Authors: Katie Porter
Leah’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “Didn’t I tell you the old man was going soft?” she said to Jon.
“He really is.” Jon shook his head in mock sympathy. “Finds himself a spicy little girlfriend and the poor dude’s just no fun anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ryan checked his watch again. His back went stiff. He was down to seconds. “I’m old. I’m boring. Maybe y’all should flee now, save yourselves.”
“Not at all.” Leah waved grandly with her beer bottle. “I think we should try to save
you
. Go get changed.”
“Seriously.” Jon eyed him from head to toe. “Why are you wearing that for sitting around the house, anyway?”
Fuck. Trust Jon to catch on to anything slightly weird. Ryan shoved his hands deep in his pockets. His mouth opened on an excuse, but he couldn’t think of one in time.
The doorbell rang.
A cold sluice of something resembling fear trickled down his spine at the same time his dick perked up once more. The damned thing knew who’d rung that bell.
His guests both sat up straighter. Jon angled a look at Ryan, one eyebrow quirking upward. “Going to turn in, huh?”
As he trudged to the door, Ryan felt like he were wearing combat boots with soles made out of concrete. At the same time, his nerves sparked with prickly excitement.
How in the hell could he clear this up without his friends figuring out what was going on? No fucking way. Leah might be oblivious enough, with her mind set to getting her drink on. She wouldn’t notice anything strange beyond his attempt to tell them he was just turning in for the night.
Pretty-faced Tin Tin, though. If anyone were going to twig, it’d be the original perv himself.
The doorbell rang again, the chimes annoyingly cheery.
Ryan opened the door.
Christ, she looked good. The outfit was mostly hidden under a lightweight knee-length jacket, but it didn’t matter. Golden-red hair was pulled into braided pigtails and tied off with plaid ribbons. She hadn’t worn much makeup, but something made her mouth pale pink and glossy.
She looked up at him with her chin pulled toward her chest. “I’m not late, am I, Professor Haverty?” Her bottom lip poked out.
Fuck. He was a dead man.
After a cutting motion across his throat, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
She craned up on her toes to look past him. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Jon and Leah are here,” he said, voice pitched low.
Her mouth dropped open for a second before she giggled. She tried to smother it with her fingers across her lips, but her shoulders still shook.
He wanted to find it funny. Christ, he really did. He’d have been able to see the humor involving anyone else, or if the story came up in some late-night bullshit session downrange.
Except it wasn’t someone else. It was him. Being busted was imminent.
He pinched the bridge of his nose where a sudden, fierce pain had lodged.
Cassandra’s blue eyes dimmed.
A serious stream of cuss words set up in his head. He was killing the excitement that had bubbled inside her only a moment ago, and he hated that. He couldn’t seem to battle past the jet-engine roar in his ears.
“So you going to let me in?”
“Of course,” he said woodenly. He stepped back and let her walk by. A fruity scent rose in her wake as he followed her into the living room.
“Hey, Cass,” Leah called. She’d stretched her long legs out to rest on the black wood coffee table. “We’re trying to convince Fang to come out with us. You’re totally welcome to join in too.”
Jon had frozen on the couch. His astute gaze darted between Ryan and Cassandra, moving over every detail—from pigtails to white bobby socks. Exactly as Ryan had expected.
A smirk curled Jon’s mouth. He leaned back on the couch and stretched one arm along the back. His foot lifted to hitch over his knee. “No plans, Fang? Or maybe a late-night tutoring session?”
Ryan shot him a death look, but it didn’t kill that plastic smirk. “Would you please shut the hell up?”
Leah’s brow wrinkled. Her mouth turned down as she glanced between the men. “What am I missing?”
Cassandra laughed. “Can you keep missing it? These two have it covered.”
Shrugging, Leah took another long drink. “Good with me. Last thing we need is a pissing match. If they don’t get over it, you and I could always ditch ’em and go out on our own.”
“I bet we could rip up the town.” Cassandra flashed a smile at Ryan, obviously trying to get him to loosen up.
He sure as hell couldn’t handle the idea of her out in public wearing the tiny costume hidden under her jacket. Every man for miles around would be drooling all over her. Hell, he was on the verge of it himself, even considering the raging embarrassment turning his neck hot as a branding iron.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Jon stood and smoothed his shirt. “Come on, Princess. I think we’re
persona non grata
right now.”
She put her beer down on the coffee table and followed Jon to the door. “Give me a call sometime, Cass. I really think we should go out.”
Cassandra agreed with a bright smile. Ryan managed to wave, but that was about it. He was numb. His feet were stuck to the carpet.
So screwed. He’d be hearing about this for years. He wrenched a hand down along his temple. He’d be seriously lucky if Jon didn’t lobby to change his call sign to Professor.
Cassandra turned and leaned against the closed door. Her laugh was low and loose. “I can’t believe we got caught. Again. Proof positive I was never meant to be a call girl. I’d be busted my first night. Again. We must have the worst luck ever.”
His mouth opened and closed a few times. All he could manage was a quiet, “Shit.”
“Oh, come on, baby. Don’t be that way.”
He wasn’t above admitting that he stomped as he walked to the couch, surprised his back bent well enough to sit. It felt like a bayonet had been shoved up his spine, keeping him stiff and straight.
He couldn’t explain. He didn’t freaking
want
to explain. If they’d kept to normal shit, there wouldn’t be anything to explain in the first place. Any man, even a class-A pervert like Jon, would admit that he’d found a helluva woman in Cassandra.
He had to go and demand more.
Her smile sultry, she came to stand in front of him. “I bet I know what’ll make you feel better.”
She untied her jacket, then dropped it off her shoulders.
Good God, she looked exactly as hot as he’d imagined. A tiny white shirt barely covered her breasts, tied practically at her cleavage. He could cover the pleated plaid skirt with the width of one hand. The entire, smooth expanse of her torso was bare. She angled one knee across the other leg and clasped her hands behind her ass—the perfectly petulant teenager.
“Please, Professor,” she said in a slightly breathy voice. “Don’t be mad at me.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
It wasn’t working.
Ryan was as stiff and as closed off as she’d ever seen him. Every movement radiated tension. He’d been really shaken up by his friends getting wind of his secret turn-on, Jon especially. Cass wanted to deck the smug butthead for poking at Ryan that way.
At the same time, she didn’t see what the big deal was. So what? They enjoyed each other. It’s not like they were having an illicit affair, where lives could be ruined if they got caught. Jon and Leah wouldn’t run tattling to their CO about naughty Major Haverty’s private pastime.
Cass crossed to the kitchen and grabbed a cold beer. She opened it, downing a swig to clear her head. The alcohol content couldn’t have been much, but she wasn’t used to it. A pleasant buzz nestled in her brain with the third hefty swallow. She took two more for good measure, just trying to decide what to do.
He still wanted it. That much she knew. For some reason he was resisting. He’d been avoiding her for days. All week he’d found excuse after excuse not to see her, always finishing on a rushed, “I’ll see you Friday.” She’d even prepared herself for the possibility that he might come up with a reason to cancel that evening.
She still couldn’t figure out why. Was it her? Or was it something he had yet to explain?
Screw it. Half the bottle was gone. For months now he’d been telling her how great it was to do something daring. Well, this was her being daring—and she was prepared to call him on it if he didn’t follow suit. She needed the truth, while Ryan needed a lesson in looking dark things in the face.
She adopted a different approach this time. No more breathy pleas. This called for good old-fashioned insolence.
Dropping onto the couch beside Ryan, she folded her arms beneath her chest and found a pout that matched her mood.
“What?” he asked.
“What? You’re the one who wanted me here.”
“Cassandra, it’s not—”
“I mean, really, Professor. Detention’s bad enough without you rubbing it in.”
“Detention?”
“Yeah, and it’s not fair. Those other girls were talking too. It’s like you singled me out on purpose. What, am I supposed to be some example for the others?” She huffed out a breath that played with her bangs. “Like I said, not fair.”
He shifted on the couch. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can go home. It might be better that way.”
No way, buddy. You’re not getting out of this so easily.
Cass turned on the couch, propping her head on her elbow. The position was sure to accentuate the low plunge of her knotted shirt and the white lace push-up bra beneath.
“You mean it? I can go?”
Wearing a frown, he said, “Sure. I’m not holding you here.”
“Cool.” She leaned over to the coffee table and grabbed her Hello Kitty purse. The Bonnie Bell lip gloss tasted of artificial strawberry as she reapplied it liberally.
“You going home?”
“Nah. To the mall.”
“What’s at the mall?”
“Yeah, right. Like I’d tell you. You’ll only say how he’s no good for me.”
Ryan watched her lips with a ravenous need. Every muscle in his long, vital body was shaking, like a beast waiting to jump out of his skin. “Your boyfriend?”
“We’re fuck buddies if that counts. He works at the tattoo kiosk.”
“You can get tattoos at a kiosk?”
“Uh, yeah.” She rolled her eyes as if he were the oldest person on the planet. “But, hey, I wouldn’t expect a guy in his forties to know that.”
“I’m twenty-nine.”
“Whatever.” She stood up. The miniscule hem of her plaid skirt would leave little to the imagination from his vantage. She gave him a cruel shimmy, smiling privately at his near-silent moan. “Later, Teach.”
Cass actually reached the entryway where she’d hung her coat, the Hello Kitty purse dangling from her wrist. Her hand grazed the fabric. Then his low, hoarse voice found her.
“Not so fast, Miss Whitman.”
Relief and a fast thrill zipped down to her toes, settling between her legs. She kept the insolent teenager front and center. With every ounce of attitude she could muster, Cass turned and cocked her hip. “What now?”
“Is he any good? Your, ah, fuck buddy?”
“Good enough, I suppose. He knows what to do with his tongue stud.” She feigned a flash of panic. “Oh, shit, you’re not going to tell my parents, are you?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Come here.”
Cass took her time crossing his living room, back to the couch. She gave Ryan a pointed look. He had relaxed into the cushions, just a bit. The sweater and tie made him seem almost like another person, as if Ryan Haverty had decided that Egyptian ruins were his passion rather than flying. Not exactly bookish, he was more like Harrison Ford when Indy suited up for time in the classroom—the academic every girl wanted to have a naughty streak.
His knees were spread. The thickening line of his erection trailed down the inside of his thigh, pressing against his slacks. Oh, yeah. She wanted that.
“I won’t tell your parents.”
“Oh, thank you, Professor. I don’t know how to—”
“For a price.”
She bit the tip of her forefinger. “It would be our secret? All of it?”
“Sure.” A swallow bobbed his Adam’s apple. “All of it.”
“So that’s the real reason, isn’t it? You could’ve had four other girls in here. Instead…it’s just me.” She leaned over, her hands on the back of the couch, one on either side of his head. Any attempt he made at keeping his attention away from her cleavage was a losing battle. He gave in and looked. His luscious lips parted on a soft inhale. “Admit it, Professor. You wanted me here alone.”
His lifted his eyes, revealing just how dark and needy he was. “And here you are.”
“So…what do I have to do?” she asked in a whisper. “To keep you quiet?”
“Show me what’s under your skirt.”
“I don’t have anything under my skirt.”
He grabbed one of her braids. A jolt of pain swept across her scalp. Cass let out a surprised squeal and tried to wrench away. Ryan got a better grip on the tether, twisting until she couldn’t move her head.
“I said,” he rasped against her cheek, “show me.”
“Yes, Professor.”
He released the pressure and allowed her to stand. Cass stepped back, feet scarcely apart. The outsides of her thighs barely brushed the insides of his spread knees. She pinched two places along the skirt’s hem, then raised the pleated plaid like a curtain. If porn movies had money shots, this was her own personal must-see moment.
She had to see his face. Because she’d meant it. She didn’t have anything under her skirt, not even her bush.
Ryan gasped. They weren’t touching at all, anywhere, but his body jerked. He rubbed a swift hand across his jaw, eyes fixed, gaze locked on her hairless pussy.
“Holy fuck,” he moaned.
Cass smiled as innocently as she could, although on the inside she was pure raging sex. For twenty-four hours now she’d had time to get used it. The pain of her first wax had been pretty damn shocking, but afterward she’d gloried in how different she could feel. Panties had slid along smooth skin. Even the press of jeans between her legs had been more sensitive.
Every time, that brush of new sensation brought her back to delicious questions. What would it feel like when Ryan went down on her? What would it feel like when he fucked her?