The Hook Up (Game On 1) - Page 17

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It must show. I don’t know how to hide it. His smile slips, as his lips part. On a breath, his gaze goes molten.

Holy hell, I’m in trouble.

Vaguely, I’m aware of people rising up around me. Class is breaking up. I can’t look away from Baylor. Not when he slowly rises. Not when he stops in front of my desk and holds out his hand.

“Come with me.”

I go, because I cannot ignore this need. But I don’t touch him. The moment I do, it will be over. I’ll jump on him right here and disgrace myself in public. Maybe he knows this because he lets his hand fall and clenches it in a fist, as if he too needs to practice restraint.

The corner of his mouth trembles. He’s looking me over. I’m the meal and he’s planning how to go about consuming me. We turn as one and walk out of the classroom with deceptive casualness. But inside? Inside I’m burning hot. Again. How is this happening again? My black sweater smothers me, my tight knit skirt scratching the sensitized skin on my thighs. I want these things off. I want skin to skin. I want him so badly, each step is a struggle. Like I’m walking through warm, soap-slick water.

Though he’s not touching me, Baylor is herding me along, clearly intent on some place to go. We can’t get there soon enough.

A strangled sound of impatience escapes me, and his pace increases, his hand hovering just behind my back. I quicken my strides as we head for the massive main library that sits caddy-corner to the history hall. People come and go, striding up the wide front steps and under the high columned portico. Oblivious to us. To the thick heat that swirls around me, threatening to melt me the moment I come to a stop. I’m so worked up, I can barely get my student ID out and slide it through the scanner. Baylor does little better.

A quick, hot look from him, and I’m shaking again, heading toward the elevator. God. I can have him there. Wrap myself around him. Sink my teeth into his firm flesh. Or sink to my knees and…

The door opens and we step in. And so do three other students.

My teeth meet with an audible click.

Baylor stands next to me, his arm barely brushing mine. I feel it to my toes. We don’t look at each other. Don’t speak. He hits the button for the top floor where the rare folios are housed. Library Siberia. A haven.

Slowly people get off on other floors, and we are left alone. But neither of us dares to move. As soon as the doors open, we burst free of the elevator. We’re walking as fast as we can without actually running. My throat feels raw, the space between my legs slick and my ni**les tight and pushing against my bra.

Baylor’s sneakers don’t make a sound on the polished linoleum, but my boot heels hit with a steady hard click, click, click. The floor is devoid of people, and so quiet that I can hear my own breath coming out in disjointed bursts. We head for the back, to the farthest row. My knees nearly buckle, and he takes my elbow. The touch burns.

The second we reach the shadowy row, he pulls me in and whips me around to face the bookshelves. Without ceremony, he yanks up my skirt, shoving it to my waist. Rough, determined hands haul my h*ps back, practically lifting my ass into the air as he gets me into the position he wants me. It’s all I can do not to thank him, beg him to hurry the f**k up and f**k me. My fingers grip the steel edge of the bookshelf and slip a bit from the sweat on my palms.

His breath is a raw, uncontrolled sound behind me, his heat palpable against my exposed skin. I press my lips into my sweaty wrist and arch my back, giving him a better view. The sound of his zipper going down and a foil packet tearing fills the air. My breath hitches, anticipation clutching low and tight in my belly.

My panties are wrenched to the side. One stroke of his finger to test my wetness. Yes. Yes. And then he thrusts. Hard. I bite the inside of my lip to hold in my cry.

So thick. So, so good. So deep that I’m on my toes, my sex pulsing. His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me back down on him, forcing himself deeper still. A ghost of a sound comes from his direction as if he too is swallowing his groan. I can’t take it. He’s too big. Too there. And then he moves, a fast, frantic pumping.

I close my eyes, rock into his hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. Excitement and lust run over my skin with hot bites of pleasure. All is quiet except for our muffled breaths and the wet slap of flesh against flesh that we can’t control. His jeans-clad thighs press up against the backs of mine as he ruts into me. Because there’s nothing smooth or polite about this. He’s f**king me raw.

My fists clench, the effort to keep quiet making me shake.

His hands slide from my h*ps to under my shirt. His skin is so hot, his palms so wonderfully rough, that I suck in a breath. He slips under my bra, cups my br**sts, and holds them as he f**ks me. He’s going to kill me. I’m sure of it. I nearly scream when he captures the tips of my ni**les with his fingers and tweaks them, plucking in time to his thrusts.

Holy. Shit.

My orgasm hits in a series of waves, my sex convulsing and clamping down on his dick. And he loses it. His mouth finds that vulnerable spot on my neck as he wraps his body around mine. The blunt tip of his finger touches my clitoris, and I’m coming again, just as he does.

Thoughts scatter like dry leaves until only one remains. I’ll never get enough of him.

THIGHS SHAKING, BREATH rasping, I close my eyes and try to calm. God. That was… I have no words. My legs are so weak, I might crumble to the floor at any minute. Aftershocks of pleasure have me twitching, holding Anna tighter. I’m not allowed more than a moment to lean against her warm body and breathe her in before she jerks violently, trying to shrug me off. With her wiggling, I slip out of her and suppress a groan at the sudden loss of tight heat, but I can’t seem to move.

Tags: Kristen Callihan Game On Young Adult