Chapter 16

Gavin:

By the time I get home that afternoon, today being my day off from the gym, I’m a mess. Sam’s early morning visit to my classroom left my resolve in tatters. I’ve never been more grateful for a piece of furniture than I was for that ridiculously oversized podium at the front of the room, because I was sporting wood harder than that damn thing all morning. My gaze was constantly drawn to Sam like she had her own gravity. Every time I looked away from her, I felt the pull of her allure, felt her eyes on me. And the heated looks she was giving me were not helping my situation.

I consider not coming home until I remember Sam works in the afternoons. I’ll have the apartment to myself. And when I walk in the door, I take a moment to relish in the solitude of the quiet loft. I head to the kitchen, make myself some lunch, then park on the couch to eat it while I catch up on sports highlights for the week. One thing that sucks about working and going for my doctorate while also student-teaching, all at the same time, is there’s no time left for personal interests. Hobbies? What are those? I certainly don’t have time for any. I’m not overly obsessed with sports, but I enjoy a good hockey or football game and rooting for my local teams. With the semester almost over—only a couple weeks left, including Thanksgiving—I’ll have a lot more free time to relax hopefully. Except more free time means more time at home… where Sam will be.

And her cousin. Rob’s already made it clear that he would not be happy if any of his friends fooled around with his cousin. It’s an antiquated stance for a guy to take these days, but that’s not my call to make. I don’t want to piss Rob off. Not to mention the fact that I’ve got more reason than just an angry roommate to keep my hands off her. I could blow my whole career before it even begins by getting involved with a student from my class.

I’ll just have to hope Sam finds another place to stay and soon. Grin and bear it until she moves out. Which is supposed to be in the next few weeks. I hope.

The sound of someone unlocking the front door draws me out of my musing, and I look up to see Sam rounding the corner from the entryway. The clock under the TV reads 3:08 p.m. She’s home early. “I thought you were working.” I don’t mean for my tone to sound accusatory, but it does.

She blinks in surprise. “Sarah let me take off early so I could work on my final paper. She knows how important it is for me to do well on it.”

I can’t argue with that. I’ve seen Sam’s grades. Dr. Peterson is a heavy grader on a good day, but Sam seems to be getting it extra hard. I’m not sure why. I’ve never known him to not be fair, but what I’ve seen of Sam’s work and grasp of the content so far doesn’t match up with the grades Peterson’s been giving her all semester.

Sam sets her bag down on one of the barstools and goes to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. Then she parks at the snack bar and pulls out her tablet and notepad. “Will it bother you if I work here?”

I shake my head, and she pops in earbuds before engrossing herself in whatever reading material she has on her tablet. The TV is still on, and I try to pay attention to the screen. But Sam’s presence in the room demands my attention, I couldn’t ignore her if I my life depended on it.

I try not to notice how adorable she looks scribbling furiously into her notebook, chewing on the tip of her pen distractedly, or the way her eyebrows scrunch together in concentration while she’s reading.

We sit like that for a long time. Me trying to watch the TV or read the news on my phone or surf social media—anything to take my mind of Sam and how interesting I find her—and her working diligently at her final paper. At some point during the afternoon, as I try to tear my gaze from her for only about the fiftieth time, I realize that I can’t keep denying my attraction to her. Because it’s more than just attraction, more than just the proximity of living together. Granted, I don’t know a whole lot about her as a person—that’s what happens when you spend most of your free time trying to avoid someone—but I know enough to be certain she’s a sweet person, with a sunny disposition. The kind of person who wakes up early to try to make breakfast for her cousin and a guy she barely knows as a thank you for a place to crash. The kind of person who is grateful just to use an alcove as a bedroom, never demanding or even asking for more. And she has an impish side, I know, having been on the receiving end of her teasing several times already. The bottom line is, I’m drawn to this woman for more than just her body. I want to be with her. Get to know her.

She chooses that moment to look up at me and catches me staring at her. Maybe she felt my attention on her, or maybe it was coincidence. It doesn’t matter. I don’t look away, and we end up in some weird staring contest, locked in each other’s gaze. Her expression is questioning, maybe even hopeful, and the interest I see there frays my last strand of willpower until it snaps. Without really thinking about what I’m doing, I get up from the couch and approach her until we’re barely inches apart.

She stretches her neck to look up at me expectantly, and I reach out to trace my fingertips down her cheek. Her lips part, and I trace the lower one with my thumb. What would it be like to taste her again? This time without the buzz of alcohol zinging through my system and without the apprehension and doubt and fear of repercussions casting a shadow over our kiss, now that I’m fully giving in to the need to be with her, consequences be damned. I need to know.

I lean down slowly, giving her ample time to push me away if she doesn’t want this. She doesn’t push me away, and I press my lips to hers. The moment our mouths connect, warmth spreads through me. Her hands land on my hips, setting off a chemical reaction that leaves me weak kneed and fully erect. One of us deepens the kiss, or maybe we both do; I can’t tell. Where our lips were almost chastely pressed together a second ago, we’re now tangled, our tongues delving into each other’s mouths with fervor. I pour myself into this kiss, showing her with my mouth everything I would like to do to her body. I want this kiss to never end, but the position is awkward, with her sitting on a barstool and me bent over her. Pulling back, I break our kiss, intending to pull her to her feet and kiss her again.

“Is that for me?” she asks in a teasing tone, and I follow the direction of her gaze. Straight to my crotch and the massive erection tenting my gray slacks. That’s not embarrassing. Although it’s not nearly as mortifying as her catching me in the act the other night, the heat of embarrassment still creeps into my cheeks, but I don’t bother trying to hide the evidence of my arousal. There’s no point. Hell, she’s already seen me naked and in the throes of orgasm. A tent in my pants is practically insignificant in comparison. “Should I unwrap it?” Her tone is all innocence. A jolt of arousal at the idea of her “unwrapping” my dick like a present has me hardening even more.

But I want to unwrap her first. “We’ll get to that.” I pull her to her feet with a gentle grip on her arms and then turn us so the snack bar is behind her. Her lips are swollen and deep pink and beg to be kissed again, a plea that I indulge willing. We dive into the moment like we need to touch to survive. Her hands are everywhere on me at once, and I can’t decide where I want to touch her most.

I run my fingers under her university sweatshirt, and when she lifts her arms I divest her of the garment in a quick movement, leaving her in just a sheer, pink lace bra. Her breasts are cute and perky, a perfect handful calling out for my attention. I cup them, mold them, memorize the feel of them in my hands. Sam arches into my touch, a silent request for more. Her bra clasps in front, making it easy for me to unhook it and slide the satiny straps down her shoulders and off her body. It falls to the floor in a soft flutter.

I lean back to take in the sight of her bare breasts. I’ve pictured them a hundred times if I’ve pictured them once, but none of my imaginings hold a candle to the real thing. They’re perky and firm, and perfectly sized to fit in the palms of my hands. Her nipples are perfect blush color and tightly budded in arousal. My fingers itch to touch them.

Before I can reach for her breasts, her hands are at my waistband, lifting my shirt, tugging the material up and over my head. I raise my arms to aid her, and then my shirt joins her sweatshirt on the floor.

Her lips are back on mine in the heartbeat that follows, her tongue dipping back into my mouth suggestively. She has to stretch up to reach, and the position presses her bare chest to mine. My brain zeroes in on her hard nipples brushing my skin, her taut stomach pressed to mine, her hips rolling ever so slightly against my erection. It’s sensation overload, but I need more, need to be closer. Need less material between us. Her jeans are the biggest hindrance, and I work quickly to unbutton them and shove them down her hips without breaking our kiss. When I set my hands back on her waist, the only thing left is a tiny string of fabric.

I follow it with my fingertips, tracing the shape to figure out what it is. When it reaches her ass, the string changes direction. A thong, I realize, and I’m suddenly so glad I hadn’t known she was wearing this earlier. I never would have been able to resist this moment as long as I did if I’d pictured her in this tiny scrap of fabric. I wrap my arms tight around her and lift, set her on the snack bar, shape my body to hers. Then I move my kisses from her lips to her chin, down her neck. I stop at one of her breasts, lave her perfect pink, taut nipple, suck it into my mouth and revel in the tiny sounds of pleasure she makes in response.

She arches her back and her hands burrow into my hair as I move on to her other breast, wanting to give each fair attention. After a moment, she sets her hands on my shoulders and nudges me upward, bringing my mouth back to hers. I don’t want to wait another second to have her underneath me. I scoop my hands under her ass and lift her against me. Her long legs stretch around me and clamp tight. I hesitate just a moment, vacillating between the idea of going to the couch for its proximity, her alcove room for a real bed, or my room for a real bed and privacy, not that the last option is quite so important in the otherwise empty apartment.

But I want to be able to take my time with her without worrying about Rob finding us naked the second he walks in the door. So I carry her to my room, shut the door behind us with my foot, and lay her gently on the bed. Then, I shuck my slacks. In just my underwear, I crawl over her, taking in the sight of her practically naked in my bed, and I’m struck my how natural it feels to be here like this, to be here with her. I want this moment to last forever. And I’m going to do my best to make that happen.