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“Off,” she hisses unnecessarily, giving me an elbow to the gut. I know she’s right; we can’t be seen like this. But, damn, a man needs a minute after something like that. I stagger back, tugging the condom off—one out of the five that I’d tucked in my wallet this morning because hope springs eternal—and tie it before looking around in a daze. Where am I supposed to put it?
She’s glaring at my dick, or rather, the fact that it’s hanging in the wind. I make an annoyed face as I stuff myself back into my pants before zipping up. Spotting a trashcan in the far corner, I toss the condom in the empty bin—yeah, I don’t care who finds it.
By the time I return to her side, she has her shirt fixed but is still adorably mussed. Breathing in a light pant, she smoothes her hands down her thighs to fix her rumpled skirt. Which makes me want to hike it back up. Then she gathers her hair in her hand and flips the length of it over her shoulder. “This can’t happen again.”
I snort. “It’s going to happen again. You might as well admit it.”
With a huff, she pushes a hand through her hair and glares. “No. It. Won’t.”
“Yes. It. Will.” I don’t want to be an ass**le, but I’m not deluded. “I want you. You want me.” A wry laugh escapes me. “Though I think ‘want’ is too weak a word here. ‘Crave,’ maybe. ‘Am insane for,’ definitely.”
She goes pink, her lips, which I have yet to touch, pursing. I want to. I want to kiss her so badly, my lips actually throb with need. But I’ve hit a mark; I saw her jump when I said ‘insane for.’
Acting on instinct, I grab her wrist and pull her close, noting that she doesn’t resist. I bring her hand to my crotch, where my hard-on is growing again—all praise the regenerative powers of a needy dick.
A deep flush works across her cheeks, and damn if she doesn’t cup me, squeezing just enough to make me grunt.
“I get like this every time I think about you.” I lean in, smelling the warm spice in her fragrant hair and the lingering scent of sex on her skin. “I just had you, and I’m aching to be inside you, to make you come all over again. So don’t tell me it’s going to stop. Not when you’re stroking me like that.”
Anna snatches her roving hand away. “Okay, fine. You got me. I want you too.” She ducks her head and a tumble of curls hides her face from me, but not her words. “Badly.”
She has no idea what that does to me. She couldn’t possibly be that cruel. It’s torture not to reach for her, tug her back to our secluded spot for another go. I probably wouldn’t last two minutes, as torqued as I am. But she’s moving now, striding toward the elevators with her swaying walk. I follow.
“I’m failing to see the problem here, Jones. Let’s go out on a date. You know, like normal people who are into each other do?”
A sidelong glance is all I get. “Look. I don’t want a relationship. Especially not with you.”
I pull up short. “Why not with me?”
“We’re too different.” She stabs the down button and stares at the elevator doors. Dismissed.
I don’t think so. “We’re the same in all the ways that count.” Why can’t she see this?
Her back is to me, stiff and unyielding. “I don’t even like you. You don’t like me.”
Wow. That hurts. Embarrassingly so.
I lean a shoulder against the edge of the door panel, bending down enough to bring myself into her line of sight. “There’s where you’re wrong. I do like you. A lot.” I glance away, trying not to wince, then force myself to face her again. “I’m sorry if you don’t like me.”
Again she ducks her head, another flush hitting her pale cheeks. “Sorry.” She shakes her head then clears her throat. “That was a shitty thing to say. I do like you. I just…” She lifts her hands up in a helpless gesture. “I don’t want a relationship right now.”
Disappointment tumbles into my gut like an unmoored boulder. “Fine. Then we just f**k.” I give her a level look as a bell dings and the doors to the elevator open. “Because any chance you give me, I’m taking it.”
Chapter 7
I’M LATE MEETING Iris and George for lunch. Call it reluctance to face the firing squad. I’m under no illusion that they won’t figure out I’ve had sex with Baylor. I’m horrible at hiding things, and Iris is already suspicious of my sudden disappearance at the party the other night.
Part of me wants to talk about it. Not about Baylor precisely, because the idea of him discussing details with his friends makes me cringe, and I refuse to be a hypocrite. But I need to process this insanity that’s got a hold of me. I cannot believe I had sex with him again. And in the library of all places. Anyone might have seen. The irony that I’m afraid to be seen with him yet let him f**k me in a public space, twice now, isn’t lost on me.
Without warning, I think of him kneeling in front of me, his head buried between my legs. My cheeks burn and dark heat licks up the back of my thighs as I walk into the fifties style diner that sits just outside of campus. Good God, I want to turn around, find Drew Baylor, and do it again. I know now that it isn’t the thrill of possible discovery that makes sex with him better than anything I’ve experienced. It is him, the way I react to his body, his touch, his voice. And that scares the hell out of me.
I like you. A lot.
Damn it. If only he was someone else. Something else. A regular guy. A nobody like me. But he’s not and never will be. When I think of the public scrutiny he, and anyone he’s with, endures, I want to hide away, run for the hills.