips caress her calf before he presses his mouth with aching sensuality to the inside of her knee.
He lies on his stomach between her legs, then lifts his gaze and watches her with something akin to reverence.
“Teach me.” He kisses her other knee, and she shivers. “I know how much you love telling people what to do.”
Charlie releases a breathless, shocked laugh. She trembles as he stares at her core, transfixed. She opens her mouth to speak, but her words fail when he slips a finger through her folds.
“You’re already so wet,” he growls. “Is this for me?”
She arches her hips forward, trying to find more pressure, more friction, just more. “Yes.”
Because even if she’s annoyed at how smug he sounds, why deny it?
Of course it’s for him. It’s all for him.