Page 7 of Misadventures with a Professor
“Then I’m going to the Goose and Gander,” she says, frustrated. “Or anywhere. But I’m not giving up, not when I only have one night here.”
I’ve already hit the button for the lift by the time she’s uttered the words, but it’s not too late to spin around and glare at her. “What did you just say?” I ask in a low voice.
She’s already turning around, and I realize with some mixture of fury, horror, and lust that she means it. She’s going to go back out into that gale. To find another man.
My hand finds her elbow, and I pull her into me with a growl. “You’re not going anywhere.”
She gives me a glare as turbulently aroused as my own, pressing her wet curves against me in something between a challenge and a request.
“What exactly are you going to do about it?” she dares.
My cock is a hot bar of steel between us, fussing at the seam of my trousers, and I can’t help but press it into her belly. And my mouth is dry, so fucking dry, with wanting her. “Girls who disobey get punished,” I warn.
“By you?”
“By me.”
Suddenly, I find that I’m not holding her to me so much as she’s holding herself to me, her high heels dropping to the floor in a dull clatter as her fingers find the flats of my chest under my thin sweater.
“Punishing bad girls… Is this you being kinky or a serial killer?” she asks, that red mouth curved in what could only be called impertinence.
I can barely breathe. And I can’t even fathom saying the word kinky like she’s just said it, like she would say tall or English. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s no big deal.
Like she might want it.
All I choke out is a husky, “I’m not a killer.”
She has no reason to believe me, no reason to believe that I’m safe, which is exactly why I didn’t want her trawling for strange men in the middle of London.
And all thoughts sizzle and melt away in a searing instant because she’s hooked her arms behind my neck and pulled herself up to my mouth.
Because she’s kissing me with red, rain-spattered lips.
And I am done for.
Chapter Three
Zandy
He tastes like mint.
Not toothpaste mint, but fresh mint, straight from the garden, herbal and with the tiniest bit of cold sting. I moan the minute I taste it, the minute our tongues slide together, and his answering moan has me throwing all lingering doubts onto the floor along with my dumb shoes.
I don’t care that I don’t know him. I don’t care that he’s not the plan. I want it to be him. Him with his testy refusals. Him with his dark threats. Him with those hypnotic eyes that are every color and that mouth shaped somewhere between elegance and cruelty.
His hands are spread big and possessive on my back now, keeping me so tight against him that I can feel every flat, hard plane of his chest and stomach. I can feel the heavy ridge in his pants that tells me how much he meant his words from earlier in the rain.
Everything about your body reminds a man of fucking.
It’s the first time I’ve ever thought of my body that way—of sexy instead of heavy, of desirable instead of softly messy. And I like it. I like how his eyes burned over my curves, as if he were already planning things that would take him straight to hell.
I want it to be him.
And almost like he reads my mind, he turns us and starts walking me backward into the elevator, pausing only to duck down and grab my shoes. Once we go through the elevator doors, he reaches for my thighs and lifts me up as if I weigh nothing, still kissing me with those soft, minty lips all the while.
Well, not kiss, really. Devour is more like it, as if he hasn’t kissed a woman in years—as if he hasn’t even touched anyone in years. He seems that hungry for it. But new to sex as I am, I know you don’t kiss like him without vast experience, so surely he’s not that hard up for it? Surely someone like him, handsome and mysterious and captivating, has someone in his bed every night?
Funny how the observation makes me jealous, given that I don’t even know him. I don’t even know his name. But even as I’m jealous of all the experience belied by his capable handling of me, I’m also grateful for it.
