The Studying Hours(40)

A smirk. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I heard you. I’m just not sure I heard you.”

Her nimble fingertips travel down her flat stomach, teasing the waistband of her plaid skirt. Finger the delicate gold buckle fastening it. Pull the leather strap through the loop with a gentle tug.

“Listen close: I’m telling you yes.”

Spellbound, I watch when she stands. The wool skirt parts, revealing only a pair of lavender lace panties. The panties I’ve fantasized about over and over again the past few days. The panties that have literally haunted my dreams. Pale purple, they hug her slender hips but conceal nothing. Absolutely. Nothing.

Naught but a scrap of lace constructed solely to plague my testosterone levels. They’re indecent. Racy.

Magnificent.

A sexually repressed librarian fantasy come true.

I release the desk chair and forcibly raise my eyes to her face, advancing on her. “Shit, seriously?”

“Yesss,” she whines through clenched teeth when my grasping hands close in on her tiny waist then drift south along her backside. Down her spine. Down her flawless skin. Down to that taut ass. My large palms slide into her lace panties, cup her butt cheeks, and…

Squeeze.

“How far do you wanna go?” She moans when I give her ass a smack, rubbing the sting away in slow circles.

“All the way.” I bury my head at the base of her throat, groaning, grinding my erection against her stomach. “Tell me what you what James; tell me and I’ll do it.”

“I want to spend the night. This isn’t a booty call.” She rattles off demands. “This isn’t a one-night stand. I want respect. You do not get to kick me out afterward, or in the morning. I want breakfast and I want you in the kitchen cooking it for me.”

The pads of my palms continue stroking her brilliant backside, pulling her in flush. “How do waffles sound?”

“Waffles sound delicious.” She gasps and my dick weeps in celebration. “But I want your shirt off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Reaching for the hem of my navy blue wrestling tee shirt, I pull it up and over my torso and toss it to the hardwood floor. It lands in a heap near her shoes.

“What else do you want gone?”

“Everything.” Jameson leans forward, licks the smooth skin of my collarbone, and blows, humming her approval. “But we’ll start with your track pants.”

She lays her hands on me tenderly, feather-light fingers leaving a pleasure trail as they trace the corded muscles of my biceps. Forearms. Down my rock-hard abs, her fingertip drawing a leisurely circle around my belly button until it reaches the elastic band riding low on my hips.

Together we untie the corded knot at my waistband. Slide my pants down until I’m kicking, tripping over myself to get them off. Standing in just my tented gray boxer briefs.

Jameson gives me a small shove toward the foot of the bed, instructing me to, “Sit.”

Like an excited, obedient puppy, I comply, practically panting.

Bracing herself over me, Jameson leans in, her silky brown hair skimming my bare chest. Her mouth brushes the corner of my lips. “My turn.”

She goes for the middle button on her cardigan.

“Be gentle with me, James. I haven’t had sex with anyone since before Utah. I’ve done so much jerking off my junk is chafed—legit chafed.”

How’s that for brutally honest?

Jameson leans in, kissing the side of my mouth and crooning in my ear. “You want me to make sweet, sweet love to you, baby? Not give it to you hard?”

Holy shit, give me the dirty talk.

“Yeah—that first one sounds about right. Then I want you to cuddle me until it’s time for breakfast.”

“Thinking ’bout that sex, but also ’bout them waffles,” comes her coo.

We both laugh; shit she’s funny. And smart. And beautiful. And the sound of my name on her lips feels better than any victory.

Sexier than any moan.





Jameson





I’m taking what I want.

I’m taking my time.

I’m taking off my skirt.

Standing in front of the bed now, the discarded plaid skirt pooled in a puddle at my feet, I step out of it and set to work on my sweater.

There’s no shame in my game: if a guy can get laid whenever the hell he wants, with whoever the hell he wants, so can I.

I want what I want, and I’m done telling Sebastian no.

Done waiting.

I want the tension gone and I want to get…

Laid.

I want him—every last part of him: the foul mouth, the stupidly hectic schedule, the needy groupies, the obnoxious roommates. The good, bad, and ugly. He’s gained my trust and I’m ready to take the next step.

I trust him.

I trust Sebastian Osborne.

On my mind constantly, I cannot stop thinking about him. Day and night. Night and day. Consuming me like a fever.

Like a drug.





Sebastian





My eyes go to her fingers. The creamy skin of her stomach. Her soft lower abs. The thighs I just had my hands on.

“Take a guess: what am I wearing under this sweater?” Jameson whispers in my direction, plucking another navy button free. A mere three buttons hold the sweater closed.

“Nothing?” I wish out loud.

Jameson drags a hand up her ribcage, looping her forefinger around the necklace circling her neck. She gives her head a shake. “Wrong.”

My breath catches. “What then?”

“This. I’m wearing this under my sweater.”

“The necklace?” I croak.

“Mmm hmmm.”

“No bra?”

I fucking knew it.

Stepping forward, she closes the gap between us in one, two, three dainty steps, then bends and clasps my hands in hers, placing them on either side of her waist. My thumbs hit the tantalizing span of belly. Raising her arms, Jameson takes a sweeping handful of hair and holds it back, both hands behind her head.

Her blue sweater gaps open, revealing smooth skin. Stomach. The tantalizing underside of her bare breasts.

“Go ahead,” she urges with that sexy whisper of hers. “Take it off.”

Like I have to be told twice.

My trembling palms glide up her stomach. My nimble fingers pluck one button free. Then another.

I part the sweater, hands sweeping across her ribcage, the tips of my thumbs brushing over her stiff, dusky nipples. My eyes are fastened on them, palms stroking them tenderly, caressing.

Her tits are perfect, full and round, filling the palm of my hand. I want to suck and fuck them both. Taste them until her panties are soaking wet.

Jameson inches forward, whimpering, her arms coming down, grasping the back of my head. Her fingers plow through my thick hair when I lean forward and drag my tongue over her nipple, flick the tip, draw the entire thing in my mouth.

Suck it. Lick it. Suck it some more.

Her labored moan fills the room, a moan so loud and arduous I thank fuck my roommates are gone for the night.

I suckle her fantastic tits. Run my tongue along her collarbone. Lick the side of her neck. Our lips connect, tongues so wet and needy with want we’re desperately seeking ecstasy. Deliriously frantically fucking with our mouths.

She mounts my lap. Straddles my thighs. Lines herself up and covers my giant erection with her hot, wet, pussy.

Hovers there.

Shamelessly, Jameson grinds down on my dick, giving a lap dance worthy of a goddamn stripper, working her pelvis until my eyes are rolling back into my skull, breasts shoved in my face.

“Shit, fuck, shit.” I’m close to coming from the erotic gyrations. Jameson’s ass cheeks fill my hands, and, unable to handle the sensations building inside my junk, I bear down, bracing myself before rising to my full height.

Turn. Dump her into the center of the bed.

I watch her perky boobs bounce from the fall on the mattress. Watch her nipples glisten, still wet from my tongue. Watch as she shrugs out of the pale blue cardigan, spread out before me in nothing but her scanty lace panties and prim necklace.

She squirms impatiently.

Inviting me to devour her.

“When I’m done with you, I’m going to fuck you in those pearls,” I growl, shucking my boxers and climbing toward her across the bed.

Jameson spreads her thighs—spreads them wide—luring me in.

So tempting my mouth begins to water—I’m insatiably hungry and only Jameson can satisfy me.

I linger over her, balanced above where she wants it most. Lean in and drag my flattened tongue up the inside of her shaved bikini line. Pull back the scrap of fabric covering her smooth pussy and lick.

Once. Twice.

Husky, surprised, moany gasps fill the air when I flick her clit with the tip of my tongue, up and down.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” she cries, pulling at my hair. “Don’t you d-dare…stop. Ohhh…”

I don’t intend to.

Hooking my fingers in the sheer waistband of her panties, I tug them down. Down her hips. Down her thighs. Down her legs. Jameson spreads herself wider, wriggling her hips on the bed, impatient and naked but for the gleaming, shiny strand of pearls around her pretty neck.

My fingers part her and I suck, tongue going deep like our lives depend on it.





Jameson





“Lay on your back.”

The command comes out more demanding than I intended, but has the desired effect. Sebastian scurries to his back, naked as the day he was born, and I marvel at the sight of him. He’s hard angles and calloused hands and firm everything.

But gentle.

I marvel at the fact that my cardigans turn him on.