He shakes his head, trailing his hand across my shoulder and down my arm until his fingers thread through mine. “Buzzed, but not drunk.”
Russ’ hand makes mine look tiny and our linked fingers are what I watch as he leads me through the crowd toward the stairs. Drunk people are draped over the banister watching the events of the living room, presumably waiting for a bathroom or something, but they all turn to watch us with interest. I keep my head held high and try to not let it show that I know this will be on the UCMH gossip page tomorrow.
I pull out my cellphone as he taps the door code, pulling up my chat to Emilia, and follow him into the room.
EMILIA BENNETT
Bedroom at the top of the stairs
Door code is 3993
Russ?
Yeah he’s awkward
It’s charmed me
I knew I shouldn’t have left you unattended
You sober enough to be making good choices?
When do I ever make good choices?
But yes
Remember we have breakfast with your parents tomorrow
And a flight to catch
Do you have condoms?
Yeah
Please manifest him knowing what he’s doing
The universe doesn’t care about your orgasms Aurora
Be safe
Remember to share your location
“Sorry,” I say to Russ, putting my cell back in my purse and setting it down on the bedside table. “I was just letting my roommate know where I am.”
“Responsible.” He smiles and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “My old captain made us use a tracking app, but it was mainly in case anyone’s location pinged at a police station.”
“You don’t seem the pinging at the police station type . . .”
“Uh, thank you . . . I think.” He laughs, deep and warm; it tugs at my stomach in a weird way.
I finally take in the room, wandering aimlessly, looking for picture frames or something about him, but finding nothing. I’m not joking when I say this is the tidiest bedroom I’ve ever been in, mine included. Even the empty cardboard boxes have been collapsed and lined up next to his wardrobe. His bed has more than one pillow. And they even look like nice pillows.
They all have pillow covers on them and they don’t look like they’ve been runover by a sixteen-wheel truck like many of the guys on this campus.
I reach his desk and other than some engineering books, there’s nothing personal. No signs that it’s him that lives here. He watches my tour of the room quietly, eyes following me from corner to corner. Turning to face him, I slide myself onto his desk, pushing his textbooks out of the way. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
My question catches him off guard, his mouth twists in confusion. “No?”
“Your room is really clean. There’s nothing about you in here: no pictures, hobbies . . .” I wouldn’t even know he played hockey if he didn’t live here. There isn’t one piece of dirty, smelly equipment littering the floor. “And you have pillows. With covers.”
The last one makes him snort and he stands, strolling over to the desk. “Is the bar really that low? Pillows with covers makes you think I have a girlfriend that I’m cheating on?”
He finally stops right in front of me; I widen my knees and he steps into the space they create, his body dangerously close to mine. My heartbeat speeds, heat prickles at the nape of my neck as his body leans over me. He doesn’t touch me though, his hand travels past me and toward a shelf above the desk.
Much like everything else in here, the picture he hands me is pristine—not even a slightly bent corner. It’s him and several of the guys I met downstairs, trying to hold up a trophy. They look like they’re all jumping on Russ and he has the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.
“A picture and a hobby.”
I look up at him, a small smile on his lips. “You look really happy.”
Putting the picture back on the shelf, he nods. “Best day of my life.”
“Why?”
“Tell me about the best day of your life.”
His redirection is odd but there’s no point in me pushing him because it’s not important really—and emotional baggage isn’t really well suited to the whole one-time hook-up thing anyway.
“I don’t think you brought me up here to hear about my life, did you?” I shuffle closer, legs widening to accommodate his huge frame, and lean back on my hands. “Or do you need a Jenga tower to want to touch me? Should I find a boardgame? What about seven minutes in heaven? Should I set the timer?”
“Aurora,” he says softly. His hand finds my chin, nudging my face up to look at his. The moonlight peeking through his half-cracked blinds illuminates him, making him borderline ethereal. “If a timer goes off, I’m smashing your phone.”
Chapter Five
AURORA
I expect his mouth to crash into mine. For him to tug my skirt up around my hips, for him to grab and pull and fumble, but he doesn’t.
His mouth is soft, gentle, testing. His hand moves from my chin, tracing along my jaw until his fingers skim the sensitive area beneath my ear, continuing until it’s entangled in my hair at the nape of my neck.
Our mouths break apart and his forehead rests against mine for a moment. “I’m not expecting anything from you, y’know. We can stop at any time.”
My heart has no right to be beating as hard as it is. “You know the same applies to you, right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
It’s the bare minimum we should expect from each other, but it makes me feel relieved all the same. He’s the same man he was downstairs. He didn’t change as soon as he got me alone. I didn’t let myself get played by pretty words and an even prettier face.
His lips meet mine again, but this time he’s all in. He helps me pull off his t-shirt, taking a sharp intake of breath when my hands trail his abs and reach for the buckle of his belt. Discarding his sneakers, then his socks, he shimmies his jeans to the floor, stepping out of them so he’s left in only his boxers.
He starts at my feet, carefully unbuckling the tiny strap around my ankle, pulling off each heel, sliding his hands along the backs of my calves and thighs, until he’s high enough up to lift me from the desk.
It’s not a long walk to the bed, but it’s long enough for my brain to register how perfectly my legs fit around his waist, how he isn’t clumsy like I thought he might be and that, maybe, I don’t care that much about not getting my veggie pizza with Emilia on our way home if this is the alternative.
He’s careful as he lowers me onto his bed, immediately moving to kneel between my knees. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, helping to take off my skirt as I pull off my top. It makes me feel dizzy, the way he compliments me. Like he’s unsure how to say something, but he means it wholeheartedly. His eyes lock on my face and I suddenly feel twice as naked.
My eyes travel up his body, shamelessly, scanning every hard ab and inch of suntanned skin until they’re back on his face and his dimples appear.
I’m not shy. I don’t think I’ve ever had a moment of feeling shy in my life, but the way he touches me so tenderly, the way his breath hitches as he pulls my panties down my legs slowly and the way he looks at me when I let my legs rest open, is making me feel freaking shy.
He leans over to kiss me, harder this time, keeping his body hovering above mine so I don’t get any satisfaction from feeling his weight on me. I can’t decide if he’s purposely teasing me or if he’s just really enjoying taking his time. There’s something polite about it, respectful, not something I’ve ever labelled a random hook up.
His kisses move lower sparking a fire in every place he touches. Neck, breasts, stomach, hip bone, until his head is right between my legs. He keeps watching me as he finally, finally, puts his mouth on me, moving my legs over his shoulders, and after that I don’t know what he does, because my eyes roll to the back of my head.
There’s nothing polite or respectful in the way he goes down on me. My heart is thrashing against my ribcage, breathing erratic, body writhing so much he uses an arm to pin me to the bed while he licks and sucks and—