I was tired from the physical work, but forced myself to read a few chapters of a geography textbook and type up a rough outline for a paper about library collection development.
I was starting to read another article for a political science essay when my cell phone rang. I pressed the button to accept the call.
“How have the processes of democracy and federalism affected political modernization in Russia?” I asked.
“Well, if a nation is trying to establish simultaneous democratic and federal structures, it has to build a system of regional support,” Dean said. “That would be difficult in Russia because of its constitutional nature, and there would be a lot of conflict over government policies. And often the benefits of federalism to democracy aren’t apparent until years later.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Why didn’t you walk away?”
“What?”
“The day we met,” he said. “Why didn’t you walk away from me after I gave you your stuff back?”
A sudden memory of that day rolled over me—how I’d wanted to feel his hand close around my arm, the hot pull of attraction I’d felt toward him, the way he’d looked standing on the sidewalk with the sun glinting off his hair.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You do know. Why?”
Because I’ve been around in a different way and finally I know when something—when someone—is good. Finally I trust myself.
“Because I didn’t want to walk away from you.” I folded and unfolded the corner of a notebook. “Because you were handsome and nice and I wanted… more.”
“So did I.”
“Did you look for me?” I asked.
“Almost.”
“Almost?”
“I resisted because of the professor-student thing. But when I saw you in Jitter Beans, I knew I was done.”
I smiled. “Done? Or were you just getting started?”
“Yeah. That.”
“So was I.” In more ways than you even know. I paused. “Have you started thinking about me yet?”
“Uh huh. What’re you wearing?”
I chuckled, even as heat bloomed in my chest. “Isn’t that a long-distance cliché?”
“Yes, but I still want to know.”
I glanced down. “Pajama bottoms and a tank top.”
“Color?”
“Navy blue pants. Pink tank top.”
“Is it tight?”
“Sort of.” Just the sound of his voice made my nipples tent the cotton material. “What about you?”
“Boxers and a T-shirt.”
“Is it tight?”
“My boxers are.”
“Oh.” The heat intensified as I imagined him stretched out on his bed, one arm behind his head, his T-shirt riding up to expose the flat, hard planes of his abdomen. A bulge pressing against the front of his boxers.
“Are you wearing a bra?” he asked.
“No. And my nipples are hard.”
His groan made me smile.
“Are your boxers even tighter now?” I asked.
“No, because I just took my cock out.”
A bolt of arousal shot through me so fast I sucked in a breath. “Oh.”
He gave a muffled laugh. “You have no idea what those little ohs do to me.”
“So tell me.” Emboldened, I pushed away from the desk and went to lock the door, then lay down on the bed.
With the distance of miles between us, I didn’t have to worry about losing my nerve in the midst of the crackling heat Dean roused. As much as I craved his touch, his kisses, it would take a little more time before my tension fully waned with the hot physical stuff.
But just the sound of his voice, rumbling low in my ear… and my lingering inhibitions melted away like ice on heated glass.
“Every time your breath catches in your throat, I get hard,” Dean said. “Makes me want to know what kind of sounds you’ll make when I’m buried deep inside you.”
When. Not if.
I pressed my legs together as explicit images flashed in my mind.
“It’s going to be good,” I whispered, trailing my hand over the hem of my tank top.
“It’s going to be fucking explosive.” His voice lowered to a rough growl.
I shivered and eased my tank top up a few inches. My skin was hot under the glide of my fingertips.
“What’re you doing now?” Dean asked.
“Tracing my belly button.”
His chuckle settled in my blood. “I’m way ahead of you.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, my heart beginning to throb a heavy, slow beat.
“Stroking my cock.”
“Are you completely hard?”
“As a rock.”
“Oh.” I closed my eyes and imagined him lying there with his hand wrapped around his erection and his body tensing with lust. I drew my hand up higher beneath my shirt, remembering his touch on my skin.
“Are you on the bed?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Naked?”
“No.”
“Pull your shirt up.”
A shudder rippled through me as I eased the hem of my shirt up over my bare breasts, a rush of cool air tickling the tight crests.
“Rub them,” he said. “Pinch your nipples.”
I cupped one breast in my hand and squeezed the nipple lightly between my thumb and forefinger. A shock of pleasure traveled clear down to my sex.
“Are you still stroking yourself?” I whispered, my mind awash with images of him stretched out on the bed, massaging his cock while thinking about me.
“Yes.” His breath escaped on a hiss. “I’m so hard it hurts.”
“Are you close?”