Page 109 of Unlocked Dive

“Shit.” I writhe into the sheets, but he holds me captive.

“Hot for teacher, huh?” His palm soothes over the sting, and his thumb traces the words etched between the dimples of my ass.

“Always,” I pant, nothing but nerve endings and need.

This time, he’s not slow or careful. He notches himself at my entrance, grips my shoulders, and hauls me back as he surges forward, impaling me on his cock.

With my legs pressed together like this, he’s impossibly huge, irrevocably hard—bruising and brazen and staking his claim.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands, drawing himself back to the tip.

“I love you,” I husk, leaking all over the sheets.

“I love you too.”

The rest is a blur of vibrant skin and blunt nails and his hot mouth sucking at my spine, my neck, my eager tongue. It’s ecstasy so sharp, I forget to be broken or fixed or lonely or brave. I stop beingEchoat all. I’m justhere, being his.

Being me.

He takes me with all the fervent ardor of a man set free, and I come screaming until my voice is gone.

Sorry, neighbors.

43

Echo

“How come all you have in your fridge is Nutella and beer?”

“Those are Tilburg college staples.”

Guys in their thirties are supposed to be tired after mind-blowing sex, right? But Byrd is walking around my apartment—his apartment?—in nothing but his faded jeans, grumbling about my lack of groceries. Not that I haven’t missed his cooking, surviving mainly on takeout as I currently do. And I’ve seriously missed watching him cook for me, punctuating his efficient movements with stories about how he learned to make a certain dish or where he found the elusive ingredient starring in the evening’s culinary adventure.

Tomorrow, we should definitely hit the Jumbo.

If he’s still here.

Today…

“We can order a pizza.”

He closes my pathetic fridge and comes to lean against the door to the living room.

“Pizza?”

“They have this thing where they deliver it right to your house.”

“I’m vaguely aware of the concept.” He’s so infuriatinglyrelaxed.

“You want mushrooms?” I scan the floor for my forgotten phone, determined to match his casual tone. “They only have the regular kind. Not that gourmet shit you like.”

“You look good.”

So do you.

“Yeah?” There’s my phone.How’d it end up half under the couch? “You could have seen me more than once in the last two months, you know.” I wave my retrieved phone at him. “This does more than text.” Okay, so maybe I’m not feeling exactly casual. But he shows up on my doorstep with no warning, completely rocks my world, and now he’s just going to act like it’s all normal?

“I was trying to give you space.” He has the nerve to look mildly amused, dropping his arms from the doorframe to cross them over his chest.