Summer's Temptation (14 page)

Just like that, I understand why girls seek his approval. He’s just shot me up with Tyler’s self-esteem steroids. Every insecurity I’ve ever clung to disappears as if it never existed. I know if I look in the mirror now, I’d see smooth expanses of olive skin, voluptuous hips, and real breasts with the tiny flaws that make them more beautiful than silicone ever could.

I want to make him feel as good as he’s made me. “Stop talking and kiss me.”

My attempt at a seductive tone must work because when he opens his eyes, the blue is gone, replaced with pitch black that sends a shiver up my spine. His jeans are still on, fly open. I palm his erection through the thin fabric, but he grabs my hand, moving it aside.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to do to you for a long time.” He shifts lower and traces the edge of my ear with his tongue.

“What’s that?”

He sucks my earlobe, teases it with his tongue before letting go. “Not telling. But no more kisses until I get what I want.”

His mouth is at my neck, my shoulder, my arm. Lower. He drags his tongue across a nipple. Draws it in. Lets the pebbled flesh pop out. Lower. His lips brush my rib cage. He circles delicate kisses around my belly button. His hands cup my hips. He drags me to the end of the bed and kneels on the floor. Lower he goes.

I close my eyes and focus on the roughness of his stubble sliding across my skin and the soft warmth of his tongue. With nothing but my senses to guide me, I smell my citrus body spray and the lavender of my sheets. I hear our panting, his sucking, and the mewls I can’t suppress. I can still taste Tyler on my tongue. God, I want him to kiss me again.

I have no time to hold onto that thought because his tongue flicks a part of me that demands all my attention. “Oh, God!”

Tyler’s warm breath blows across my wet skin as he laughs, then he gets back to business. I struggle to remain composed, threading my fingers through his hair and gasping for breath. I prop up on my elbows to watch him move between my legs. Black eyes watch me back.

His mouth works a steady rhythm against me, and in a matter of seconds, I fall over the edge of an endless chasm. All the way down, ecstasy slashes at me. Jagged walls of pure pleasure tear and rip me until I’m nothing but one blissful free-fall. I slam to the earth a sated mess and breathing like an asthmatic smoker, sweating, hair tangled. My head lolls on a neck incapable of supporting it.

“Wow.” It’s the only word I’m capable of forming.

Tyler’s lips curve up in his signature one-sided cocky grin. “Now I can kiss you again.”

I shake my head. I have skills of my own I’d like him to experience
right now
, but I’m so relaxed I can hardly move. I draw in a long, much-needed breath, hoping it’ll give me the energy to sit up. No such luck. I’m still as boneless as a jellyfish. Delightfully exhausted, I plop back, close my eyes, and drift.

“I don’t think so,” Tyler says, rousing me as he kisses up my stomach.

I open my eyes, having no idea what he’s talking about.

“You’re not the first woman I’ve put into an ecstasy-induced coma, but you can sleep later,” he says against my belly button.

I slap him upside the head. “Stop being so cocky.”

He chuckles. “It’s hard when you’re me.” He rises and slips off his jeans so he’s only wearing boxers. They leave nothing to the imagination. With his hands on his hips, he says, “Speaking of hard.”

I sit up straight, unable to look away. Feeling his erection and seeing it are two totally different things. It’s even bigger than I’d thought. “Dear God, no wonder you’re so arrogant!” Jeremy and Wyatt hadn’t been small men, but Tyler’s in a whole ‘nother category. I’m not even sure he’ll fit. “You should put a disclaimer on that thing. Warning, contents might be too big for general use.”

He bends over me and weaves his fingers through my hair. “I’ve been turned down for that very reason.”

I don’t doubt it. I gasp when he tugs my hair, forcing my gaze to the ceiling. It stings a little, but I forget the pain as soon as he hovers in my line of vision.

“Are you going to turn me down, Cassie?”

“Not a chance. I like a challenge.”

His mouth lands on mine hard. I can’t breathe, can’t see anything past his eyes staring into mine. I’ve never kissed with my eyes open, but with Tyler, I don’t want to miss anything. Eager for more, I slip my fingers under the waistband of his boxers. I sweep my fingers toward his hips and tug the boxers down. His length is in my hand before the boxers hit the floor.

Tyler sucks in a shuddered breath and groans, pressing firmer into my palm. His kiss falters, and he slides his hands under my arms then pushes me to the head of the bed. I can’t help but peek down as I slide across the comforter. Yep, he’s huge. I look lower, noticing a tattoo on his inner thigh. At his angle, I can’t tell what it is, but I think it’s a name starting with the letter B. The room goes dark before I can get a better look.

“Hey, I was examining the goods. Why’d you turn the lamp off?”

He nuzzles my neck. “I forgot to add another rule to your list.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm.” His lips trace my jaw. “I’m shy.”

I rasp my nails down the smooth skin of his back. “That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard.”

“Rule eight: no lights when we have sex.”

I still beneath him. “You’re serious?”

“Yep. But don’t worry, you won’t notice the dark. I promise.”

I want to ask him why he’d make a stupid rule like that, but his mouth lands on mine, and he kisses me deeply, passionately, greedily. I forget everything until the blunt head of him presses against my opening.

“Condom?” I ask.

“Already on.”

I don’t know when he managed that. He certainly didn’t have one on when I checked out the goods, but I don’t dwell on that. All I can think is how I’ve never given myself to someone I don’t love. This next moment will change everything. Once he’s inside me, there’s no going back.

His forehead presses against mine. “Last chance to change your mind, cupcake.”

I lift my hips, nudging the head of his shaft inside me. “I need you.” This is how it has to be if I want to get on with my life.

He pushes into me slowly. I expect pain. I’ve never been with someone his size, but I’m so turned on, he slides in easily.

When he’s fully sheathed, he stops, his breath hot and fast against my neck. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I dig my fingers into his backside and pray he moves soon. Otherwise I’m flipping him over and taking the lead.

He thrusts once and stops, his breaths coming faster. “Thank god for rule seven ‘cause I’m not going to last long.”

I didn’t have a rule seven. Then I remember the one he added a week ago.
When you call me, I can have you as many times as I want.

“This is going to be a long night,” he adds, thrusting deeply.

He finds his rhythm, kissing and sucking my bottom lip as he moves. I wrap my legs around his waist, perfectly angling my body to meet each plunge, and I hope he’s right. I want this night to last forever, because I’m already heading toward the peak, and I never want to come down.

The next morning, a God-awful cramp rips through my womb, but I can’t exactly complain. The cause was a half-dozen earth-shattering orgasms at Tyler’s skilled hands. I groan and curl up on my side. One weary hand pats the bed, searching for him, but it’s just me, alone and wrapped in a sheet.

Underneath me, the bed feels scratchier than normal. Cradling my aching stomach, I open an eye. No wonder the bed feels weird. The sheets are missing, and I’m lying directly on the mattress. Another cramp forces a moan from my lips. Before I can stifle the sound, someone knocks on my door.

“Are you decent?” Liz asks.

I glance down. I have on panties and a T-shirt. “Yeah.”

The door opens, and Liz strolls in with a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water. God bless the woman. She’s a saint.

She shakes the bottle of pills, the maraca-like sound filling the room. “I figured you could use these.” She’s halfway toward my bed when she stops, her eyes widening. “Jesus, Cassie. I figured this room saw some damage last night, but it’s a fucking war zone in here.”

After propping up on one elbow, I glance around, unsurprised by what I see. On the floor is the wrought-iron lamp that usually sits on my nightstand. It looks intact, but the bulb is busted into a million pieces that lay cradled in the lampshade. That happened the second time we’d had sex. Tyler had flipped me on my stomach to do it doggy-style, and in his haste, he lost his balance and fell backward into the lamp. We laughed about it until he found his mark and drove me toward my third orgasm of the night.

I lift my gaze to the yellow curtains that are practically ripped from the wall. They hang precariously from a curtain rod that’s escaped the bracket meant to secure it over the window. I smile smugly. That happened when I’d come back from the bathroom and Tyler had tackled me to the wall, driving into me so hard I had to grab the curtain for support. Jammed between Tyler and the wall, I’d had my fourth orgasm of the night, and what a glorious orgasm it had been. My temperature rises just thinking about it.

Glancing to the side, I notice my star chart is torn in half. Well, damn. I don’t remember how that happened. No, wait, I do. After the wall sex, we’d fallen to the floor in a tangle of limbs. I remember hearing paper tear, but I’d been too sated to care. We’d pulled the comforter to the floor and lain there for at least a half hour. Then Tyler was ready for round four and my best orgasm of all.

I peer over the side of the bed. Sure enough, the comforter and top sheet are on the floor. I’m currently lying under the fitted sheet.

Liz sits on the edge of my bed and holds out two pills. “I’d ask you how the sex was, but I think I already know.”

It was spectacular.

I take the medicine and swallow it down with a gulp of water. “How did you know I’d need ibuprofen?” Sex has never caused cramping for me, but I’ve also never had sex like
that
.

“I used to take some after Caleb and I got it on.”

I nod. Liz had told me sex with her ex was the best she’d ever had, but I never understood what that entailed. That’s not to say I’ve had bad sex. Making love to Jeremy and Wyatt had been fun and sexy and exiting, but it didn’t hold half the passion of sex with Tyler.

“Now I understand why you gave him a second chance. And a third.” After one night with Tyler, I can’t imagine giving him up.

She screws the top on the medicine bottle and stands. “Just be careful, Cassie. Great sex can cloud your judgment.”

I know she’s speaking from experience, but that won’t happen with me. Unlike Liz, I went into this knowing it was just sex. That should make all the difference in the world. I hope.

Chapter 14

M
y kitchen is straight out of the fifties with white cabinets that have seen too many paint jobs and Formica countertops with deep gashes from when someone forgot to use a cutting board. The yellow backsplash lightens the space like the sun, and the turquoise table with chrome edging and vinyl chairs is the planet it shines upon.

The first time I walked in here, I felt like putting on a housedress and high heels. Today, I can hardly wobble to the coffeepot while wearing slippers. After a week of nonstop sex with Tyler, everything hurts, especially my back. The pain’s so bad, I should probably see a chiropractor.

“You look like shit,” Liz says from the table, peering at me over the top of her coffee cup. “And you’re glowing. Tell me how the hell that’s possible?”

I sum it up in one word. “Tyler.”

She nods, blowing on the surface of her steaming mug. “What’s going on with you two?”

I can tell her question is loaded because under her cool façade lies wariness, maybe even a little annoyance. I see it in the way her eyes shift over my face as if she’s hoping she can read what’s going on in my head. She’s suspicious of our fuck buddy status. She has every right to be because he’s been over every night since we started this liaison.

“He’s spending a lot of time with you,” she says casually then takes a sip of coffee.

I pour a cup, hoping it’ll wake me enough to make it to class. “He’s insatiable, and I can’t tell him no.” Well, that’s not entirely true. I tried to take one night off, but he used a booty call pass.

“Aren’t
you
the one calling
him
to come over?”

“Details, details.” I hobble to the table and sit across from her. As I take a sip, I realize sex with Tyler is like caffeine. It’s addictive and energizing until the effect wears off, and I’m left exhausted. I sigh. “He’s like a drug, and I’m becoming dependent. I don’t know how to break the cycle.”

“Based on the sounds coming from your room last night, I think you’re both addicted.” She yawns, and I wonder if we kept her up with those sounds. “What time did he leave?”

“Five-ish.” Every night he’s been over by midnight and hasn’t left until after four. I love every second spent with him, but I’m exhausted. Dark circles hang under my eyes.

“Maybe you need to start the Tyler twelve-step program.” Her words are teasing, but her tone’s serious.

“If only it were that simple.” Turning down the kind of sex Tyler and I are having is impossible.

Liz twists in her seat to check the clock on the stove. “You have class in thirty minutes, right?”

I nod.

“Are you going?”

I shrug, not sure I can limp across campus on time. “Probably not.” The whole purpose of having a fuck buddy was to keep my head straight and my grades high, but God, I hurt.

Liz slams her nearly empty mug on the table. “All right. I’ve had enough!”

I recoil, surprised by her sudden anger. I’ve known about Liz’s temper since she took the position as pledge leader last year and had to deal with the pledges’ shenanigans. She’s slow to anger, but when she does, everybody watch out. Whatever I’ve done can’t be good if she’s past her boiling point.

“Enough of what?” I try to look innocent even though I have no idea why she’s pissed.

She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. One eyebrow rises, seeming to say, “Are you a moron? How can you even ask that question?”

“Talk to me, Liz, ‘cause I’m clueless.”

She takes a deep breath through her nose and blows it out slowly through her mouth, a tactic I’ve seen her use when talking to a pledge who’s upset her. “I told myself I wouldn’t get in the middle of you and Tyler. I said to myself, you’re both adults.” The breathing technique must not have worked because her eyes light up with fire. “But this is absolutely fucking ridiculous, Cassie. A fuck buddy does not come over every night and screw you senseless for hours! That’s what
honeymooners
do. This has to stop. Now.”

I cringe. I know she’s right. Our sex is getting out of hand, and I need to pull back. Going even one night without him will be hard because for the first time in two months, I haven’t been obsessing over Wyatt. “It’s just good sex. And it’s new, so we’re a little more enthusiastic than normal. Things’ll calm down soon.”

“Do you remember Logan and Jessica?”

I grimace, afraid she’s making a comparison. Logan had been a major pothead who’d dropped out of Vandeveer to work off a DUI. Jessica had been the pom squad captain and a straight-A student until she met Logan and they fell in love. She dropped out of school and became his pothead sidekick.

“He didn’t rise to her level,” Liz says. “She sank to his.”

I know what she’s getting at. Tyler’s vice is sex, so that would make me... “I’m not becoming a nympho.”

“Maybe not, but if you don’t go to class, then your relationship with Tyler’s affecting your school work, and that’s just as bad.”

If I’ve learned one thing over the past two years, it’s that Liz is always right. In this case, she’s doubly right. I have a scholarship to think about, and I can’t let another man derail me. I drag myself out of the chair, grab a granola bar, and hobble to my room to change. I’ll make it to class if I have to crawl.

After taking two Advil, I hurry across campus, well aware I’m going to be late. Philosopher Dan is only a blur as I run full speed past him.

“Where’s my sandwich, pretty girl?” he calls after me.

“Running late!” I huff, out of breath. “I’ll bring you lunch!”

He grumbles something, but it’s lost in the whoosh of blood pounding in my ears. I throw open the front door to Murral Hall and dash down the corridor. Mr. Westbrook’s warning revolves around my head.
I will not tolerate tardiness. Anyone entering my classroom after ten a.m. will suffer the consequence.
I’m afraid I’m about to suffer the consequences. I wish I had that lollipop Freddy mentioned a few weeks ago. Distraction might be my only salvation.

I open the door to the classroom quietly. Maybe I can slip in without distracting from his lecture, and he’ll forgive my tardiness. Mr. Westbrook stands to the side of the podium, using a laser pointer to emphasize a bulleted topic on the projector screen. All eyes turn to me. I feel their stares as if they’re trying to ignite me with shame. So much for being inconspicuous. Shoulders slumped, I head toward my desk.

Mr. Westbrook clears his throat, and I stop walking. “Nice of you to join us, Miss Faye. Do tell me, did Mickey Mouse’s hands fall off your watch?”

The class chuckles.

I turn to face him and square my shoulders. “Sorry, Mr. Westbrook.” I search for a reasonable excuse, but I doubt he’d find my sexual escapades a sound reason for interrupting his class. “I won’t be late again. I promise.”

“Yes, well. I think that’s a true statement.”

My tense muscles relax a notch, and I turn toward my seat.

“Not so fast, Miss Faye,” he says. “The first day of class, I said I will not tolerate tardiness. You have disregarded my warning, therefore, you will pay the consequences.”

I guess I shouldn’t expect preferential treatment just because I provided material for his new book, but it would’ve been nice. Pivoting toward him, I wait for him to dole out my punishment.

He lowers his glasses and peers at me over the top of them. “I’m feeling kind today, so I’ll give you two choices. You can write a five-thousand-word essay on a topic of your choosing, as long as it’s technical in nature. It will be due on Monday. Or you can entertain the class.”

One girl gasps, but the rest of the class breaks out in snickers.

Freddy laughs the loudest. His bass chuckle permeates the entire room. “Give us a show, Cassie!”

We already have a paper due on Monday. I don’t want to add another one to my list. “What kind of entertainment?”

Mr. Westbrook’s eyes widen slightly, as though he’s surprised I’m interested. “A song, perhaps?”

Freddy yells, “Let’s hear the bird sing!”

I whirl and narrow my eyes at him. He only smiles wider, especially when the rest of the class agrees. They yell out a list of potential tunes ranging from “I Touch Myself” to “I’m Sexy and I Know It.” The room gets so boisterous, I can’t even hear myself think.

“Settle down, class,” Mr. Westbrook says, and the room quiets.

I’m so going to regret this, but I’m not doing the homework. “Fine, I’ll sing. But next time I’m running late, I just won’t come to class.”

Mr. Westbrook shakes his head. “Part of your grade is calculated on your attendance. I suggest you not do that.” He steps aside and motions for me to come forward.

I shuffle to the front of the room and turn to face my audience. “What am I singing?”

“‘I’m a Little Teapot!’” Freddy yells.

Mr. Westbrook cracks a smile. “Perfect, Mr. Jones.” He sits in a vacant seat in the front row and clasps his hands on the desktop as if politely waiting for class to begin.

Everyone’s smiling and waiting. I hone in on Freddy and give him a glare that promises retribution. He shrugs and winks. I scan the rest of the class, hoping for one sympathetic grimace, but all eyes shine in anticipation. A few guys in the front row are staring at my chest, the jerks. With Tyler wearing me out, I haven’t been to the Laundromat in over a week, and my clean clothes are dwindling. I had to pick a shirt that clings a little more than I’m comfortable with, and the boys, with their appreciative stares, seem to be noticing.

“Go ahead, Miss Faye,” Mr. Westbrook says.

I drop my book bag and draw in a large breath. I can do this. It’s only a moment of humiliation I’ll never live down. “I’m a little tea pot,” I sing quietly. “Short and stout.”

“Louder,” Mr. Westbrook says, brow furrowed. “We can’t hear you.”

I roll my eyes. No one said I had to sing loud enough for the back of the class to hear. Before I start over, I notice one of the boys nudge the guy sitting next to him and hold his hands up as if he’s cupping huge melons. The other guy snickers, leering at my breasts. I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around my boobs.

Mr. Westbrook taps his watch. “We’re waiting, Miss Faye.”

I shake my head. I can’t do this while a bunch of perverts undress me with their eyes. They make me feel ashamed just for being female.

Mr. Westbrook raises an eyebrow. “I have a large volume of material to cover today, Miss Faye. Please proceed.”

I’m about to tell him I’ll do the homework, but I’ve already wasted class time with my indecision. I should just get it over with. I cringe and fold my arms across my chest to combat the vulnerability I’m feeling. In a booming voice, hoping it’ll detract from my self-conscious stance, I sing, “I’m a little tea pot, short and stout! Here is my handle, here is my spout!”

“Miss Faye,” Mr. Westbrook says over my singing, “are you forgetting the choreography?”

The class roars with laughter. I huddle into myself, cursing the day I met Mr. Westbrook. This is a worse humiliation than being kicked out of Tyler’s room.

Training my gaze on the back wall to avoid the ogling stares, I start over. “I’m a little teapot, short and stout.” I curve one arm at the elbow and plant a hand on my hip. “Here is my handle”—I hold my other hand high in the air to my side—“here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout.” I bend at the waist and tip the spout toward the floor. As I tilt, I feel my breasts shift, and I know exactly where every eye in the room is locked. I can feel their gazes burning a hole in my nipples. I chance a look at Mr. Westbrook.

He’s glaring at the jerk who pretended to cup fake breasts. “That’s enough, Miss Faye. Have a seat,” he growls, but his venomous tone isn’t directed toward me.

I breathe a sigh of relief that it’s over as I straighten and sling my book bag over my shoulder. Everyone must be surprised by our teacher’s harsh voice because no one says a thing as I walk toward my desk. An occasional chortle rises from the group, but that’s all.

Mr. Westbrook scribbles something on a piece of paper, folds the note, and passes it to the guy who ogled me. Then he turns toward me, his eyes a little stormy. “Don’t be late again, Miss Faye.”

I glare at him. “Yes, sir. Of course not, sir. Never again, sir.” I revel in the way he bristles every time the word
sir
crosses my lips. By the time I sit down, he’s watching me as though he’s afraid I’ll go postal on him.
Not till after class
, I want to tell him.

Freddy pats my shoulder. “That wasn’t so bad, right? Better than homework.”

God, he’s clueless. “You’re on your own for the next paper.”

If it’s possible for a black guy to blanch, that’s what Freddy’s doing. “Oh, come on! I saved your ass. Did you really want to sing “I Touch Myself” in front of a class of guys?”

“Whatever,” I grumble. “I’m not talking to you.” I stare at my notebook, ignoring him.

For the first part of class, he tosses notes on my desk. I only read the first one which has a sobbing face and the words “I sorry” beneath a river of tears. When he realizes I’m not going to reply, he throws wads of paper in my hair. One even lands in my ear, and I furiously dislodge the little bugger with a fingertip. I know Mr. Westbrook can see what Freddy’s doing, but for some reason, he’s choosing to ignore it.

“Stop it!” I whisper. “We’re not in high school!”

Freddy mock gasps. “The princess speaks.”

I scowl and purse my lips, but I can’t stay mad at him. It’s not his fault I was late or that Mr. Westbrook made me sing, but maybe I can use the unfortunate incident to my advantage. “If you get Philosopher Dan lunch, I’ll help with your paper. I didn’t have time to pick up breakfast since I was obviously running late.”

He leans close and whispers, “Meet me at the library at seven tonight, and you’ve got a deal.”

I nod once and stare down at my notes while Mr. Westbrook discusses how to choose appropriate graphics. I’m barely listening. Class drags on forever.

When it ends, over the din of rustling papers and books being shoved into backpacks, Mr. Westbrook says, “Miss Faye, may I speak with you?”

I don’t bother to acknowledge him as I gather my things, but at least I don’t plan to kill him anymore. The adrenaline from my humiliation’s gone, so I’ll settle for escaping as quickly as possible. I sling my bag over my shoulder and stride toward the podium. “How can I help you, Mr. Westbrook?”

He takes his glasses off and regards me coolly. “Dr. Albright would like to make a case study of your economic forecasting paper for the book we’re co-writing. Would you be interested?”

“What would it involve?” I ask, keeping my voice emotionless.

“You’d need to elaborate on a few points. I estimate it’d be a few days’ work, but it would be excellent for your resume since you’ll be included in the acknowledgments section.”

I give him my best icy stare. “No, thank you, sir.”

His shoulders snap tight. “Why not?”