Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)(11)
“We…probably…shouldn’t.” Is that my voice? All breathy?
“Is that a no?”
“Not no,” I say, my voice strangled.
“Good.” He touches my hair, twirling it around his finger as his face leans down to me, and shit, his lips are close to mine, so close. My face is tingling where he touched it and my body is aching—
He kisses me, and it’s as if I’ve been waiting all night for this, since the moment his eyes found mine. Full and sensuous, his lips fit perfectly, the pressure of his mouth soft yet insistent, almost coaxing. I flick my tongue at his, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat, delving deeper as he takes more of me, exploring. My breasts press against his chest as his teeth nip at my lips gently, then harder, and I give it back to him, my hands coming up to rest on his leather jacket, caressing the softness there before curling around his neck.
Sensations bombard me—his scent, the rough brush of his scruff against my face, the feel of his hard muscles rippling under my touch.
His fingers dig into my waist, each one like a brand on my body. There’s an edge to his touch, a hint of rough—and my body throbs.
“Sugar,” he says, and he sucks on my tongue, his hips against my pelvis, his cock hard.
My hands slide down and grip his upper arms, and my legs shake as his lips move across my collarbone and down to the neckline of my sweatshirt. Goose bumps flare out over my skin, and I fold past the point of making any good decisions when his hand reaches up to my chest, unerringly finding my nipple through my shirt and bra. My breasts feel heavy as his index finger and thumb twirl back and forth, begging my nipples to rise up, and they do, aching. I picture him sucking them, and as if he reads my thoughts, he turns us around and guides us to the back wall of the porch, his mouth never leaving mine.
His hand is under my shirt and toys with my waistline, spanning the width and breadth, exploring and brushing against my skin, and his touch is hot, so hot. With a groan, his hand settles on my breast, dragging the lace of my bra against the nipple. Sparks of need fly through my body. Bennett always rushed this part to get to what he wanted, but Zack…please, I want more of this. I cling to his shoulders and rub my hand down his back, wishing his jacket would magically disappear.
The wall is behind me and his hips grind against me as I part my legs, letting him in—
The sound of people laughing in the media room breaks us apart. I pull my shirt back down, feeling color rise on my face.
He looks over my shoulder and then back at me, eyelids heavy, his voice hoarse. “They’re gone, just passing by.”
He leans down to kiss me again, but I stop him, my chest heaving. “Wait.”
He breathes deeply as he studies me, searching my face. “Why?”
Why?
I stare at him, taking in the perfection. The broad shoulders, the roped forearms, the way his hair falls around his chiseled face, and those lips…delicious and perfect and…I want them on my body.
I swallow down a shaky breath.
He ticks all my boxes for men, but he’s too much for my already broken heart.
No matter my bravado downstairs, to me, this wouldn’t be just a hookup, and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t make promises.
“Sorry.” Before he can say a word, I brush past him and dart for the exit, dashing through the media room until I’m out in the hall. Breathing as if I just ran a marathon, I hear voices coming up the staircase and act on a whim. I head to the bathroom, which is just to the right, clearly labeled with a sticker on the door.
I go into the surprisingly spacious room, lean against the wall behind the door, and play back the kiss, remembering the feel of him against me, how my body felt alive for the first time in weeks. He is…so intense and beautiful.
The door opens and I mutter a curse in my head for not locking it, but before I can reach out to stop the progress of the person entering, I see it’s Zack, and I stop. The door closes softly behind him and I freeze as I wait for him to see me, but he hasn’t. He keeps his gaze lowered as he walks to the sink, a hand deep in his hair, chest heaving as he flips on the cold water, letting it run.
He stares at himself in the mirror for a long time then tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling for several beats. He closes his eyes and bends down to splash himself with water. Grabbing a clean towel from under the cabinet—who knew they existed in a frat house—he presses it to his face and holds it there for several seconds. Then, he tosses it down and flips the water off with his head bowed, breathing in and out. There’s a red flush on his cheeks and his jeans are tented. My gaze lingers there, seeing the fullness of the denim. Shit. My body softens, picturing those jeans pulled down and him inside me.
“Zack?”
He flips around, his jaw popping as he takes me in. His hands clench. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
“I know.” I take a step toward him, stopping a few feet away.
Neither of us speak, that thread of tension between us building as we stare at each other. I want those powerful, muscled arms around me. I want his emotional eyes gazing into mine when—
“I should go,” he says, moving to open the door, and I put my hand on his arm.
“Wait.” I don’t know what I’m doing, but this moment, this guy—it feels right. “Don’t.” I take another step and eliminate the distance between us. With a hand that trembles, I lock the door, tilt my head back, and take him in. His hair is slightly damp from the water and I reach up and run my hands through it. It feels as good as it looks, soft and silky. I tug on the ends. “Stay.”