So crazy I’m just going to say it: I’m horny.
I’m the horniest girl on campus—with my competition for the title nowhere near me—because every time I’m with Knox, I’m not only faced with the hottest guy I know, but I’m left with metaphorical blue balls whenever we part.
Anytime I see him, all I want to do is tear his clothes off then let him do the same to me. I want to roll around naked, our sweaty bodies clapping together—yeah, clapping. I want to make so many noises with him, that’s how freaking insane I am. It’s come to the embarrassing point that whenever I see any marketing material of him around campus, I get a dull ache between my legs.
Sports brochures are turning me on.
This is so stupid.
Over a lunch bet.
A simple lunch bet. It’s ridiculous, something I should have given in to, but I swear on my left nipple that’s constantly hard, anytime I think about losing the bet, Holt or Carson text me with words of encouragement.
This isn’t just about me.
It’s about them and walking up to bat to a Britney Spears song.
So I’m holding strong. At least I think I am.
“Knox, what are you—?”
“Come over here, Em.” He motions with his fingers. Fingers I have yet to experience. Fingers I want deep inside me, twiddling, flicking, massaging.
Maybe I could become acquainted with those fingers right now . . .
Wait, no. No, I can’t.
Not only would I lose the bet, but if Mrs. Flower caught me with my skirt up around my waist, that would be the end of my internship and everything I’ve worked hard for this semester. Being under her reins hasn’t been easy.
Speaking of which, I look to the left where Mrs. Flower is talking to a student, well, more like berating, and when I see that the coast is clear, I set down the stack of books I was putting away on the cart and make my way around the shelf where Knox pulls me by the hand and into his chest.
His lips find mine immediately and then his hand falls to my backside where he grips my skirt, bunching it up in his hand and lifting it to an inappropriate level. I swat at his hand, but it does nothing but intensify both his kiss and his hold on me.
We’ve gone through a fair amount of Chapstick over the last few months, our mouths inseparable when we’re together, but our make-out sessions are nothing like this, nothing this carnal, this needy. When I pull away, I stare at his crazed eyes.
“Knox, what’s going on?”
He pins my hands above my head and kisses the side of my neck. “I want you, Em. I want you so fucking bad.”
Jesus. Here? Now?
Couldn’t he have said that the other night when his hand was dancing with the smooth waistband of my silk shorts?
“What are you doing here?”
“Trying to study with the team. We’re in the red room, which has given me the perfect view of your tiny ass in this short skirt, prancing around the library. It’s driving me so goddamn crazy.”
“You’re here? With the team? Since when?”
“An hour ago,” he says, his lips moving up to my jaw.
“And you didn’t come to say hi?”
“Not when you’re dressed like this.”
I sigh as his teeth graze my skin. “I’m always dressed like this.”
“Yeah, which reminds me, can you start wearing pants please? It’s fucking winter.”
“I have leggings. It works.”
“In too many tortuous ways.” His lips still, and he lets out a long breath as his head drops near my shoulder. “Damn it, Em, you’re killing me.”
“You think this is easy on me? This is the stupidest bet I’ve ever taken part in. Do you know how many times we could have had sex by now?”
“I can’t even think about it or else my dick will cry.”
No one likes a crying dick.
“What’s going on over here?” Both Knox and I jump from the shrill voice of Mrs. Flower. We turn side by side and I swear my stomach hits the floor when I see the disapproving look on Mrs. Flower’s face.
Of all people to spot us rubbing our bodies together.
“I . . . I—” I’m so fucked.
Oh God, I don’t think I could have committed a bigger offense in the library. Considering the rules, I think Mrs. Flower would rather see me in non-fiction with a panini press than making out with my boyfriend.
I might cry.
How did I let this happen? If I lose this internship . . . Fuck. Only last week I felt bad for a couple who Mrs. Flowers found making out. Her fury is something I swore I’d never cause. And here I am. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can’t deal with this. My eyes burn, my throat gets choked, and for the life of me, I can’t find any voice to deny what we were doing.
“Mrs. Flower, I’m so sorry,” Knox says, using his best southern charm. I glance in his direction, watching as he slowly pleads with the frail gargoyle in front of us. “I was having a bad day. I don’t get much time with my girl, and I was seeking her comfort in a place I shouldn’t have. This is not on Emory.” The way he uses my full name sends my pulse racing, so does his defense, and how he gently links our hands together like a united front. “She told me to go, to meet up with her when she’d finished her shift, but I was irresponsible and impatient. Please, don’t take this out on her.”
If I already didn’t want to jump this man and hump his face off, I sure as hell do now.
Mrs. Flower gives Knox a slow once-over as she folds one bony arm over the other, a purse to her chapped lips, and a questioning look in her eyes.
“Mr. Gentry,” she spits out in her perfect disciplinarian voice. “I’m surprised to find you like this. Your team has always been very respectful of these walls.”
“I know, Mrs. Flower. We pride ourselves on taking our studies seriously. I was having a crappy day, lost my judgement, and made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
The stick arms unfold.
Her face cracks into a smile.
And light resurfaces to her normally dead eyes.
I think I’m looking at a completely different woman as Mrs. Flower walks to Knox and pats him on the arm . . . nicely. “You’re forgiven, just make sure you tell Coach Disik I said hi.”
Errr . . . what?
“Not a problem.” Knox winks at her, and she returns the gesture.
What the . . . what?
I’m still in shock when she faces me. Her smile turns into a thin line of distaste as if Knox is the prized meat, and I’m the onion garnish. “Emory, I suggest you get back to work.”
“Yes, of course. So sorry.” I curtsy and bow my head like a moron, because I have no idea how to react to the situation. Knox follows closely behind.
Once the old witch is out of earshot, he says, “Sorry about that.” He grabs for my waist again but I swat him away.
“Are you insane? Do not touch me right now.”
He chuckles and says, “Come on. That was fun.”
“That was not fun.” I glance toward her departing frame. “I’m pretty sure she has a closetful of dead intern skulls from past semesters. I am not one to tempt fate again.”
He chuckles again. I’m so glad he finds this so funny. My palms are still sweating from being caught . . . and for doing a curtsey. “Fine, no more kissing in the library, but I need to talk to you, so when does your shift end?”