I clutch at the covers, needing something to ground me, and instead I end up gripping his calf. He chuckles, and the puff of his breath in the middle of my back tickles, and I break my resolve to stay still.
“Did you know you squirm when you’re about to come?”
I don’t know how to answer that. My brain is still too foggy from sleep. Do I stay silent? Tell him that yes, I noticed it last night, or no, I’ve never done “that” before him, so I don’t know if it counts? Or do I just tell him to shut up because he’s embarrassing me?
I don’t like being embarrassed.
I tell myself I shouldn’t be. What we did last night, it was . . . brilliant. Better than I ever could have imagined. And he’s made no move to rush out of my bed, so that has to be a good sign. But I can’t get over the fact that I’m sticky in places I shouldn’t be sticky, and the sheets against my skin are damp with sweat, and dear God, was that his tongue on my back? Doesn’t he know I’m sweaty and gross?
Just when I’m about to bolt for the bathroom, his mouth reaches the nape of my neck, and I feel his tongue and then teeth graze the side of my neck.
“Should I assume your silence is a yes? That you know your arms and legs flail when you’re right on the edge, as if you’re about to fall over an actual cliff?”
I shrug. That’s what I’m reduced to. Master of intellect right here.
His mouth trails along my shoulder, and then I feel the graze of his stubble as he lays his cheek against my back.
“Come on, girl genius. Answer me. It’s important.”
Then, finally, I find my voice. Scoffing, I say, “How could that possibly be important?”
“Because I want to fuck you in the shower, but I’m worried you won’t be able to stay standing when you come.”
I make a noise that not even I can identify, and drop my head into my hands. I hear him chuckle behind me as he flops back on the bed.
“You are such an ass,” I say into my hands.
Then, before I know what’s happening, I’m being slid and tugged and rolled, and my naked body is draped on top of his. My legs fall to each side of his hips, and large hands squeeze my backside. “What did you say about your ass?”
Annoyance is finally beginning to dilute my embarrassment, and I try to push up from him. His arms won’t budge. Instead I end up with my forearms pressed against his pectoral muscles, and his face just below mine. “I said you’re an ass.”
“Hmm . . . no. I like the way I heard it better.”
I squirm, trying to slide off him, and instead he rolls, trapping me beneath him, and insinuating his hips more firmly between my thighs.
“This is . . . a lot for me,” I say. “I would appreciate it if you could put the joking on pause for a little bit.”
His eyes are dark as his gaze glides over my face. There’s the barest shadow of stubble along his jaw and neck that I’m not used to seeing, and just the sight of it makes something flutter in my belly. One corner of his mouth tips up, and I know he felt the subtle shift in my hips as I reacted to the sight of him hovering over me. He leans in close, brushing his lips back and forth over mine in a not quite kiss.
“I don’t know why you think I’m joking, sweetheart. I love your ass. Have ever since you wore that short little schoolgirl skirt and nearly gave me a heart attack when you walked away from me. And as for fucking you in the shower . . . I was definitely not joking about that.”
A blush blazes over my cheeks, and he smiles. “I get that this is new for you, Nell. I do. But I’m not going to lie or hold back telling you how much I want you. I can’t.”
I swallow. “I’m just not used to talking about this kind of thing.”
“I believe you scientific types would say the only way to really get comfortable with something is through exposure. Practice.” He lowers his body against mine, props himself up on his elbows, and cups my cheeks. “And for the good of mankind and these gorgeous red cheeks, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make you comfortable.”
His gaze is so piercing, so serious. I am constantly amazed and undone by the different facets of his personality. He can flip-flop between joker and romantic so easily. He’s so comfortable as both. Then, as if proving my thoughts, he adds, “And I’m willing to have shower sex as many times as it takes until you learn to stay standing.”
I shove playfully at his shoulder, and as he tips over, he once again brings me with him. We roll so that I’m on top, and I can feel the hard length of his erection nestled in the heat between my legs. We’re inches away from tumbling off the bed, and one of my legs hangs over the side, my toes brushing the carpet.
He’s still got one hand on my cheek, and he uses it to start drawing me down toward his mouth, and I can’t explain why it makes me panic. It just does. Last night was good. Great. And it was exactly what I wanted. But I haven’t had time to think about what’s next. I have to think about what’s next . . . don’t I?
“I need to shower and get ready for class. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late.”
He keeps pulling me closer, until my mouth is just over his, not quite touching, but so close I can feel his every breath against my kiss-chapped lips. The promise of that nearness distracts me, and I feel my body melt into his, my soft stomach pressing against his harder one.
“Skip it,” he breathes.
“I—I can’t. I’ve never skipped a class. Not ever.” But it’s tempting. So very tempting.
“Is there a test today?” His lips swerve left, touching my cheek.
“No.”
“Do you have to turn in an assignment?” His tongue traces the sensitive spot at the corner of my jaw.
“No, but—”
“Skip it,” he murmurs against my ear. The heat of his breath makes me shiver and press closer. “Skip it and stay here with me.”
“Mateo—”
He hums. “I like my name in your mouth. Come on, girl genius. Think of your list. You’ve been doing a lot of things you’ve never done before. Give me one more. Let me thank you for last night.”
His other hand has found its way to my hip, and he uses it to rock me against him. And just like that . . . I find myself giving in. No, not just giving in. Throwing myself at him. Because even though I’m tender, it feels unbelievably good as he glides through the wetness between my legs. And he’s in my bed. And the morning light is playing over his bronze skin, and his eyes are dark and sleepy. And that’s another piece of Mateo Torres I want to lay claim to. I want to own this memory of him playful and pleading in my bed.