I glance at my phone, ready to tell Mel she’s at strike one for interrupting my 37th reading of this novel.
But there’s no message from Mel. What I see on my phone screen makes my heart melt more than any line in any book I’ve ever read.
Van: Home.
Before I can overthink it, I send one back.
Josie:Home. ??
30
Josie
Van and I have gotten into a routine.
We leave the library together every night, holding hands and sharing kisses on our walk back to my dorm. We talk about our days. He tells me about the hockey team, and I keep him up-to-date on the latest elementary-school drama. I’ve been going to his games, and he’s been hanging out with me at the coffee shop and the library, even when we’re not scheduled for tutoring.
But when we step inside my room, the talking always seems to stop. Or, at least, our conversations veer in a different direction. Because when we’re alone, we have better things to do—things we’ve been waiting all day for, things we can’t ever seem to get enough of.
Case in point: less than a minute after crossing the threshold, Van is lying on my bed, leaning on his elbow, his head propped on his hand. He’s tossed his hoodie onto the floor, so I do the same with my sweater.
"It’s a no-bra day," he observes, his eyes roaming over my body.
"They’re the best kind," I tell him, putting my hands on my hips. "You know I think bras are itchy and poky and pointless."
Van smiles at me. "I do."
"Well, they are. At least for me. But there’s another reason I don’t wear them."
He runs his hands through his hair. “I’ve figured that out, Jos. It’s to torture me. And it’s working. Could you feel my eyes on you tonight? I was trying like hell to concentrate on what you were reading, but it wasn’t easy. Every time you moved—hell, every time you breathed—I could see the outline of these perfect tits. And all I fucking wanted to do was touch them. To taste you.”
I’m breathless and he hasn’t even put his hands on me yet. “It was torture?”
He nods, hooking his thumbs into the band of his joggers and tugging them down to reveal his cock—thick, heavy, and straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs. After tossing the pants on the floor, he palms himself and his eyes close briefly. “The sweetest fucking torture,” he tells me, his voice low and ragged. He reaches for me with his other hand, and I join him on the bed, my body curling into his.
"It’s torture for me, too," I reveal. "That’s part of the reason I do it." I have no doubt I’m blushing furiously. I’ve never told anyone this before, but it’s true. “I do hate bras. But I also…” my voice trails off as nervousness takes over. I can feel my neck and face turning red.
Van tips my chin up, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “You also what, Jos?” he asks, his voice soft and low as his finger traces the column of my neck, then down, down until he’s circling the tight peak of my nipple.
I gasp. His touch is exactly what I crave and yet, it’s too much. It’s overwhelming in the very best way. My senses areoverloaded. "I also love the way it feels. I love the friction of the rough fabric against my sensitive—oh! Oh, god."
He’s licking the tips of his fingers before touching and squeezing me. His fingers dance over the sensitive flesh and I can’t help but arch my back. His touch isn’t harsh, but it’s not gentle either. It’s exactly the pressure I need.
“Is this what you want, Jos? You want my hands on you? My mouth? Do you tease yourself all day long? Do you get worked up just for me?” He’s moving down my body now, every question punctuated with a kiss. “The scrape of fabric against your skin, it turns you on, huh? Makes you think of what I’m gonna do to you?”
“Yes,” I cry out, wanting—no,needing—more.
“Jesus,” he mutters, closing his mouth around one breast. His tongue swirls over the sensitive tip. His kisses are wet and hungry, loud and greedy. He moves to lavish attention on my left breast, licking and sucking until I can’t take it anymore. Pushing on his shoulders, I release a frustrated breath.
"You need something, Jos?" he asks, pulling back. His eyes are heavy, his smile lazy. Van knows exactly how my body reacts to his; I can’t hide it, and I don’t even try anymore.
"I need you," I pant, rolling so I'm flat on my back. I’m ready for him, and I’m done being patient.
"Hold up," he tells me as he peels my fingers away from the button of my jeans.
I frown. "You don’t want me naked?"
Van cradles my face in his palm and holds my gaze. “Of course I fucking do. I want you bare naked, Jos. I want you wearing nothing but the blush your skin gets when I talk dirty to you. I want the only thing on you to be the mess I’ve made between your thighs.”
