Page 43 of Practice Makes Perfect (Pine Barren University #2)

twenty-six

EM

The doorway to Linc’s bedroom feels like a portal to another dimension—one where I’m not the scared girl who ran away from a boy at a party five years ago. One where I’m just Amélie Dubois, a woman who wants to have sex with her incredibly hot boyfriend.

Wait.

Boyfriend?

Is that what we are now?

Just like my brain to choose the literal threshold of my first consensual sexual experience to have an existential relationship crisis. Classic timing. We’ve had the “I like you and want to date you” conversation, but nobody specifically said “boyfriend” or “girlfriend,” and?—

“Em?” Linc’s voice breaks through my mental spiral. His hand, warm and steady, cups my cheek. “You still with me?”

I blink rapidly, forcing myself back to the present moment. “Yes! Sorry! Just… thinking.”

“What about?” His thumb traces my lower lip, sending shivers racing down my spine.

“About how glad I am that my grandma told me to trust you and be honest.” It’s not exactly what I was thinking, but it’s true nonetheless. If not for her, I might have walked away from something that could be amazing out of fear of getting hurt.

Linc’s eyebrows shoot up, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Should I start worrying that your grandma might pop up while we do this?”

I burst out laughing, tension evaporating from my shoulders. “God, I hope not. Though she’d probably offer pointers. She’s… unconventional.”

“I’ve gathered that.” His smile is soft, eyes crinkling at the corners as he studies me. “But I’m glad she gave you good advice.”

The laughter helps ground me, reminding me that this is Linc—the guy who’s spent weeks teaching me how to be comfortable with intimacy, who’s never pushed, who’s always made sure I felt safe.

“I’m nervous,” I admit, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my dress. “But not scared. Just… it’s a big deal for me.”

“I know.” Linc’s voice is low, serious. “We can take all the time you need. Or we can stop if?—”

“No.” I press my finger against his lips. “I want this. I want you. I’ve been dreaming about this moment since…” I trail off, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

His eyes darken. “How long?”

“Statistics class. Last semester.” My confession comes out in a rush.

“You were wearing that maroon henley with the sleeves pushed up, and… you know when cartoons have those scenes where someone looks at a turkey and suddenly it transforms into this juicy roasted dinner with, like, little cartoon lines of deliciousness wafting off it? That’s what happened.

Except you were the turkey . Wait—that came out wrong. ”

Linc’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. “I was the… turkey ?”

“The delicious one! With the lines!” I wave my hands, trying to salvage my disastrous metaphor. “You know what, let’s just pretend I never said that. In fact, let’s never mention turkey again. It’s no longer on the menu. It’s dead to us, like my dignity.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his amusement now, a full-bodied laugh escaping him. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m a disaster,” I correct him. But his laughter has cleared the last of my anxiety. This is good. This is right.

Taking a deep breath, I step fully into his bedroom, crossing that invisible boundary. Linc follows, clicking the door shut behind us. The sound feels definitive, like the period at the end of a sentence. We’ve been in his room before, but it feels different now.

“Thank you,” I say suddenly, turning to face him.

His brow furrows. “For what?”

“For being patient. For teaching me. For not being a dick when I freaked out.”

“Em—”

“No, I need to say this.” I take his hands in mine, drawing strength from the contact. “You could have just hooked up with someone else. Someone who didn’t come with my baggage. But you didn’t. And this—” I gesture between us, “—this is your reward.”

He smiles so warmly it melts me. “It’s not a reward system, Em. I’m with you because I want to be. Because I like who you are.”

“That’s nice.” I step closer, eliminating the space between us. “But I’m still going to rock your world as a thank you.”

His laugh gets muffled against my lips as I pull him down for a kiss, pouring all my pent-up desire into it. I can’t get enough, and my hands are everywhere—in his hair, on his shoulders, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt—while his body presses against mine, solid and reassuring.

We stumble toward the bed, a tangle of limbs and increasingly frantic kisses.

I’m aware of my own urgency, my need to finally, finally have him inside me after weeks of lessons and teasing and building desire.

I reach for the zipper of my dress, struggling to pull it down while keeping my lips locked on his.

Linc chuckles against my mouth, catching my hands as I fumble with the zipper. “Hey, no rush,” he murmurs. “I want you to savor this.”

He turns me around gently, his fingers replacing mine on my zipper. Unlike my frantic attempts, he takes his time, lowering it inch by inch. Each newly exposed section of my back receives a soft kiss, his lips tracing down my spine in a deliberate path that leaves goosebumps in their wake.

When the zipper reaches its end, he slips his hands inside the loosened fabric, sliding it off my shoulders.

The dress pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but a black lace bra and matching underwear.

I’d chosen them carefully, wanting to feel sexy and confident for this moment, and wanting to impress him.

Linc inhales sharply, his eyes traveling over me with an intensity that makes me feel simultaneously vulnerable and powerful. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

I reach for his shirt, unbuttoning it with steadier hands now. “Your turn, Professor.”

He laughs as he helps me, shrugging out of his shirt to reveal that chest. I run my hands over his muscles, tracing the definition with my fingertips. His skin is warm beneath my touch, smooth except for the light dusting of hair on his chest that narrows to a trail disappearing beneath his pants.

His lips find mine again, and the kiss deepens, tongues sliding together in a rhythm that’s become deliciously familiar over the past few weeks. His hands wander to my back, deftly unhooking my bra and sliding it down my arms. When my breasts are bare before him, he cups them reverently.

I’m lost in the sensation for a moment, then I remember that I’m on a mission.

A sexy, naked mission.

So, wearing only my panties and a playful smirk, I push against his chest. “Sit down, hockey boy.”

Surprise flashes across his face, but he backs up until his knees hit the edge of the bed, then sits. I stand between his legs, enjoying the way he has to look up at me. There’s something incredibly empowering about it, about the hunger in his eyes as they roam over my body.

“Tell me how much you want this,” I say, my voice thick with desire as I reach for his belt.

“So much that I’ll even watch Survivor afterwards…” he replies with a teasing glint in his eye. “Believe me, you live in my head rent free.”

His admission makes my pulse race even faster and I unbuckle his belt with only slightly trembling fingers. “Oh?”

“Although it usually involves less talking and more —” His words cut off as I yank open his jeans and slide my hand inside, finding him hard and ready.

“More what?” I ask innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about the way I’m stroking him through the thin fabric.

“Jesus, Em.” His head falls back slightly, throat working as he swallows. “More of exactly this.”

I pull his jeans and boxers down in one swift movement, my breath catching as his erection springs free. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before—I have, multiple times during our “lessons”—but knowing where it’s going makes it seem somehow bigger.

“Lay back,” I instruct, nudging him.

“Wait. Condom,” he says, digging one out of his wallet and sliding it on.

Only then does he comply, scooting back on the bed and lying down, his cock jutting up toward his stomach. I take a moment to appreciate the sight of him—all tanned skin and defined muscles, watching me with those intense green eyes.

I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, slowly sliding them down my legs. When I straighten, I’m completely naked before him, and despite all our previous encounters, this feels monumental.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.

I crawl onto the bed and over him, my hair falling around us like a curtain as I lean down to kiss him. His hands find my hips, guiding me to straddle him properly. I can feel his hardness pressing against me, hot and insistent.

“Are you sure?” he asks, searching my face.

In answer, I reach between us and position him at my entrance. I’m already wet—have been since dinner, if I’m honest with myself—so slowly, carefully, I begin to lower myself onto him.

There’s resistance, then a slight pinching sensation that makes me wince. I pause, taking a deep breath.

“You okay?” Concern immediately fills his expression.

“Yeah.” I nod, determined. “Just… give me a second.”

He strokes my thighs soothingly, waiting with a patience that makes my heart swell, even though I feel him trembling with barely contained desire beneath me. The fact that he doesn’t just charge ahead makes me want this—him—even more.

I adjust my position slightly, then sink down further. This time, he slides in more easily, the discomfort giving way to a warm, full sensation that steals my breath.

“Oh my god,” I whisper as I settle fully onto him, taking him completely inside me. It’s overwhelming—not just physically, but emotionally.

This is happening.

I’m having sex.

With Linc.

And it feels… right.

“You feel amazing,” he says, his hands stroking up my sides to cup my breasts. “So fucking good.”

I brace my hands on his chest and experimentally lift myself up, then sink back down. The sensation makes us both gasp. I do it again, finding a slow rhythm that builds pleasure with each movement.