Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I shivered slightly at the fantasy I’d conjured last night. We were in a library behind a huge stack of books. One second Rory was pointing out an important detail on a page and the next, his hands were all over me. He pulled at my shirt, unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my Levis, then roughly turned me to face the shelves with a strict warning to keep quiet. Then he tugged my jeans and briefs down, freed my aching cock, and wrapped his fist around me, stroking me with his right hand while he fingered my hole and whispered nasty sweet nothings in my ear. I came like a geyser, shooting ropes of cum on my chest. When I eased my middle finger from my entrance, I realized this statistics thing might be a problem. How was I going to survive months of lusting after my tutor?
“Just tell him how you feel,” Max advised matter-of-factly.
“Are you nuts?” I snorted derisively. “That would be a disaster.”
I furrowed my brow at Max in the gym mirror, pleased that my physical reaction to him had dwindled over the past year since we broke up. I couldn’t deny Max Maldonado was extraordinarily hot, though. He was six one with short dark hair, olive skin, and green eyes. And his body was a thing of beauty. Everything about him was perfectly proportioned, from his ears and nose to his ass and his gorgeous cock.
Considering our history, it was pretty damn amazing that we’d managed to find our way back to “just friends.” We’d known each other since we were toddlers. Our mothers belonged to the same church group. They studied bible verses while their babies fought over primary-colored blocks in the classroom next door. According to my mom, we were fast friends, but that wasn’t how I remembered it. Max bugged the hell out of me. He was a class clown with the attention span of a gnat. He never meant any harm, but he always seemed to cause trouble. You know the type. The kid who accidentally pulled the fire alarm, set the classroom pet hamsters free, and poured melted M&Ms into the teacher’s purse. I was the opposite…a goody-goody who avoided conflict at all costs. I steered clear of him until sometime around my thirteenth birthday when my traitorous body began to notice him in a completely different way. And crazy enough, he noticed me too.
Max was my first everything. Kiss, hand job, blowjob, anal…you name it, we did it. We danced around attraction and a slow-growing friendship for a few years. Nothing happened between us until we were sixteen. And then, we were inseparable. We were able to explore our shared sexuality by pretending to be best buddies when truthfully we were a couple of horny teenagers who, somewhere along the way, became real friends. And for the short time that our physical intensity and friendship meshed, I thought he was “the one.” He wasn’t, but that was okay. On days like today, when my mind was spinning over Rory, I was grateful I had someone I could talk to who wouldn’t ask a million dumb questions.
“Does he have a nice ass?” Max asked, raising his brows lasciviously.
Never mind. Some things never changed.
“Yes, but that’s not the point,” I huffed, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. I picked up a set of weights and moved to stand beside him.
“Maybe not, but it’s a perk. Be honest, Christian. If the guy was a twerp, you’d find excuses not to meet him. Then you’d convince yourself that you could study on your own and turn your grade around. And when it got harder to do than you thought, you still wouldn’t ask for help because you’re a stubborn dickwad with too much pride. If you ask me, you need a sexy distraction to help you focus.”
“That makes no sense.” I lowered the weights, pausing to shoot another irritated glance at him.
“Sure, it does. It works for you now. You’re surrounded by hot guys in tight football pants every day. The more stress you’re under to throw the ball to the right receiver, the better you do. You’ve always been like that.”
“Thriving under pressure isn’t the same as looking for trouble.”
Max set his weights on the rack, then crossed his arms and gave me a thorough once-over. “Ooh. What kind of trouble are we talking about? Did he say he wanted to fuck you?”
I spun around so fast, I made myself dizzy. “No! And what the hell is wrong with you? Lower your voice,” I hissed, setting the weights down.
“Lighten up, Chrissy. We’re the only ones here besides the old dude on the leg press. He can’t hear us over his public radio podcast,” Max admonished. “You’re always five steps ahead when you don’t have to be. Don’t marry the guy in your head. You don’t even know if he has a boyfriend.”