Love and the Library Page 8

  For a moment, I can’t meet his eyes, seeing that disappointment and knowing I could easily get rid of it.

  Just say you’ll stay. You don’t have to go.

  The traitorous thoughts pound away in my skull, making me ache to give in to them.

  But I can’t let myself. I’ve known Nathan for less than a month. Staying just for him would be setting myself up for a painful fall with nothing to cushion my landing.

  “It’s okay, Shorty.”

  My fingers, which were fiddling with the edge of my shorts, get captured by his comfortingly warm grip. When I tilt my head up to check if he’s serious, my mouth is claimed as sneakily as my hand was.

  The swaying of the van and the fact that we’re sitting inches away from eight of our peers fade from my consciousness as Nathan treasures me with soft kisses. He places them along my lower lip and then at each of the corners of my mouth.

  A smoldering starts low in my belly, sweet warmth tinged with spice, just like my mom’s hot chocolate. I might as well have been lowered into a bathtub full of the dark, decadent beverage. Only the delicious taste on my tongue isn’t candy. It’s Lucifer.

  After a moment more of the chaste torture, he pulls away enough to meet my eyes.

  “I’m not giving up.”

  15

  HANNAH

  “What’s taking you so long?” My voice comes out in a high-pitched whine, but I figure a guy who wants to spend all day around kids can handle a little complaining.

  “Simmer down, Shorty. You want me to come out there with no pants on?”

  Even with the dressing room door between us, I can still hear Nathan’s voice through the wooden slats. His question brings an intriguing image to my mind. Visions of him, no pants, strutting through the department store, should be hilarious. Instead, I have to take a long sip of my iced tea, so I can cool down the inferno of lust engulfing my brain. Only when I’m left with nothing but ice cubes in the bottom of my cup do I attempt an answer.

  “Um … no?”

  A dark rumble of a laugh precedes him just before he steps into view. I’m disappointed to find him fully clothed.

  “What do you think? Do I look like a teacher?” Nathan holds his arms out while performing a three-hundred-sixty-degree turn.

  When he texted me, asking for my help shopping, I thought it was a joke. But Nathan insisted he was serious. Apparently, in the fall semester, he’ll be starting to visit actual classrooms. Which means he needs to dress in something other than his normal jeans and T-shirt combo.

  I assumed I was going to hate professional Lucifer. I’ve never been one to go for the preppy type even if I do enjoy sporting a variety of blazers on occasion.

  But I shouldn’t have doubted my former nemesis’s ability to transform any outfit into an attractive shell for his tempting form.

  He’s got on a green-checkered shirt, tucked into a snug pair of khakis, with a dark leather belt wrapped around his slim waist.

  And he looks fucking hot. The bastard.

  “Where are your elbow patches? Any serious teacher has to have elbow patches.” Even as I joke, I stand up to push him toward a mirror.

  Standing side by side, we’re nowhere close to being a matched set. Nathan in his professional attire and me in my cutoff T-shirt, which has a rendering of the periodic table on it. At least I’m wearing a skirt today. But it reveals part of my rib cage and ends only halfway down my thighs, which makes me hardly any more presentable.

  Good thing I don’t care what the world thinks about my clothes. At my future job, it’ll all end up under a lab coat anyway. The biggest concession I’ll have to make is wearing pants. Not the best idea to handle chemicals with my legs exposed.

  “You’re thinking of professors. Teachers, especially elementary school teachers, just need something they can get stains out of and move around in.” He tugs on a sleeve and then fiddles with the top button.

  “Okay then, can you move around in it? Let’s see some squats.” I back up, giving him room.

  Nathan’s one eyebrow arches high. “You just want to admire my ass in these pants, don’t you?”

  “What?” I sputter. “That’s ridiculous. I’m trying to be helpful.”

  “Oh, really?” That eyebrow is still curved in mockery, and with an evil grin, he does a few lunges, holding my eyes all the while. “Is this what you want?”

  “Those aren’t squats,” I mutter, retreating back to the pleather chair I was perched on before he demanded my input.

  When Nathan chuckles this time, the decadent sound of it pulses over my skin, and I try to squash my reaction with more tea. Unfortunately, my cup is empty.

  Should’ve ordered a large.

  “But, really, Shorty. The clothes. Are they okay?”

  I meet Nathan’s eyes and get a glimpse of seriousness behind the laughter.

  This means something to him. Of course it does. He wants to do well at a job he loves.

  Suddenly, the fact that he asked for my help with this sets a heavy weight on my heart. A pressure that should be uncomfortable, but instead, it carries a sense of being grounded. Of mattering.

  “You look good. But I think the shirt might be a size too big. Let me grab you a smaller one.” I escape from the dressing room, losing myself in the racks of clothes, so I don’t have to figure out my sudden urge to kneel down and propose to the guy I’ve kissed a handful of times.

  When I reach the stacks of shirts, I grab the size I think he needs, and then because it catches my eye, I pick up a short-sleeved crimson button-up with tiny black dots evenly scattered over the fabric. The color combo hints at a devilishness that’s perfect for my Lucifer.

  No. Not mine.

  Normal, not mine Nathan.

  “Hey, I got you the smaller size. And I want you to consider this other one,” I call out as I walk back into the fitting area, juggling the clothes and my cup because there are no trashcans in sight.

  “Cool. Bring them in.” His voice filters through the door again.

  I have to take a second to process what he just said. Maybe I misheard him.

  “You mean, hand them to you?” It’s the only logical conclusion, so I rise up on my tiptoes to slide the shirts over the top of the door.

  But he doesn’t grab them.

  “No, I meant, bring them in the room. I need your help.”

  “With what? Did you forget how to dress yourself?” I retract the shirts and rest my hand on the doorknob. Still, I hesitate.

  Nathan chuckles. “Maybe. You’ll have to come in to find out.”

  That offer is too tempting to ignore. The latch gives a little welcome click as I crack the door open and slide myself inside.

  Since we’re the only ones in the men’s department, Nathan has commandeered the largest dressing room. When I go shopping, these little spaces become a war zone of tried-on and discarded clothing, resembling the detonation of a trendy clothing bomb.

  A sense of camaraderie engulfs me in a comforting hug at the sight of a similar trail of destruction Nathan left in his wake. Shirts hang halfheartedly from hangers or sit in haphazard piles on the bench and floor. Pants are flung over every available surface.

  The only thing empty of clothing is his body.

  “So, I was right. You did forget how to dress yourself.” That was supposed to sound flippant, but instead, I choked on the words and probably drooled slightly.

  To be fair, he’s not completely naked. Nathan still has on a pair of black boxer briefs. They would have to be black, wouldn’t they? He couldn’t wear some goofy pair of underwear with a cartoon character that we could both laugh about.

  Nope. Lucifer has to show me his pale, sexy body with just a scrap of naughty black covering his important bits.

  His legs have a coat of dark brown hair. Not werewolf territory, but the guy obviously isn’t on the swim team. Too much drag. There’s also just the barest hint of fuzz on his chest, enough to make me think about wrapping my arms around his w
aist and burying my nose in the spot. I already know the way he’d smell. Apple cider, heavy on the cloves.

  Can I take a sip of him? Pretty please?

  “It’s not so much that I forgot”—he saunters across the carpeted floor—“just that I wondered if you might want a peek.”

  “A peek?” I might as well be Minnie Mouse with how high my voice just came out.

  “Yeah, Shorty. You seemed distracted out there. Thought I’d clear up any questions you had about what was going on underneath all these outfits.” The devil smiles at me.

  If I were more practiced in the arts of flirting and seduction, I might be able to come back with a witty line. Instead, I murmur, “Well, now, I’m going to be even more distracted.”

  He laughs, clearly enjoying the admiration I’m finding impossible to hide.

  “Sorry”—he doesn’t sound sorry—“thought I was helping. Guess I’ll put one of those on.”

  But when Nathan reaches for the shirts in my arms, I reflexively clutch them to my chest.

  “Shorty? Wanna hand them over?” There’s a second question lingering under that last one.

  Or do you prefer me like this?

  “Well, I mean, I just …” There’s no polite reason not to give him the clothes. All that’s got me playing keep-away is the craving to continue staring at his bare body just a little bit longer.

  Then, he has to go rest his long-fingered hands on his hips, practically directing my eyes to trace over the natural V-shape of the muscles pointing to the only piece of him I can’t see.

  “You’re biting your lip.” The teasing note is missing from his voice. Instead, he sounds fascinated, and he watches me with hunger.

  I can’t seem to stop, even after he pointed it out. The need to kiss him is so heady that my mouth demands stimulation, and all I can give it is a firm pinch with my teeth.

  “Shorty, you either need to give me the shirts and leave this room or I’m going to push you up against that wall”—he points behind my head—“and probably do a lot more than kiss you.” Nathan folds his arms across his naked chest, and a thick muscle in his neck tenses as he waits.

  I don’t need much time to consider.

  “Option two, please.”

  His reaction is instantaneous. I drop the shirts and my empty cup half a second before he has me stumbling backward.

  Nathan is everywhere. One hand cradles my face while the other delves under my shirt to spread over the skin on my ribs. He shoves a leg between my knees, so I’m straddling his thigh. The guy’s body is an oven, baking me with hot lust.

  Then, he’s kissing me. However, he doesn’t start with my mouth like a normal person. Instead, he draws his lips over the contours of my face. Outlining me and leaving a trail of fire behind as he moves from the corner of my eye to my cheekbone, along my chin, and then up around the curve of my ear.

  At the touch of his teeth and tongue fiddling with the silver stud in my lobe, a shock wave rockets down my spine. My thigh muscles tense involuntarily, giving the sensation of me riding his leg.

  My hands reach up to clutch his shoulders, and I admire the heated skin under my palms.

  “That’s right,” he whispers in my ear, sending more tremors pulsing through my body. “Hold on to me.”

  Before I can pick up enough of the scattered bits of my brain to formulate a response, Nathan finally captures a kiss from my lips. He takes it, pulling the caress from me with coaxing movements of his mouth until I’m leaning forward to chase the taste of him.

  Where we are doesn’t register anymore. I’m adrift, half-conscious, like the few minutes between deep sleep and when I open my eyes in the morning. But instead of the remnants of dreams clouding my mind, the disorientation is a side effect of desire. All that surfaces through the haze is how well I fit against him.

  Too soon, he takes away the sweetness, returning to trailing openmouthed kisses. Only this time, he heads south, traveling down my neck and over the ridges of my collarbone. Some of the caresses barely brush my skin, tickling me until I squirm. Then, the next presses hard, as if he were attempting to brand me with the shape of his mouth.

  I’d let him.

  Once Nathan is kneeling in front of me, he pauses. His grip circles my rib cage now, and in unison, his thumbs trace the skin just beneath the underwire of my bra.

  “Can I touch them?”

  In response, I lift one of my hands from his shoulder in order to reach behind me and unclip the tiny set of hooks at my back.

  Slack granted, Nathan pushes his palms up until they cradle my perfectly respectable B-cups. His fingers play over my hard nipples, gently stroking across them until I’m ready to beg him to push harder. The inside of my thighs are damp in anticipation.

  “I think about these all the time,” he groans before nuzzling his face into my chest.

  The pose—him on his knees in front of me as he practically tries to bury his head in my cleavage—brings on an interesting combination of humor and protectiveness.

  I drag my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp as I go.

  He emits a happy hum, but his grasp abandons my chest. Not that I have time to complain, as his touch drifts up the back of my thighs.

  I’m losing track of my own body. When did my legs get so long? Each moment, I’m sure he’s about to reach the edge of my underwear. But the journey is farther than Frodo’s goddamn trip to Mordor.

  “Just take them off me already!” At the last second, I remember to whisper.

  Nathan’s chuckle vibrates against my breastbone at the same time he fingers the fabric under my skirt. Following my command, he tugs them down, sliding them off completely when I lift each of my feet in turn.

  I expect Nathan to resume touching me. Instead, he sits back on his heels and stares at the piece of cloth in his hands.

  “Are these reindeer?” Fascination coats his question, and I let out a growl of frustration.

  Who cares about my bright red underwear even if it is covered in Christmas creatures?

  Apparently, Nathan does.

  “It’s April. Why are you wearing sparkly holiday panties?” The guy runs his fingers over them like he’s some type of designer examining the quality of the fabric.

  “Because they’re all like that,” I grumble before reaching out to snatch them back.

  But he’s too quick for me, standing up and backing away, a delighted smile creasing his face.

  “You’re telling me that every pair of underwear you own has reindeers on them?”

  “No!” I punch a fist into my thigh and glare off to the side. “My grandma gives me a gift card to Victoria’s Secret every Christmas. So, I go and stock up on the pairs that are on sale, which tend to be holiday ones. I’ve got snowmen and wreaths and other stuff.”

  Why? Why do I have to go for the discount table?

  “You are”—he pauses mid-sentence, and I turn in time to see him neatly fold my panties and tuck them into the pocket of a pair of jeans I assume he owns—“adorable.”

  “Adorable?” Not really the adjective I want thrown around right when I’m trying to introduce a hot guy to my vagina.

  “Yeah. And”—he pulls out a foil packet from another one of the pants pockets—“sexy as hell.”

  No longer distracted by my undergarments, I realize Nathan’s own are dramatically tented. Seems like he’s interested in doing something about it.

  In a public dressing room.

  His approach is methodical, gaze fixed on me, sauntering like a panther moving toward prey that’s already accepted their demise. When he’s close enough for his body heat to raise the hairs on my arms, that wicked grin curls across his lips, and he slides the condom into my hand.

  He took off my underwear, so I return the favor, stretching the elastic over his erection and pushing it down his thighs until he kicks it off and stands in front of me, bare to the world. It’s been a little while, but I don’t have any trouble remembering how to pinch the tip of th
e rubber and roll it down his hard length. The muscles in his stomach twitch and tense in response to my touch.

  “Okay, Shorty”—he leans down to place his lips next to my ear and rests his hands on my hips—“you ready to climb me again?”

  My arms snake around his neck, and he digs his fingers into the meat of my thighs, lifting me up until I can wrap my legs around his waist. The solid wall at my back and the firm body pressed against my front cocoon me. But I don’t want to just be surrounded; I want to be filled.

  “Best we don’t get caught. So, you’re going to have to keep nice and quiet for me. Can you do that?” Nathan’s whisper brushes the flyaway hairs at the side of my neck, just as there’s a slow stroke through the wetness at my core.

  All of my insides clench in anticipation, the head of his cock sitting just against my entrance. The moment I nod acts as the go-ahead, and he slides into me.

  How could I have forgotten how great sex was?

  Maybe because it never felt this good with Derrick.

  Nathan raises his head enough to gaze down at me, holding my eyes with the power of his. Each slow thrust of his hips is partnered with an exhale of breath through his nose. That’s the only means he has for breathing, seeing as how his jaw has gone tight from clenching his teeth together.

  My mind fills with the sight of him in passion, and the tremors starting between my legs race through every inch of me.

  Then, like always, the pleasure freezes my vocal cords. All I can do is breathe in the intoxicating apple cider smell of his soap and listen to his heavy panting and drown in the sensations of him moving inside and against me.

  But as my silence reigns, Nathan’s lips, pressed tightly together, curve in a triumphant smirk. And I know without a glimmer of doubt that he’s aware of exactly how lost I am in our moment. He understands how I experience my ecstasy, and it turns him on.

  A small earthquake rocks through my body, everything giving a slight shift, and I no longer have both my feet on familiar ground.