Learning Curves

Chapter Nine





Brandon was going to explode.

Here, in his pants, next to his ten-speed, in his narrow hallway. Next to his ten-speed and just down from his closet.

And it was all Leanne Galloway’s fault.

She was driving him out of his ever-loving mind. Her hands. Her mouth. Her ass. He’d been aware of her beside him in the restaurant, his need simmering and bubbling, burning hotter with every saucy glance, every burst of unabashed laughter, every brush of her long hair.

He was shaking, he was so damn aroused, his cock like granite, his balls quivering. She writhed, her pelvis grinding against him in a bawdy come-on. He couldn’t get enough of her. His mouth latched on to her pink lips and their tongues dueled, the wet exchange only serving to inflame him further. He had to slow down or it would be over too soon.

“Slowly,” he pleaded.

Leanne scoffed. “Slow is for people who don’t know what they want.” She licked his neck. “Tonight, I want it fast and hard.”

“I can—” he cleared his throat, “—I can do that.”

Understatement of the century. She touched and caressed him, ravaging his senses, exploring his body, his shoulders, his chest. He tried to resist, to moderate the pace, but she was implacable. She reached his waistband and her hands slipped underneath the blue fabric. Her hands were chilly and the shock of them against his burning skin only made him hotter.

“Off.”

There was no denying her. Her voice, low and sultry in day-to-day conversation, was even smokier now. It wrapped around his brain and his resistance vanished.

He attacked his buttons with a ferocity that made her giggle even as she gasped at the sight of his chest. The awe in her eyes as he tugged the shirt down elicited an unexpected quiver of pride. He was used to being ogled for his body. Used to thinking of it as a tool, a means to achieve his goals and nothing more. But Leanne’s gaze discomfited him. She wanted him. This funny, intelligent, classy woman was looking at him like she’d never seen anything so wonderful or enticing in her entire life. The sensation made him lightheaded.

He wasn’t unique.

He wasn’t special.

She’d learn the truth too, but for right now, he was powerless to do anything but bask in her regard.

“So beautiful.” She brushed against his flat nipple and her head dipped, white teeth closing around the sensitive tip. He jerked, need winnowing through him,

He had to have her.

Now.

He swept her into his arms, nearly running down the narrow hall in his eagerness. He shouldered open the bedroom door and they tumbled onto the futon in a tangle of arms and legs and laughter.

“Seems I’m not the only who thinks fast is a good idea.”

“It’s all your fault,” he responded. “You’re just so sexy that all I can think about when I’m with you is how soon I can get you naked.”

Her face lit with an emotion he couldn’t identify. “Seriously?”

He stopped for a moment, his shirt hanging off his torso. “Seriously.”

When she smiled, he felt as though he’d won a prize. He wrenched off his shirt. To hell with the buttons. The only thing he was interested in getting his hands on was Leanne, naked, warm and willing.

There were no more words as they tore off their clothes, hands clutching at belts and zippers, shoes and socks, flinging them away without regard for where they might land. He whipped her sweater over her head. The sight of her breasts straining against pink lace was almost too much for him. He had to taste them, suck them, lick them.

He bent his head, his hand working one lush mound from its fabric confine so that the dusky tip jutted forth, hard and aroused. He licked the bud and swirled it in his fingers, pressing it lightly, before taking it in his mouth and suckling gently. He was delighted by the sound of her breathy moans. Leanne thrashed on the bed, her arms braced against his faded duvet, her eyes squeezed shut.

Never releasing his hold on her breast, he reached behind her and fumbled for the clasp. She arched her back. The bra fell away, leaving her breasts free and begging for his touch, his mouth. He turned his attentions to the other tempting mound and gorged himself on her beautiful flesh.

Her hands worked at the band of his briefs, tugging them down over his ass. They caught on his cock, and he nearly came at the touch of her fingers as she freed him and drew the last remaining piece of clothing from his body. But he wanted to make sure that she came too.

And for that, he needed to gather what little control he still possessed.

But, God, it wasn’t easy. Because all that remained between his raging cock and her pulsing core was a pair of very sheer, very lacy panties. A mere triangle of fabric separating him from where he most wanted to be. Face-to-face, her breasts rubbing against the coarse hair on his chest, she writhed against him, and his mind shut down. He could smell her intimate musk, feel the wetness soaking through the lace as he rubbed his cock up and down her cleft, stimulating her *, teasing her with the promise of his possession, even as he withheld what she so desperately wanted.

F*ck it.

F*ck her.

He reached for her hips and they surged from the bed, thrusting her pelvis against his. He tore the panties from her body and he heard something tear. He didn’t know what but he was beyond caring.

He wanted to taste her.

He wanted to finger her.

He wanted to do everything until she came and came and came.

Later. Now he needed to be inside.

It was that simple.

He lunged for the side table and scrabbled in the drawer for a condom. He tore the wrapper with his teeth and rolled it down over his cock.

“Please,” Leanne begged, her voice breathy, her hands straining against his shoulders. “Please, I need you.”

He needed her too.

He surged inside her, his cock filling her slick channel. Her eyes dilated until they looked almost black with her need. Then she began to move, thrusting her hips up to meet him, and there was nothing else to do but thrust into her. As deep and as full and as fast as he could. Her breathing was labored, her nails gouging sharp crescents into his back. The scarlet flush of her orgasm stained her throat as she gave way to its force; it gripped her and her p-ssy clenched around his cock like a vise.

He drove deeper and deeper and her cries of passion urged him on. He f*cked her with everything he had, until it felt like he would split in two with the force of his desire. And still he pumped her, thrusting and straining, as her first orgasm ebbed and a second, even stronger, pulled her under once more. She screamed, the hoarse sound echoing in the room. As if it was the signal he’d been waiting for, he came, an endless, suspended moment, the indescribable feeling of release holding him in its thrall.



In the dark, Leanne could feel herself begin to cool as her mind slowly began to coalesce in the aftermath of driving need that had consumed her. Beside her, she could hear Brandon’s ragged breathing. His leg rested against hers, its rough hair brushing her. Her mouth was dry and chalky, and sweat began to cool on her skin. Stretching, she slid out of bed and looked down at his naked body reclining against the crumpled sheets.

Licking her parched lips, she said, “I need a glass of water. Do you want one too?”

She felt ridiculously self-conscious as she stood near the open doorway, suddenly aware of the way the hall light must be revealing her every figure flaw. One could overlook plump thighs and a softly curving tummy in the throes of passion. When his tongue swirled along her cleft or his fingers danced across her skin, he’d been too busy to notice her shortcomings. But now, she felt decidedly awkward.

He’d called her sexy.

Seriously sexy.

But what guy wouldn’t say something like that during foreplay? He’d wanted her but his compliments, while flattering, didn’t mean anything in the larger scheme of things. She’d do well to remember that, no matter how good he was in bed.

Brandon shifted, leaning up on his elbow, and looked at her steadily. “A glass of water would be great. The bathroom’s just down the hall, on your left.”

She ran the taps until the water streamed out icy cold. She drank in thick, greedy gulps then leaned against the sink, pressing the glass against her cheeks and forehead.

Saturday night at the club had been incredible. Urgent. Passionate. Illicit and compelling. Her body carried with it the overwhelming sense of sexual satisfaction for days afterward. She’d dismissed the chances of ever recreating such explosive sexual chemistry. Nothing, she’d told herself, could surpass it.

She had been wrong.

Tonight had been so far outside her realm of experience that even now, as she rested against the vanity, her knees still shook.

It terrified her.

What had she gotten herself involved in?

This could only be a fling. A casual hookup with no expectations on either side. Leanne’s whole life right now was focused on the Walters Prize. There was no room for anything else. She couldn’t let transitory needs derail her life. She’d worked too hard to let sexual prowess be the determining factor in whether or not she reached all of her goals.

She had to believe that Brandon felt the same way. He hadn’t come out and said it, of course, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out that he wasn’t interested in entanglements either. Her earlier impression of him as a loner had been reinforced during dinner. He’d been witty and charming yet he was unmistakably a solitary person whose reserve ran deep. He talked of colleagues, not close friends. He spoke of travel but not family. He’d asked questions of both Leanne and her father but deflected all but the most generic they’d asked in return. For all his good looks, he seemed to prefer keeping his real self well hidden.

His life was conducted backstage, she thought. When he moved into the glare of the footlights, he left something of himself behind, protected, the face he showed the world a carefully crafted performance. Brandon seemed to prefer that people would look no further than the surface. He almost seemed to expect it. What had happened to bring him to that point, she couldn’t guess, but the fact that he preferred his independence to a romantic relationship was all that was keeping her swirling anxieties in check.

Yet in bed he’d shown an almost uncanny ability to gauge her needs, to anticipate her deepest desires before she could even articulate them. He’d been tender and inventive and so unbelievably good that even now, just thinking about what they’d done made her sex contract and a warm trickle of need trail down her tender inner thighs.

He was the best damn lover she’d ever had.

Even knowing what they had was fleeting, her only regret was that he’d raised the bar for all future lovers. She’d never be satisfied with mediocre sex again, thanks to his touch, and she felt a shiver of sadness with the realization that—if her past lovers were any indication—most of the men she might sleep with in the future would fall far short of Brandon’s mark.

Filling the glass again, she turned off the light and made her way back to the bedroom, her way illuminated by the dim hall light.

He was awake. Even in the dark, she could sense his alertness. Making her way carefully around the bed, she held out the glass.

“Here.”

His fingers brushed against hers as he took the glass and need pierced her, despite the brief contact. She wanted to crawl under his duvet and fall asleep but if she did, he’d think she didn’t know the rules governing a hookup like theirs.

No cuddling.

No overnights.

No future plans.

Leanne might have embarked on her journey of sexual self-discovery a little later than some, but even she, well and truly buried in the eighteenth century, knew what was expected of her in this situation. She slid one foot out, across the floor, her toes brushing against a crumpled heap that felt, if the soft touch of velvet was anything to go by, like her skirt. She was so intent on her recovery mission that his low voice startled her and she jumped a little.

“Come to bed.”

“I—I beg your pardon?”

“Come to bed. It’s late.”

“Are you sure?” Leanne was bewildered by this turn of events. He smoothed back the duvet. On autopilot, she slid under the covers. Gingerly, she laid her head against the pillow and turned toward him.

He shifted and pulled her against him, his muscled chest pressing against her back, his now flaccid cock nestled firmly between the cheeks of her ass. She felt warm and sated and unbelievably safe.

She knew she shouldn’t feel anything of those things. She tried to skooch away, to begin the hunt for her clothes in earnest, but he only tightened his grip, squeezing her in his arms.

“I shouldn’t stay,” she said. “This is against the rules.”

“The rules?” She could feel, rather than hear, his laughter at her statement. She was tempted to simply leave the bedroom instead of succumbing to his teasing. She shifted, trying to push herself up from the mattress and his grip intensified. “What rules are those?”

“You know,” she insisted. “For what we’re doing.”

“Ah, you mean the rules for a one-night stand.” His voice deepened, the masculine rumble permeating her entire body and making rational thought a difficult proposition.

She was perilously close to the edge, hanging on to her sanity by the barest of threads. If she stayed, the risks were simply too great.

He knew that.

She knew that he knew that.

So why was he asking her to stay with him tonight?

Where was that damn lone wolf when she needed him? Didn’t he understand she was giving them both the out they needed?

As if she’d uttered the words aloud, he spoke. “Because you smell good.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if his cryptic statement would answer all her questions. It didn’t. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled. “Like lemons. And vanilla.”

He thought she smelled good? She knew she ought to rebel against his invitation but she couldn’t resist. The warmth of his body, the softness of the bed, it all conspired against her.

“Just for tonight,” she murmured. “But this doesn’t change…It’s still a…”

Fling. She didn’t finish what she was saying; Brandon interrupted first.

“Still a lot of fun,” he whispered. A tiny thrill zipped through her at his admission.

He thought what they had was fun?

She was studious. Intellectual. Determined. But she couldn’t remember anyone who’d ever thought she was fun.

She grinned. Pretending to search for a more comfortable position, she wriggled against him, enjoying the way his breath caught as her ass brushed against his cock in a not so accidental way. No longer flaccid, it pressed insistently into her flesh. He wanted her again. Because, miracle of miracles, he thought she was fun.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” She feigned innocence.

He laughed, his hand stroking across her hip before dipping down toward her damp curls. His finger brushed against her outer lips before dancing away to touch her inner thighs, spreading liquid heat across her core. He pressed against her * and she jerked. After the orgasm she’d just experienced, she should be beyond arousal, spent, yet at the lightest of touches, she was ready to begin again. He moved closer now and she could feel his cock even more clearly now, not fully engorged but unmistakably stiffer than it had been.

“I don’t do fun very often,” he confessed. Leanne was surprised. He seemed so easygoing, so unencumbered by worry or self-doubt. She twisted around to face him. It was intimate here in the darkness, only his silhouette visible.

“Really?”

He sighed, his exhalation warm against her temple. Somehow the dark made it easier for her to ask such bold questions. Normally, she wouldn’t quiz someone like this but it had suddenly become important that she know what he really thought of her.

“Yeah.”

She waited, sensing there was more to it than a simple one-word answer, and after a long pause, he continued. “I’ve been on my own for…well, for a long time now. Since I was a kid. And between school and work and research and dancing, there just wasn’t a lot of time left over for anything else.”

In the silence that followed his explanation, Leanne wrestled with the questions crowding her mind. If she asked them, they’d cross a line in the sand, moving from casual to something else entirely. A friendship? A relationship?

Whatever it was, she knew it was too late to keep up the pretense. Here, in his arms, she the line had already been breached. They were no longer merely strangers embarking on a one-night stand.

“Where were your parents? Your family? Couldn’t they help?”

He laughed but the sound held no humor. “My parents were never much on success. They divorced when I was ten. My dad had been gone a lot of the time, so I didn’t really miss him. When he was sober, he was a long-haul trucker. When he wasn’t, he just made life miserable for the rest of us.”

What a barren childhood.

“I lived with my grandma after the divorce.”

“The one who hung your certificate?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. She was good to me and wanted me to do well, but it didn’t last and I had to move back in with my mom a few years later.”

“Why?” she asked, her fingers stroking the taut plains of his shoulders. She stopped, pressing against a knot of tension, and he groaned in appreciation.

“Nana died,” he said. “Heart attack. Mom didn’t really want me. She’d remarried and having me around was just a reminder of past mistakes. Brian wasn’t a bad guy or anything but he had his own kids, so he just let me do my own thing ’til I was old enough to get away and live on my own.”

And in those scant words, Leanne could make out the loneliness and fear that shaped him into the man he was today. He’d overcome physical and material deprivations but the emotional deprivations had marked him far more deeply. No wonder he claimed to have no time for fun. For all intents and purposes, he’d been on his own since he was a boy, shouldering burdens and expectations no child should have to carry.

She tried to keep her voice light, not wanting him to suspect how his history had affected her. “So why dance? You could have done a sports scholarship, gone into something more—” she tried to find a word that didn’t sound insulting, “—traditional.”

His lips twitched but he latched gratefully on to the new subject. “Wasn’t good enough. Lots of places offered. I played baseball in high school, football, some volleyball too. But it was just a few thousand dollars to play on the second or third string. I couldn’t pay my own way with that kind of money. I needed a full scholarship or I’d never see the inside of a lecture hall.” He shrugged and continued, “Then one of my guidance counselors suggested I try applying to dance. Turns out, they’re desperate for men. Wellington offered the best scholarship, four years tuition. Not my living expenses or books but it was better than any other offer I got and I was stupid grateful.”

He laughed again and this time there was real humor in his voice. “It took me most of my first year to get it through my head that guys like to dance too.”

“And did you?”

“Yeah, I kept thinking I was going to put in my four years, get a minor in something practical like accounting or business but somehow, I found myself spending more and more time in the studio. It just…it just felt like I fit there, you know? Then I started working for June, at the club, and everything seemed to click.” His voice was wistful.

“You should be proud. I can’t imagine overcoming those odds and succeeding like you have.”

“You know something?”

“What’s that?”

“I keep expecting someone to come and take it all away. That they’ll figure out I’m a fraud who doesn’t deserve the chances he’s been given. Straighten out the irregularities and send me back to where I belong.”

“No one thinks that.”

“I’m the odd one out, Leanne. Everyone else belongs here. I just lucked into it.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” He smiled at her firm statement but Leanne knew exactly what he meant.

She’d spent years being the odd one out too, though she’d never gone without as Brandon so clearly had. She’d always been too smart, too brainy, too lost in her books to fit in. In academia, her weaknesses had become her greatest assets and she’d come to love the sense of belonging she’d found almost as much as the intellectual challenges. But her parents loved her, provided for her, made sure she had all the opportunities she could ever want.

Brandon had none of that.

He’d been forced to do it all alone.

Now, as a man, he chose to be alone. It was where he was comfortable. Where he fit in. Leanne understood him better now and knew why he chose to live the way he did. She’d been the first to claim that their relationship had a time limit. He’d agreed. Now, after getting to know him better, she saw that her motives weren’t as clear-cut.

If things had been different, she knew she could have cared for Brandon. Cared for him deeply. But no matter how good the sex, there could be no future for either of them. Not together, at least.

He’d told her their first night together what she could expect.

He didn’t do relationships.

It wasn’t personal. It was just how he was wired.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if she was apologizing for the hurt of his past or for her sadness at the finality of her realization but she couldn’t stop the words escaping. “I’m so, so sorry, Brandon.”

His hand brushed away a strand of hair and he dropped a soft kiss on her lips. He rolled onto his back, pulling her across his body, his shaft probing her moistness insistently. He reached toward the bedside table once again and deftly sheathed himself.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, sliding slowly inside. Inch by inch, she could feel herself expand, stretching to fit his rigid form, before she began to rock against him, her thighs clenching and releasing in a slow, measured rhythm. “My life is what it is. I can’t change the past. Neither can you.”

She wanted to exhort him not to give up on the idea of love but the words lodged in her mouth and she couldn’t get them past the lump in her throat. After all, who was she to lecture anyone about the right and wrong way to live life? It wasn’t as if she was a paragon of balance and happiness. Still, even if she couldn’t say the words, she could show him. Show him with her hands and her mouth and her body.

She didn’t know if he could discern her message or not, but they made love again, slowly this time, their movements soft and gentle, as they rocked and swayed together, building toward their mutual pleasure.