“Ok, gimme a sec. I’m trying to picture the syllabus in my head... let me see,Mansfield Park?”
He rinses his plate in the sink before stowing it in the dishwasher. “Good guess, but no. And again, keep this in the vault,” he whispers, though we’re alone, “I only read that one once.”
“Scandalous,” I agree. “I’ll keep that to myself.”
“So,” he says, walking around the counter to stand directly in front of me. He drapes his arms casually on my shoulders, the stance intimate, but not necessarily sexual. “Do you give up?”
“I’m pretty sure I gave up after two guesses, so yea. I’m calling it quits. I guess I’ll never know which of the two remaining books is your fave. How ever will I survive?”
He leans down to kiss me quickly, gently on the lips, as though testing the waters. “Persuasion.”
“Hmm?” I ask, eager to continue the kiss and cut the book talk.
“Persuasion,” he repeats, standing to his full height and extending his arm for me to take. I oblige. “It’s my favorite. It breaks my heart every fucking time I read it. They can’t be together, right? She thinks he hates her. He thinks she never loved him. But at the end? She reads his letter and it tears my damn heart out.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I tell him. “We haven’t read that one yet, but it’s next, I think.”
And then, with no warning, he takes a step back and tugs his shirt off and over his head, the muscles in his abs flexing with the movement.
Whoa. “I did not realize we’d moved on to this portion of the afternoon. I thought we were still book talking? But this? This is much better,” I say, admiration clear in my tone.
“Oh, we’re still book talking,” he assures me, standing there bare-chested in the middle of his kitchen, jeans slung low on his hips. “Look.” He points to his shoulder, and there, just above his breastbone, is a tattoo. It’s one of many, really. His left arm is pretty well covered, and there are several on his back and chest. His right arm, strangely, is mostly bare except for some pretty vines.
He tips my chin up and draws my eyes to his. “You’re getting distracted.”
“Yes,” I nod, no shame at all, “your...tattoos are very distracting.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m happy to let you look at them all day. Hell, feel free to touch them if the spirit moves you. But this one,” he points again at that tattoo, “is fromPersuasion.” I look closely and see a clock. Under it are the words, ‘Time will explain,’ in script.
I trace the words with my hand, as a shiver races down my spine at our contact. “Is it true?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I used to think so.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Now I just hope so.”
His words are cryptic and at any other time, I might pry, my curiosity getting the better of me. But right now? Right now, there is a half-naked man in front of me and I’m not wasting another moment. I lean up on my tiptoes as he bends forward to meet me for a kiss.
He cups the back of my head, his lips caressing mine. We’re hungry for each other, just like we were back at the coffee shop. But it’s amplified now--we’re alone. I’m not sure what his roommates’ schedules are like, but this house is so palatial that privacy shouldn’t be hard to come by.
His hands trail down my back and linger at the base of my spine, just above my ass. I yearn for more of his touch, pressing my body into his, feeling the hard lines and edges.
He breaks our kiss, and a moan escapes his lips. “Phoebe.”
My name is both weightless and heavy when I hear him say it. It feels free, light--like it doesn’t belong to someone as encumbered as I usually feel. And yet, there’s a heaviness to it, as though maybe he’s about to say something I don’t want to hear. Like maybe he’s going to tell me we shouldn’t cross this line between tutor and student. Or maybe he’s a bit of a playboy, like Mel and Ian said. Maybe he’s going to tell me this is a one-time-only deal.
But those words never come. Instead, he pulls me impossibly closer, and there’s no mistaking the fact that he wants me, too.
“Can we go upstairs?” I ask him, my need for more of his touch superseding any hesitation I might feel about basically asking him to take me to his room and ravage me. I mean, I’ve never been ravaged, but Ty seems like the perfect guy for the job.
He doesn’t say anything, just lifts me into his arms and carries me up the staircase. I guess that’s my answer.
I have no doubt that the railing is made of oak or walnut or something, and that the stained-glass window on the landing is beautiful. But I don’t pay them any attention. My focus is solely on Ty. I’m breathing him in, and savoring every moment.
Realistically, I’m completely aware that we’re not about to have sex. It’s the middle of the day and I’ve got work in the not-too-distant future. We’ve had no talks about exclusivity or protection.
But I am fairly confident that he’s going to do some delicious things to my body, and I can’t wait. It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed or touched, but I’m not going to doubt this or question it or overthink it. I’m just going to live in every delicious moment.
He steps into a room and strides over toward the window. I’m figuring he’ll draw the blinds, but instead, he turns and deposits me onto a plush leather sofa. Holy cats. He tosses some pillows on the floor and takes the seat beside me, cuddling close. “There’s a living room in your bedroom,” I tell him.
He cracks a smile. “So there is.”
