Chapter Three
Jemma
Professor Preston steps closer.
I breathe deeply, holding the air in my lungs at the sheer size of him dwarfing me. I want so badly to run my hands up his chest again. To feel the slabs of all those muscles under my hands. Tied up in my own thoughts, his words don’t register until a couple of seconds later.
“On time?” Is that my heart rate or theirs I’m hearing like a herd of horses?
“Yes, sweetheart,” Professor Preston husks darkly.
Though the partial darkness hides it, I blush fiercely.
They are both alternating between answering, keeping me off balance and if I had my libido under better control the games would piss me off.
I shift my head and raise my eyes to Preston’s, keeping my fingers firmly around the strap of my bag instead of on him where I’d like them.
Professor Black moves to my right and suddenly It’s New Year’s Eve all over again. They have me pinned with no way out, only this time it’s a bookshelf at my back instead of a bed.
There’s a piece missing though. Him. Professor Thurston. Whiskey Eyes.
Professor Black strokes a warm, gentle finger across my cheek and over my bottom lip. I shiver; every muscle in my body clenching to feel more of him in other parts. Reading my body language or just really good at seducing women, he knows how much they both affect me. He places a hand on the shelf above my head, leans his large body over me and I’m frozen in place when his lips find mine in a slow, burning kiss.
“Just as perfect as I remember. Smooth, soft. Delicious.” His smile deepens, arrogance pulling at the corners when he breaks away. “Sugary sweet and so so dirty.”
My eyes go wide, heart pounding wildly.
His eyes narrow on me. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember, sweetheart.”
I do.
“Remember what?” Play dumb. Keep cool.
“Did you notice the glitter in her hair, man? Silver and purple. Remind you of something?”
Shit. He’s right. I’ve washed four times, but it’s like I haven’t washed it at all. Someone at the party thought a glitter bomb would be a great idea. Fuckers. When I tried for my stealthy escape out the side patio door, I ran straight through a cloud of silver and dark purple glitter that oddly matched Professor Preston’s mask.
“Where have we seen these shades of glitter before?”
“A party. Have you been to a party recently, Jemma? Do you have it in you to get a little wild?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve been to a lot of places.” Heart racing, body tingling, neither of them buy the half shrug I give.
Both of them laugh and the crisp, white tailored shirts stretched over rippling muscle crease and give with the movement of their light laughing.
They’ve both popped the top two buttons at the neck and I know if they were to roll up the sleeves, I’d find muscled arms underneath.
It’s when they both grow silent again that I start to worry.
“Maybe you need a better reminder. What do you think?”
Preston’s voice is deep, rich and spoken so low I have to strain to hear. Before I can gasp in a lungful of air, he takes my chin in hand and it’s his mouth claiming mine this time.
His possessive, take all or nothing approach sends a wave of heat through my body and I know the strip of cloth between my legs is soaked through. If either man touches me, they’d find me wet and ready.
I moan when Preston’s tongue pushes against my lips and he takes my mouth in a rough, heated kiss. Just like the first time. How could I ever forget?
God, what was happening here?