“So what is it, then?” I ask now that we’re alone. “If it’s not watching that turns you on, what is it?”
She tries to shy away from me, but I’ve got her trapped between my body and the books. She chews at her bottom lip, and her chin bobs a few times, like she’s trying to pluck up the courage. “I just find it interesting how everything . . . works.”
I can’t hold in my laugh. “So it’s just biology for you? That’s what does it? Like watching animal mating habits in a zoo?”
Her eyes narrow, and she shoves me backward. She tries to flee, but I grab hold of her hips and pull her back against my chest. “I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you. I swear. I just want to know what you like. It’s entirely selfish. You’ve got your list, and I’ve got mine. And knowing what it takes to get you off is right at the top for me.”
Her expression is still wary, but her hands rest against my chest now instead of trying to push me away. “I wasn’t talking about how sex works. I’ve known that since I read a disturbingly informative book in the third grade. It’s about how . . . the rest of it works. Attraction. Desire. Pleasure. I’m fascinated not just by the movements and the actions, but what fills in the blanks. What turns something from stimulating to . . .”
I’m not sure how her talking scientifically about sex is turning me on, but it is. Could have something to do with hearing the world “pleasure” come out of those plump lips of hers.
“From stimulating to what?”
“Orgasmic.”
Yep. Definitely turned on. That’s it for me. I’m fucking done for.
“So you like the idea of watching because it’s like an experiment to you? A study?” She nods. “What about doing your own experiment? To see what fills in the blanks for you?”
Lifting my hand, I run a finger down the side of her neck, and her hands clench against my chest. I cup her neck in both hands, reaching my thumbs up to glide along the soft skin of her jaw. Her body alternates between surrendering to my touch and tensing up. With each swipe of my thumbs, she wavers. But I can’t tell if she’s resisting because of nerves or because she doesn’t want this for some other reason. One of those, I think I can fix.
“I—” she starts, then cuts herself off with a deep inhale.
Gently, I rub my fingers against the nape of her neck, trying to calm her down, and she sighs. “There are some things I can be patient for, you know. On the field, I have to know just the right moment to break away from my defender. Too soon, and he’ll catch up to me before I catch the ball. Too late, and I miss my window of opportunity. So, while I do go after what I want full force, I know how to wait until the time is right.”
When I’m done talking, my massaging of her neck has her eyes half closed, but she lifts her lids enough to pin me with her gaze.
“Thanks for the football metaphor, now tell me plainly what you’re saying.”
I swallow a laugh. The way her confidence around me has grown is nothing short of stunning. If I were a more poetic guy, I’d compare it to seeing a flower bloom before my eyes. But that’s not me, so all I can say is it’s hot. Unbelievably hot. Every time she goes toe-to-toe with me, I just want more.
“I’m saying that I’d love to be the person to help satisfy your curiosity, the one to help you figure out what you like. But I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give.” I’d like to tell her that she has control in this aspect of things, but I can’t promise that. The need to feel her surrender to me is too strong for that. But it requires trust. I need her to be able to turn off the thoughts that are always running through her head, and she won’t do that until she believes she can.
I use the hand at her neck to draw her a little closer, dipping my own head down at the same time. “So the question is,” I begin, “how much are you willing to give me, Nell?”
Her gaze flicks back and forth between my eyes, as if she might see something different in the left than the right. I draw a thumb over her bottom lip, pulling at it enough that I can feel the warm exhale of her breath on my skin. “This?” I ask her. “Can I have this?”
I lean down to take her mouth. The look in her eyes is response enough for me, but before I get there, she closes her lips over my thumb. The tentative slide of her tongue nearly brings me to my knees. Then she sucks at my finger, and just like that, she’s stolen the control right from under me.
I like experimental Nell. I like her so damn much.
Chapter 17
Nell’s To-Do List
• Normal College Thing #4: Do something wild.
• Don’t get caught.
It was an impulsive move. I had a hazy memory of him doing this to me when I was drunk the other night, and I remember that it felt like all my bones had gone liquid. My response had surprised me. Never in a million years would I have thought that such a thing could have that strong an effect on me. And I’d just wanted to, I don’t know . . . return the favor.
But now my brain isn’t blurred by alcohol, and I’m intensely aware that I’m standing in a library where anyone could walk by . . . sucking on his thumb. And I’d just admitted to a hugely embarrassing fascination for watching another couple’s intimacy, and seriously what is wrong with me? I’m such a freak.
God, I’m doing this all wrong. I don’t know how to be sexy, how to be . . . this.
Just when I’m about to pull away, Mateo’s body collapses against mine, and his teeth nip the lobe of my ear. My mouth falls open on a gasp, and his wet thumb rubs across the circle of my lips before dipping back inside.
Does that mean this is good? That I’m not making a fool of myself?
“You’re killing me, Nell.” In response, I swirl my tongue around his thumb again, and he groans. His hot breath sends a shiver down my spine. “Do you know how bad I want you? Do you have any idea?”
He drags his thumb from my mouth and moves to press his forehead against mine. Seconds later, the lower half of his body leans into mine, too.
I can feel him, hot and hard against my stomach. He’s wearing gym shorts, and I’m shocked by how much I can feel through the layers of our clothes. And while I’m still marveling at the feel of him, he kisses me, his lips demanding my attention.
Our last kiss had been long and exploratory. We’d barely known each other then. And though I still don’t know the facts of him—I don’t know about his family or his childhood or how he sees his future—I do feel like I know him. And God knows he knows plenty about me. And this kiss? There’s nothing slow or introductory about it. His tongue drives into my mouth, punishing and seeking and coaxing all at the same. His hands grip the shelves on either side of me, caging me in so he can press his body flush against mine. I bring my own hands up around his waist to clutch at his back. He changes the angle of our kiss, somehow pushing even harder, and I dig my fingers into his back to hold on.
He makes a noise into the kiss that’s almost a growl and trails his mouth down to my neck. He reaches around to take my hands from his back, and then pushes them against the shelves behind me. Pinning my hands out to my sides, he continues his assault up my neck and back to my mouth.
Some part of me had thought that I was exaggerating the rawness of our kisses in the pool. I’d expected that if Mateo ever kissed me again, it would be more like his personality is every day. Teasing and light and just a little overwhelming.
But there’s something primal and dominant in him that doesn’t come out except in moments like this. I feel like it should make me nervous, especially with my arms trapped against the shelves, but I like that he’s in control, that he knows what he’s doing whenever I don’t.
Against my mouth, he says, “I need to touch you. Let me touch. That’s all.”
We’re in public. We could be caught at any moment. For all I know, someone could be watching us right now. I should say no. Be smart, Nell. Say no. “Okay.”
Oh, to hell with being smart.
While his mouth conquers mine, building and stoking a fire that feels barely contained inside me, he slides both of my hands above my head so he can hold them there with one hand. I suck in a breath, feeling my spine tense with anticipation. His fingers slide along the waistband of my yoga pants. He strokes gently from one hip, over my slightly rounded belly, to my other hip. Then his hand slips beneath the fabric, beneath my underwear, and his fingers touch me where only I have ever touched. Instinctively, I shy away, trying to pull my hips back, but the shelves behind me stop my retreat.
He breaks the kiss to return to my ear, his hand stilling against me. He kisses the shell and whispers to me, “Just breathe. I only want to make you feel good. Can I do that? I’ll be gentle.”
I swallow, glad that I don’t have to look him in the eye, and nod.
“Not good enough. I need a yes. I need you to say it. Before I make you fall apart, right here, I need to know you want my hand there as much as I do.”
I can’t bring myself to do more than whisper when I say, “I want it.”
Then he’s looking me in the eye, and smirking, and his fingers drag over damp flesh. “We’ll work on your volume later when we’re not in public.”