She knew he was being funny. He boxed the air with his one good fist, like some cartoon from the 1930s. Why I oughta, she thought, then wanted to laugh.
So it was a surprise when her voice came out so furious.
“You shouldn’t be punching anyone, ever.”
“Not even when the punching is justified?”
“Punching is never justified, you lummox.”
He wanted to laugh, over lummox. She could see it in the flash of brightness that suddenly lit in his eyes and the way his lips trembled at the corners.
But he managed to swap it for withering dismissal at the last second.
“Yeah okay, I know, I know, it’s brutal and aggressive and—”
“I don’t care about the brutal aggression. I care that your hand looks like raw beef. I care about you getting kicked out of college because you pounded some asshole who took a nudie picture of me.”
“He didn’t get a nudie picture of you. He got like half of your elbow.”
“Well then what did you hit him for? An elbow isn’t so bad.”
“An elbow is worse, are you kidding? How dare he invade the privacy of your right arm.”
He slapped his desk, loud enough to make the girl in the red jumpsuit turn again.
Though when she did, he did a masterful job of pretending to read one of his textbooks.
“Okay, now you’re just purposefully being ridiculous.”
“I know, but I’m enjoying myself, so just go with me on it.”
She loved the grin he snuck her after those words. It was lopsided and somewhat sheepish and so conspiratorial. As though they were partners in crime, and he’d just asked her to rob a bank with him. It’ll be fun, she imagined him saying, and then she was just grinning back.
It wasn’t hard. His amusement was contagious.
And she had contracted a fatal dose.
“I think I have to just go with you on it.”
“You don’t have to. You could tell me to be serious.”
“I see, and what good would that do me?”
“It might help convince you to trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she said.
And in that moment, she really was.
She held his warm and sincere gaze as he leaned in for a kiss, and everything was okay.
—
“You know, we really have to have something to show for our hours supposedly spent on this project.”
She turned on his bed and looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Pen still poised over the flow chart she’d just drawn in his room, to illustrate how the various parts of their project went together. Tone as stern as she could make it.
But it made no difference. He just kept right on fondling her under her T-shirt, oblivious to her concerns. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was looking at the progress his hand was making on her bra. Then when the progress proved inadequate, he tried with two. He pushed her T-shirt all the way up and went at those little hooks, tugging and wrestling until she was swinging completely free in front. All he had to do to see her completely bare breasts was lift the material.
Though she could tell he was wary about making that his goal. Stripping her had hardly gone well the last time. And besides, there were other things for him to do. Really cool things, like sitting up a little so he could reach all the way around and inside, to where the already stiff points of her nipples were.
And then he teased.
He skimmed his fingers back and forth over those sensitive tips, pausing only to lick his fingers or gauge her reaction. Not that he really needed to: she was making her reaction pretty clear. The pen was the first casualty. It rolled out of her hand and under her desk before she could take hold of herself. Soon her notepad followed, forgotten in her rush to lean back against him.
Oh, and she was gasping.
She wasn’t sure when it had started, but she definitely was. He made two fingers extra slick and then just circled one tight little bud, and the sounds just spilled out, despite all of her efforts at staying aloof. She reminded herself how long they had left to finish work they’d barely started, but it had no effect. Everything was his hands now, and his greediness. God, his greediness. It took him all of twenty seconds to progress from circling her nipples to getting big handfuls of her breasts. The kissing he was doing all over the side of her face soon became hotter, and wetter, and went lower down. Suddenly he was biting the curve of her throat, in between the hottest words she could imagine.
“Ohhh man, I just want to lick and kiss these beautiful tits. Can I do that? Is it okay if I do that?”
“I really want to say no. But if you don’t, I think I might die of sexual deprivation.”
“I’ve been dying of sexual deprivation since we were so rudely interrupted. Honestly, your breasts have haunted my every horny dream. Swear to god I had one last night about fucking in between them and woke up to find I’d pretty much come all over myself,” he said.
After which, she pretty much lost it.