The Learning Hours(46)

She tips her head, arches her back as my fingers part her slit. I run one up and down, tiny circles against her pussy. Laurel bites her bottom lip, nostrils flaring.

Lips part the barest of a fraction. Eyes roll.

Reaching out, her fingers rake through my hair, watching me as I finger her. Shit, I don’t know if I’m even doing it right—but her face is flushed and she’s squirming a lot, which I take as a good sign.

“You’re getting hard again.” She wiggles her hips.

Impatiently? Excited.

I am getting hard again—thank Christ. Eyes scan the bed for the condoms I threw down earlier. They’re near the foot of the bed, close to the edge, but not so far I won’t be able to reach them when I need to slip one on.

Condoms.

I’ve only ever worn them twice—for the same fuck. The first time I tried putting one on, it snapped when I rolled it, breaking. The second attempt went marginally better, the actual sex act lasting only as long as it had taken to put the damn thing on in the first place. Beth, my first partner, wasn’t a virgin, didn’t come when we fucked, and whined about it the entire drive home.

We stayed friends—because we’re from such a small town—but it was always awkward after that. Just awesome.

Laurel is wet, my fingers slick. Thumb caressing the swollen nub hidden there. She moans. Thrashes her head.

Whines.

Gazes at me with eyes so glazed over with a looming orgasm it makes the throbbing between my own legs increase tenfold.

“I want you i-inside me when I…oh God…”

“Should I get the…” Condoms?

“Yes,” she hisses. Her legs squeeze closed when I fly to the foot of the bed, snatching up the strip of condoms and tearing one off. Rip the package open with my teeth like a savage, roll it on like I’ve done it a hundred times.

When I rise to climb over the body personifying every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had, I take a second to appreciate the view: Laurel’s legs spread wide, inviting me to slide inside that smooth pussy. Long, wavy red hair. Amazing rack. Hands white-knuckling the bedspread.

Impatient. “I can’t stand it anymore. Hurry.”

Trembling, I reach down, grabbing my cock, guiding it into her heat, hoping like fuck I stick it in the right hole.

Then?

A collective moan when my dick slides in, inch by glorious inch, guided by the white light behind my eyelids. Vision a blur. Loud, passionate groans our only soundtrack.

I push into her gently, elbows braced on either side of her gorgeous face, bending to kiss her. Her mouth opens, tongue plunging into mine. Starving, sexy.

Over and over.

I can’t believe I’m having sex with Laurel Bishop, my brain screams, momentarily distracting me from all the sliding in and out I know I should be doing.

God she feels good. Hot.

Fuck she feels good. Slick.

Jesus she feels good. Tight.

I thrust into her, pleasure coursing through my blood, veins. Head. Feet. Legs. Balls. Dick.

“Rhett,” she whimpers, tapping my bicep. “I knew you would feel good.”

“You’ve thought about it?”

“Only a hundred times a day.”

Her fingers dig into my hips, nudging me off her. Shoves me to my back, legs swinging into a straddle. Eases down around me, sinking onto my dick. Undulates her hips, back and forth, in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

And this is the part where I fucking die and go to heaven…

Holy Christ. Holy shit.

Oh fuck.

I use the swivel in my hips to thrust up, her hands planted behind her head, deliberate…mind-blowing…rolls of her narrow hips…

“God, Rhett, yes…right there, yeah yeah,” comes her plea, her chant. “Keep doing that with your hips, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Her tits bounce as we fuck, hair falling in a shocking red wave, the entire visual more than I can even fucking handle. I can’t take my eyes off her—couldn’t if I tried.

Laurel’s hands skim my pelvis, nails dragging along the skin there. Head tipped back, she moans as we move together, bodies in synch, her tight—

“You should see yourself,” she whispers on a whimper. “You’re gorgeous.”

And in this moment, I believe her.

I have to.

Because there’s something in her eyes when she looks down at me, an expression I can’t place. Words waiting on her lips, words she wants to say. Adoration in the bend of her brow and the depths of her pretty blue eyes.

Yearning? Maybe.

Desire? Yes.

Affection. Devotion.

Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was in love with me.

I know sex can make you say and do some pretty fucked-up shit, but I don’t think I’m wrong here. Feel a shift when she breaks the contact, leaning forward, palms grabbing the wooden headboard behind me. Rocks her hips—

“Harder. Grab my ass,” she demands. “Feels so…mmm.”

Bends her head, hair falling in a cascade, so long it hits my chest. When she leans down to kiss me, I push it out of her face, cradling her jawline as she screws me on top.

Christ, shit, fuck…

“Rhett.” My name, said like that, on her lips, silently spilling into my mouth. “God, baby, oh Goddd.”

“Laurel,” I chant back, lost in the feel of her tight pussy. Her tongue.

The look in her eyes.

“Baby.”

When we come, it’s together—mouths falling open, two sets of wide eyes bonded, intense—something I assumed was only reserved for movies. For cheesy romance novel bullshit. For my dipshit friends and their relationships.

Not for me.

Laurel takes her hands off the headboard, placing them on the pillow beneath my head. Rests her cheek on my sternum, listens to the erratically beating heart within my chest.

I stroke her hair. Back.

She kisses my shoulder.

“Rhett?”

“Hmm?”

There’s a long stretch of calm, her fingertip tracing along the veins in my forearm.

“I…”

“You what?”

“Nothing.”





“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Laurel sits up, yanking a sheet over her pale breasts. “Doesn’t it sound like there are a bunch of voices in the living room?”

Insatiable, I drag her back down to the mattress, throwing back the sheet, mouth latching on to her nipple. Suckling. “No.”

“Rhett, stop!” She makes no move to smack me away, letting me taste her skin. “I’m serious,” she all but moans. “Listen for a second.”

I pause. Listen.

She’s right—there are voices coming from the front of the house. Voices I don’t recognize.

“You don’t think your roommates are having a party, do you?”

When I shrug, hand creeping below the covers, back between her legs, she spreads them for me. “Who knows. I don’t trust those two.”

“But you trust me,” she boasts, hands cupping her bare breasts. “You want more of these?”

My dick twitches. Hardens. “Fuck yes.”

“You want my cookie?”

“Fuck ye—”

Footfalls in the hallway give me pause. A loud banging at my door.

“New guy!”

“WHAT!” I shout, horny and immediately irritated. Laurel kisses my back when I twist my torso toward the door, eyes searching the room for my boxers.

“Dude.” Gunderson laughs through the door. “I hate to break up the party, but you have company.”

A warm mouth drags down the back of my neck. “Tell them to piss off.”

“No can do.”

Petite hands snake around my middle, wrapping around my—

“Godfuckingdammit Gunderson, I said piss off!”

“Afraid that’s going to be impossible amigo.” His annoying laugh drifts through the door.

Laurel’s soft hands slowly pump up and down my cock. “Why the fuck not?”

Jesus Christ, did I just grunt that entire sentence out?

“What’cha doin’ in there, buddy?” More laughter. “Better finish up and come out here—I know how much you love surprises.”

“Jesus Christ, Gunderson.”

“Just put some pants on and throw a shirt on your ginger—you’ll thank me later.”

The doorknob jiggles. Another knock, this one different—seven short raps in a pattern.

Delicate.

Familiar…

Fed up, I throw back the covers, slip a pair of boxers over my raging boner, perturbed.

Unlock and yank open my bedroom door. “What the hell did I tell you assholes about—”

Holy shit.

“Mom?”

“Surprise!” My mother reaches forward, pulling me in for a hug. Squeezes me tight. Backs away, looking me up and down. “Sweetie, where are your clothes?”

Behind me, in a heap on the floor—because I kicked them off before climbing into bed to fuck Laurel for the last two hours.

The corner of my eye catches the distinct shape of three gold discarded condom wrappers, and I kick the remaining ones away with my toe, out of sight. They skid across the floor, sliding under my dresser.

“My clothes? Uh…”

“Do you need me to do your laundry?” She pushes forward, jamming the door with her hip. I push back, stopping it with mine. Her brow furrows. “Why are you blocking the door? Let me in—I’ll grab your dirties.”

Dirties? Shoot me now.

“Mom, it’s fine.”

“We’re just so excited! We wanted to come see you for your birthday.” Her hands grasp my face. “You look so good, sweetie!” She wraps her arms around me again. “Your father and I—”