“The tutor-student thing,” he says. “Don’t give me the same crap about the stupid rules because we both know that’s not why you’re hesitating. At least be honest about it.”
I slide off the edge of the bed and stand, irritated by the implication that my concern about getting caught is completely unwarranted. “And your pooh-poohing my concern about the rules is patronizing and dismissive.”
“Say more big words. I love it when you use big words." He grabs the fabric of my tank top and pulls me against him.
"Misogynistic."
"You're making me hard." He pushes his cock against me to demonstrate.
“You’re a child.”
“None of those are big words, and you’re lying.”
“What am I lying about?" I ask. “You just think rules don’t matter at all.”
“You’re scared.”
I let out a laugh. “I’m scared? You’re the one who's never hooked up with the same girl twice.”
“And you’re the girl who hasn’t hooked up with anyone at all.”
“Not true,” I say. “I just haven’t fucked anyone.”
“Because you’re scared.”
“Am not."
I’m not scared of screwing someone. Maybe of having my heart broken, but I’m not in danger of that here, because Colton King isn’t in danger of taking it.
“Why did you get in a fight?” I ask him.
“I already told you. No reason,” he mumbles. His hands move down my back, his touch gentle as well as demanding.
“Now you’re lying.”
“Someone was talking about you and I didn’t like it.”
“Talking about me,” I say flatly, working it out in my head. Oh, God. Someone at the house saw the two of us and had to be talking about the student-tutor thing.
Colton shakes his head like he can tell what I’m thinking. “It wasn’t that,” he says without even asking. “It was someone running his mouth about wanting to nail you.”
“Wanting to nail me?" I'm unable to stifle my laugh. I'm not the girl that guys talk about wanting to nail.
“I didn’t like it.” He shrugs like it’s self-evident.
I put my hand against his chest, halfheartedly pushing him away. “So you got into a fight with someone in an attempt to defend my honor? This isn’t the fifties, in case you weren't aware.”
“I wasn't defending your honor,” he says, wrapping his hand around my wrist and pulling me tightly against him. His other hand is on my lower back, pinning me against his growing hardness, and when his hand slides down further under the waistband of my pajamas, I inhale sharply.
“Colton,” I start. It sounds more like a moan than a warning.
“You’re not wearing any panties,” he notes, his voice strained.
“I wanted to be comfortable.”
“I punched the guy in the mouth because I didn’t like him talking about nailing you,” Colton says, his hand slipping lower to caress my ass cheek. He groans low under his breath, squeezing the fleshy part of my cheek in his hand. “I already told you, you’re mine.”
I laugh – Colton King, campus' biggest player, is calling me his? Whatever — but the laugh turns into something else when his hand slides around my waist and down the front of my pants. He stops, though, pausing with his fingers millimeters from my clit. The distance is agonizing.
"This is mine," he declares.
“I’m not yours,” I say.
He moves one finger across my pussy lips — first one, then the other — teasing me and refusing to touch me anywhere else. The heat from his fingers radiates through my body and makes me feverish with anticipation.
"You don't get to claim me," I argue.
If this is what he means by claiming me, he can claim me all night long.
I don’t say that out loud.
“I'm going to claim you Cassie," he growls. "All of you. Over and over again. You're going to beg me to claim you."
“You…can’t say…that,” I breathe, my words punctuated by inhalations as he keeps teasing me, touching me everywhere else except where I want to be touched.
“No?” He slides his hands up my body. For a second, I’m disappointed. But then he pulls the bottom of my tank top up over my stomach, his fingers grazing my skin. His touch sends a shiver through me that goes straight to my core.
“Nope,” I whisper.
“Then let me say something else,” he says.
“Say it.” I stare at his lips, hanging on his every word. I want his lips on me desperately. I want his lips moving across my skin, caressing me, his mouth between my legs.
“Let me tell you what I’m going to do next,” he says. “Right now, I'm going to take off your shirt, and then your pants. Then I'm going to lick you until you’re gasping for breath. I’m going to fuck you with my tongue until you’re bucking against my face. I want to hear you call my name when you come. Over and over. I want to hear you moan my name.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, which is good because I don’t fucking have one after that. His words send arousal coursing through me, pooling between my legs. If I were wearing panties, they’d be soaked. The way he talks, the way he tells me exactly what he wants to do to me, no one has ever talked to me like this before.