“Like what?” she giggles as she climbs astride my lap with pencil ready to demasculinize me while at the same time igniting my fire with the heat of her pussy sliding over my dick.
“Like this,” I say as I fist my hand in the back of her hair and pull her toward me. Her soft lips hit mine and I don’t hold back as I slip my tongue between her lips and take what I want.
She responds, all tongue, hands, mouth, and fuck am I not primed and ready to go. Our breathing gets heavier, our bodies reacting to each other, and all I want is more of her. I slide my hand into the back of her panties when she drags her mouth from mine.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” I laugh but it’s strained because fuck if I don’t want to take her fast and hard right now.
“Me, trouble?” she feigns innocence with a bat of her eyelashes, nipples front and center in my line of vision. “I’m just a challenge to handle, rocker boy, and oh how I like to be handled.” The laugh she gives me is seductive and could probably make a weaker man come on the spot but I’m holding out for the whole experience.
I pull her toward me so that I can taste her, get a little fill of the temptation before she denies me with that challenge I can already see blazing in those come fuck me eyes. Just when she starts letting me take the lead, reacting to my every action, I tear my mouth from hers even though it kills me so that I can leave her wanting a little bit more. “Believe me, I know how to handle you.”
She looks at me with her hazy caramel eyes, lips swollen from our kiss, and cheeks flushed. She sighs heavily, body tensing as my fingertips graze the slick flesh between her parted thighs. “I get what I want first,” she says holding up the eyeliner, “then you get what you want.”
Damn she’s good. Just when I thought I was in control, she handled me like nobody’s business, but that’s cool. In the end I’ll get everything I want.
Always do.
Living the dream.
Chapter 18
QUINLAN
I’ve been running in slow motion all day—it’s ridiculous. I feel like I’m ten steps behind from my first class of the day and I’m completely okay with it because I’m traveling through time on cloud nine.
And all because of Hawkin.
He kept me on the phone all morning, talking about everything and nothing until I looked at the clock and screeched at the time. He makes me feel like a damn teenager with a first-time crush. It’s rather ridiculous. I know how this story is going to end but hell if this girl, who doesn’t believe in fairy-tale endings, isn’t going to wear the glass slipper for the short while it fits.
And this glass slipper is more the stiletto with red sole variety.
I trudge across campus, actually getting a breather for the first time all day but I’m still moving at a clipped pace. I’m eager to get to the seminar early so that I can see Hawkin before the masses claim him.
I’m a greedy bitch because as far as I’m concerned the lazy Sunday afternoon we spent playing Guitar Hero after I rewarded him for letting me make him into an eighties band lead singer wasn’t enough. Neither was falling to the sofa in laughter after I beat him at the game where we then tested the couch springs, or the no shirt, no shoes dinner of Chinese takeout we had on the back porch before he left to go home.
I’ve prided myself on being a woman who is never needy, rather I’ve always been the one glancing at the clock to see how long my date-for-the-night has been at the house because he’s way overstayed his welcome, and yet the other night I didn’t want Hawkin to go. But after our fifth or sixth good night turned into lustful groping kisses, he finally left to go back to what he deemed to be his “fucked-up reality.”
I nod to an acquaintance as I wonder just what that reality is for him. I know there’s bad blood between him and Hunter causing a rift between the guys in the band but every time I’ve tried bringing it up to him, he conveniently changes the subject. Just as he does when it comes to the rest of his family: his mother, if he has other siblings, extended family. He’s closed off but hides it well, always shifting into stories about the band or a show or a snooty celebrity he has inside dirt on.
I sense he doesn’t trust easily—and that’s understandable with the public position that he’s in—but I get the hint that there’s more to it than that. How much more, I’m unsure.
The stupid smile remains on my face even when my thoughts veer to Luke and how he proved himself to be the gentleman I knew him to be. How when I called him Sunday evening to see how he was feeling and to apologize again, he actually picked up and we talked for a short while. I explained I wasn’t trying to lead him on, give him false hope by calling, but rather if he was comfortable with it, I’d love to keep him as a friend because he really is a good guy.
Axe stands at the door as I approach the theater and that causes my smile to spread even wider because that means Hawke is inside. I feel a slight relief that maybe, just maybe, Hawkin feels this euphoric giddiness that I do and that’s why he arrived early when he never has before. And just maybe he’s done that because he can’t wait to see me.
Axe greets me warmly as he opens the door for me, and once inside I walk quickly across the atrium. I pull open the doors housing the interior with high expectations and nerves running rampant but for the first time, they’re from anticipation and not from loathing the guest lecturer.
The straight punch of lust I feel the minute I see him is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. A ball of bound energy radiates through me, causing a slow burn of desire and a definite bang of lust between my thighs. I falter momentarily in my movements, wanting to appreciate the sight of him but at the same time wanting to run down the steps and taste his kiss again.