The Cad and the Co-Ed
Page 61

“Thank you, William.” I smiled softly as he released my hand. He stepped back into the hall.
“I’ll see you Monday,” William said, his warm brown eyes still on mine.
But before I could respond, Bryan said, “Yep. She’ll see you Monday.” And shut the door.
My mouth fell open and I stared at Bryan—shocked, horrified by his rudeness—when I heard a low rumbly laugh, a full belly laugh, from beyond the door and William calling, “Let him have it, Eilish.”
Bryan grinned down at me, his green eyes dancing with amusement.
“Are you going to let me have it?” he teased, and made the question sound unequivocally scandalous.
I gathered a deep breath for patience, my attention moving to the ceiling as I quietly appealed to a higher power, and marched past him into the living room. “No. And you can leave now.”
“I’m sorry.” Bryan shadowed me. I felt his presence close at my back. “Us lads on the team, we’re always giving each other shite.”
Ignoring his shoddy excuse and his apology, I turned to the kitchen and grabbed a glass, turning on the tap. “Is Sean here?”
“No. He left an hour ago,” Bryan whispered.
I nodded tightly, realizing all at once it was very dark. And, besides a sleeping Patrick on the other side of the apartment, we were alone.
In the dark.
My heart did a flip.
I gulped my water too fast. It dribbled down my chin and onto my dress.
“Oh, hey.” Bryan stepped into my space as I moved the glass away; he wiped gently at my chin with his thumb, his fingers curling around my neck. “Will didn’t get you soused, did he?”
I shook my head, my eyes flickering to his, then away. I couldn’t hold his gaze. And he was too close. And touching me.
In the dark.
How did I get here?
Again, the moment stretched. Rather than uncomfortable, it felt . . . ripe with anticipation. I couldn’t think, and I blamed the weight of his eyes on me, the heat from his hand on my neck, warming my blood. I could barely breathe.
How did I get here?
I’d been so careful.
So careful.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, still touching me, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“What for?” The question was out before I could catch it.
“For so many things. For not asking you out at Will’s party months ago, because I wanted to. For not kissing you back, because I really wanted to. But mostly,” he paused for a moment, his thumb sweeping along my jaw. “Mostly for ever making you think you are anything other than magnificent and unforgettable.”
Oh.
Well, then.
“I’m not dating William.” I blurted and closed my eyes, attempted to distance myself as the raucous chaos of my mind echoed in the beating of my heart.
“You’re not?” He sounded surprised.
“No. I’m not.”
What am I doing? WHAT AM I DOING?
“But you two just—”
“As friends.” I swallowed the last word, balling my hands into fists.
He said nothing, but something shifted. His breathing maybe?
I opened my eyes to find he’d moved closer. Our chests brushed. My breath hitched. I lifted my gaze and he ensnared it. It was dark, but this close I could see him. I watched as some internal conflict raged within him, his glare darting over my face.
And then suddenly he wrapped an arm around my waist, crushed my body to his, and growled, “Fuck it,” just as his mouth claimed mine.
Chapter Seventeen
THEBryanLeech to WillthebrickhouseMoore: You up?
WillthebrickhouseMoore to THEBryanLeech: New phone who dis?
THEBryanLeech to WillthebrickhouseMoore: Ha ha. I forgot my keys. Let me in.
WillthebrickhouseMoore to THEBryanLeech: What’s the magic word?
*Bryan*
My houseplant was still alive. Safe at home. Watered just this afternoon.
I could let myself have this, have her. I could . . .
God.
Why did she have to feel so good? I’d been born with an addictive personality, so when a woman felt as amazing as Eilish, I was pretty much screwed—and no woman had ever felt like Eilish. Touching her was a losing battle, and I surrendered willingly.
She let out a shaky sigh when I moved my mouth from hers to the hollow of her neck, sucking and licking at the tender spot, trying to consume every inch of her. I felt frantic, like time was running out and I might not ever get this chance again.
I wanted more of her sighs. Louder. I wanted her to say my name, for it to be the only name she uttered.
I slid my arms around her waist again, pulled her body flush to mine, and pressed my mouth to hers, this time deeper, opening her. She melted for me, just like I’d fantasized. The fabric of her dress was so fucking thin that I could feel her nipples brushing hard against my chest. It drove me wild.
“Bryan,” she murmured, my name a breathy sigh on her lips.
Say it again.
She was letting me kiss her. Not only that, she was responding. She wanted this. Wanted me.
I wasn’t going to push. I was going to take things slow, even though I could have us both naked in a matter of seconds. I needed to behave, and yet, my hands traveled down, down, down until they reached her thighs. Without thinking I lifted her, and her legs went around my waist.
Not once breaking our kiss, I carried her out of the kitchen to the living room, lowering her to the couch, and settled between her open legs. I was hard as a rock. Her breath hitched and she went quiet for a second, just . . . feeling me. A soft, desperate moan escaped her. I clenched my jaw and gently rocked my hips; my cock nestled right at the center of her warmth. I was desperate, but not just because I’d been celibate for so long.