His face tightens. I don’t know if it’s because I accused him of lying or because I want to have sex without any emotional attachment, which is weird because most guys would jump up and down for joy at this offer. “If all I wanted was a quick lay, you and I both know I could get that without any effort. I want something more than that from you.”
“Welcome to disappointment. It’s character building.”
I force myself to turn around and walk away. The chair scrapes behind me, and then his big hand turns my shoulder and backs me up against the bookcase holding stories about dead girls hacked up by serial killers and other true crimes. Seems apt.
He leans down, so close I can smell him—a mix of warm male and citrus—and it’s so good my knees get a little weak. “I’m not experienced, but I know when a girl is into me, and you're into me. You want to play it casual, then that's how we play it...for now. But fair warning, I'm bringing everything I’ve got to tear down your resistance. My specialty is reading plays and then overcoming the barriers.”
I lock my legs to keep from falling over and pull out the biggest barrel I have. “Masters, there are things about me that if you knew, you wouldn’t want to spend another minute in my presence.”
He considers my words, the silence taking on heaviness, and part of me already aches for what I could have if I was any other girl at Western. “Have you killed anyone?” I can feel his eyes assessing me and I keep my gaze averted, afraid of what I’ll see in his moss green gaze.
“No.”
“Have you slept with my brother?”
“What?” I can’t prevent myself from gawking at Masters, who’s smiling as he asks the question. “No! God, I’ve never even met him!”
“Are you catfishing poor athletes from Auburn? Wait, don't answer that, because I don't think I'd find that objectionable. Oh, I have it—” He snaps his fingers.
“This isn't a joke, Masters.”
He tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Until you tell me what it is, it’s not a reason to stay apart either.”
I suck in my lower lip to prevent throwing myself at him and telling him to take me.
“Why?” I ask helplessly.
“Because I like you.”
He grips me by the chin and lays down the gentlest, sweetest kiss. In that kiss, he tells me everything. That he wants me. That he’s willing to take it slow. That he’s not giving up. He kisses me as if this is the only thing he wants to do for the next ten hours.
His lips barely move but I can feel everything in me surge toward him. The short wedges I shoved on this morning feel precarious. I grip his shoulders to steady myself and then find myself rising up on my tiptoes to press deeper against him. He hauls me flush against him until I can no longer touch the floor.
His one hand palms nearly my entire back while the other angles my head for better access. He may be a virgin, but the guy knows how to kiss. His tongue finds places inside my mouth that I didn’t even know could feel good.
All the pent up desire boiling in me for days comes pouring out. I attack him with my kiss, biting his lower lip, sucking on his tongue. Against my belly, I can feel the hard ridge of his very large erection. The image of him standing in that dim light, stroking himself until he comes, flits through my mind in a series of graphic, 3-D images.
“God,” I breathe as he abandons my mouth to trace the line of my jaw with his lips. He growls in response and pushes me back against the bookcases, but I don’t even mind that the shelves bite into my back. I just want more.
He gives it to me. We cling to each other, feeding off each other’s seemingly endless need, until I hear a gasp and then a muted giggle. Those two faint sounds somehow manage to break through the haze of lust, and bring with it the realization that I am in a very public place. I wriggle against him and he sets me down reluctantly.
“We're in the bookstore,” I say in a scandalized voice.
“You've never kissed a guy in the bookstore before?” He grins, the wicked mischievous grin I'm beginning to associate with something tremendously naughty. “There's a first time for everything.”
He steps away, breathing heavily. His untucked T-shirt—the one I apparently ripped out of his shorts—hangs long enough to cover part, but not all, of his bulge. After he’s done adjusting himself so as not to scare any children in the store, he strides over to his abandoned books.
Riley’s face pokes itself around the end of the bookcase. “Is it safe to come into the True Crime section? Because I saw some mauling going on and ran for safety.”
“Har, har.” I push back my hair with a weak, shaking hand.
“Who's this?” Masters says, returning with his two books. Make that one of his books and the book that belongs to me if he would let me buy it.
“Riley Hart. Knox Masters. Masters, this is my roommate, Riley.”
“We're back to Masters, huh? Disappointing.” He shakes Riley’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You guys look like you had an intense conversation.” She smirks.