His insistence that I’m sweet squeezes my heart.
“Crosby. You deserve something sweet. And I’m not even as sweet as you think I am.”
“You’ve agreed to consider a relationship with me. That’s sweet enough.”
My hands travel up and down his torso, noticing the thick pectorals, the hard abs. He’s so hard, everywhere, and I’m so soft. We hardly seem to be a match that makes sense. And yet when I dare to snake my hand lower, I notice the massive erection. Yes, once again, there’s the soldier, soldiering.
“How?” I laugh.
He grunts and plants his hands on the tile in front of him. “Because you’re so ridiculously fucking hot, that’s how. I’m hard all the time around you.”
This gives me a thought.
Slowly, I lower my hand.
“Leela. What are you doing?”
The rigid shaft feels thick, warm, and ready in my hand. Crosby sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Too soft,” he hisses.
“Turn around?” I ask.
With a low growl, he fulfills my request. I drop to my knees in front of him and take him in my mouth.
His hands caress my hair while I treat him like my own personal ice-cream cone. Licking up and down and not missing a single inch.
“Fuck me, darlin’. I said you’d be ready for this by Sunday night. I didn’t think—” I cut off his musing by taking him in as far back as possible, then opening my throat.
“Oh, Jesus!”
I know what he was thinking. Crosby had assumed he would have to coach me and guide me. All he has to do is brace himself once again between the tile wall and the grab bar on the door because what he doesn’t know—what I never knew myself—is that I love doing this. For the right person.
THIRTEEN
Crosby
We are parkedon my bike in front of Tony’s Kitchen. We’re both starving, and I’m the dummy who didn’t plan for enough groceries for the weekend. Which is fine, we needed some fresh air.
“What’s wrong?” Leela asks, removing her helmet. I still haven’t removed mine; I’m just staring.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask.
“What? Eat? Yes, I’m starving,” Leela replies.
Laughing, I clarify, “I mean, are you sure you want to eat…here?” I gesture with my head in the direction of the restaurant. I follow her gaze as she watches a group of freshmen—still in their party clothes from the night before—shuffle across the parking lot, slightly haggardly and perhaps still a little drunk.
She squints at me. “Take off your helmet, Crosby.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Now that she’s making me accept eye contact for this conversation, she’s going in for the kill. “Why wouldn’t I want to go here for breakfast with you?”
I answer with a non-answer. “We could go to a more out-of-the-way place where you won’t run into any of your friends.”
“Crosby. You’re being ridiculous,” she says.
I am being ridiculous because I care about her feelings. Despite everything, I do care about her reputation. I still hate college Greek life and everything it stands for, but it’s not actively hurting anyone. If it’s going to help her achieve her dreams, I want to help too. If that means avoiding broadcasting any notion of us being a couple just yet, I’ll do it.
“I just—”