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My heart rate picks up. I m panting as if I ve just sprinted to Prescott and back.
So this is happening? I ask, stupidly as he comes in so close, and I swear he
whispers yes.
Our lips glide over one another, soft at first. What with all the swaying and his hands
still firmly, might I add obediently, glued to my bottom, I m afraid our lips will keep
drifting away, so I secure my hand to the back of his neck.
Wyatt seals his mouth to mine in one quick intoxicating move. A hard groan expels
from my throat as I melt over him. His mouth steadies onto mine, soft then hard, in a
pulsating rhythm. I writhe my head, moaning into him nonstop, but it s not for show. Who
knew closed mouth kissing could be so damn erotic? This is most definitely headlining my
next article. It s horrifically tantric in nature, and, as much as I profess to hate anything
that gets in the way of the finish line, this most certainly makes the journey that much
more memorable.
Wyatt stops moving and expends his full concentration on this one, immovable lip-
lock. We moan and move over one another s mouths with a building lust that has the
power to fuel ten thousand rocket ships. We could fly to Jupiter and back on the pent up
energy exerted in this one beautiful kiss. Lust. Wyatt and I have it in acres. Can you have
lust without love? Of course, you can. Wyatt and I are living, breathing, sexually starving
proof.
Aren t we?
Come Tuesday I m a bit zippy, swinging my ponytail like a thirteen-year-old, walking with
a spring in my step on my way to class. It s officially countdown-to-Wyatt week, and Aunt
Flo isn t even on the horizon, so my body is all clear to go.
Annie still thinks I m certifiable and, yet, helped me thumb through my bin of
underused lingerie this morning. I m sort of a Pretty Panty hoarder if you know what I
mean. I find them unrepentantly impractical for everyday use, but, nonetheless, I can t
walk by a good two for one steal. Plus I have the Victoria s Secret Annual sale marked off
on my calendar as a to-do item not to mention the half-year, semi-annual and seasonal
clearance. Can a girl ever have too many baby-dolls? I think not. Besides, something tells
me Professor James will very much appreciate the breadth and variety of my vast
collection of unmentionables.
It s funny because when I was with Will, I never wore lingerie. He was more of a pull-
down-your-sweats-just-enough go-ahead-and-leave-your-top-on kind of guy. I told him
once that it felt nice when our skin touched, and he just scoffed at the idea. I ll be curious
as to how many articles of clothing Wyatt deems necessary to remove. I m hoping all. In
fact, I might even make it a requirement. Rules are rules.
I step into the lecture hall and make a beeline toward Baya, but Professor Nicholson
cuts me off at the pass.
How s your little project coming along? She crimps her lips while taking me in from
head to foot. Her arms are crossed tight, and she looks a touch more anxious than usual.
She s dressed just a tad more exciting than a nun. I d cut back on the mock turtlenecks if
I were her. It depletes the air of authority and makes it look as if she s on her way to a
ski weekend. There are innumerous ways to look Professor Chic without having to
sacrifice fashion.
It s coming along great! Baya and I have already purchased a ton of inventory, and
just this last weekend we loaded our first few pieces on eBay.
Mmm. She grazes me with another disproving glance from top to bottom.
Oh, I made this. I tug at my skirt a patchwork made exclusively of velvet and
imported Italian lace. It all came from Goodwill for a grand total of five bucks. I chopped
and sewed until my fingers bled. I could easily list a piece like this for ninety dollars.
Nice spread, but you ll need to think bigger. Her gaze dips to my cleavage, and she
openly smirks.
Oh, um my fingers fumble to my neckline I actually have an appointment this
week to check out options for expanded labor. It s true. Wyatt said he found a few
facilities where they might be interested in picking up a contract with Baya and me.
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