"It's going to be hard to have a tutoring session if you're not talking to me," he says.
"I guess you can study silently by yourself, then."
I squeeze past a rack of weight plates and head for the exit, but Colton is quicker than I am and stands in front of it.
"Really?" I exclaim. "You're blocking the door? What are you, twelve? You're such a child. Are you going to pull my hair next?"
A smile spreads slowly across his face. "Pulling your hair is just what I had in mind, actually."
For a second, the only thing I can think about is Colton gripping my hair, pulling my head back, and entering me from behind.
My pussy throbs its approval. Great. Just great.
"Get out of the way," I hiss, more irritated with myself for actually liking the idea of Colton pulling my hair than with the locker room prank.
"Maybe I wanted you to see me naked," Colton says. "Remind you of what you're missing."
"You're like a preening peacock," I say. "Is this the mating ritual of the college football player? Stand there naked and wait for some girl to jump on your cock?"
He opens the door and follows me out. "It's worked every other time."
"I'm sure it has."
The problem is, all I can think about as I walk back to the tutoring session is jumping on Colton's cock.
13
Colton
She ignores me the whole way to the student center. She might be mad, but the expression on her face when she saw me standing in front of her? That can't be disguised as anger.
That was definite lust.
The locker room thing was juvenile, for sure. But I can't help riling her up. It's so much fun to watch her squirm.
I'd just rather she be naked when she does it.
Inside the room, I toss my bag on the ground and flop down into the seat across from her. She pointedly ignores me for, like, ten minutes straight, and we sit in silence. It's like a game of chicken to see which of us caves first.
I finally do, which is my version of an apology. "If you want to just sit there staring at me, I can undress again."
Cassie rolls her eyes hard, then asks, "How did your English exam go?"
Her voice is crisp and businesslike, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened between us.
As if I didn't show up to her apartment with a cock bouquet.
As if she didn't totally send me a pussy to jerk off with. Hello, obvious signal there.
As if I didn't just watch her stare at my dick in the locker room.
As if she's not sitting across from me in a sleeveless form-fitting button-down shirt that displays the top of her cleavage. And a skirt that makes her ass look fucking fantastic. I should know, because I watched it enough on the way over here.
"Are we going to keep up this charade?" I ask.
She avoids eye contact, pulling a notebook out of her bag. She already has a notebook on the table. "I thought you didn't use big words."
"You were checking me out in the locker room."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she spits back, opening her laptop. Her fingers are moving, clicking on something, but I don't think she's looking at anything.
"I'm talking about the fact that your eyes were glued to me," I say. "If you want, I can take these pants off and remind you what you were looking at."
"Thanks, but I had a late lunch. I'm hoping not to vomit it up today."
"You should eat something to settle your stomach," I suggest. "I hear candy penises are good for that. The real thing is much better.”
She narrows her eyes as she looks at me. "How did you do on your exam?"
"Why are you avoiding answering my question?" I ask.
"You're avoiding telling me how you did," she answers, her voice professional.
"First, admit you were checking me out, and then I'll tell you how I did on my exam," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
She rolls her eyes. "You're delusional if you think I was checking you out." But her cheeks flush pink and she bites the corner of her lip, the thing she seems to do when she's uncomfortable. Or turned on, I think. It's her tell. She'd be a terrible poker player.
God, I love watching her try to lie.
"You're the world's worst liar," I say. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.
"I'm not lying," she insists.
"Yes you are." I stand up and cross to the side of the table, closer to her.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm coming over here because I want a closer look," I say, my voice thick.
"To see if I'm lying? That's ridiculous."
"Sure, that too."
The flush on her cheeks isn't going away.
She stands up. I think she might be about to kick me out of here for being exceedingly inappropriate. Or kick me right in the balls.