I try to turn our conversation back to the whole reason we’re here. If Asher keeps messing with me and trying to get a reaction, there’s only one way tonight is going to go, and I told myself I wouldn’t give in. Even if I really, really … really want to.
“Now, what should we be focusing on?” I ask.
“We’re still doing the intestinal tract, which, by the way, is a whole heap of gross.”
“You want to talk gross? You should see a cadaver. At least you’re dealing with people while they’re alive. The human body gets nasty after death.”
“I’m pretty nasty while I’m alive.”
“No hope for you, then.”
He clears his throat. “I learned that moomoo thing you said. You know, Defenseman Josi ices Crosby and chirps Sceviour.”
“Good! And has that helped?”
“No. Because that’s literally all I could memorize. I remember the letters, but fucked if I remember what they stand for. Oh, wait. I remember appendix. That one’s easy.”
“Cool, only six more to go.”
He puts his head in his hands. “It’s useless. I just don’t care about any of this.”
I’d thought relating it back to hockey would make it easier, but maybe he’s not someone who learns through reading and writing things out. “There are different learning styles. Do you think if I read out the names of each part, that would help you to retain them?”
“Nope.”
“Making flash cards?”
“I’ve read over the words a million times and still can’t recall them, so I doubt it.”
“You could be a kinesthetic learner.”
“What is with you and all these big words?”
I bite back a laugh. “It’s when you learn through doing something.”
“And how the hell do I do an intestinal tract?”
Hmm … that’s a good question. If I had one of those torsos they keep in classrooms or doctor’s offices, I could make Asher pull it apart and put it back together. Hey, a cadaver would come in handy right now.
We need some kind of way for him to physically work through each part. Maybe he could draw a picture … or maybe … If he needs a live model, I’m right here.
I pick up the pen beside me, then reach for my shirt and pull it over my head, my skin already coming alive at the thought of what I’m about to suggest.
I’m not built like Asher or any of his teammates. I’m lean but have next to no muscle. Even still, there’s no way for me to feel self-conscious over it when Asher’s eyes drop to my torso, and his nostrils flare as he takes me in.
“I’ve got to say, distracting me probably isn’t the best way to help this sink in.”
I hand over the pen and pull up a diagram. “You’re going to draw it.”
“On … you?”
I stand, but Asher remains seated. There’re barely a few inches between our bodies, and his head is level with my chest and abs … or lack thereof. The hum of tension filling the room is almost loud enough to hear. His warm breath on my skin sends goose bumps over my arms.
“Yep.” I steer his hand up to hover over my diaphragm. “Get drawing.”
His touch starts light, hesitant, but the more he drags the pen over my skin, the more he actually concentrates on what he’s doing, and the more confident he becomes.
“Duodenum,” he murmurs as he draws. “Jejunum.”
One of his hands closes over my waist to steady me, and I try not to get lost in the warmth of his touch, the light calluses on his fingers that are bringing my skin alive. With his head tilted down, his eyelashes are fanned over his cheeks, and when his lips bunch with concentration, it draws my attention. They’re so full and pink, and my own lips are tingling at the thought of what his might feel like.
It can’t have escaped his notice that I’m breathing heavier, because he is too. His grip on my waist tightens. He drags the pen across my stomach, and this time, his fingertips lightly trail after it.
I try to hold back a shudder but can’t.
Now not only is Asher torturing me, but I’m doing it to myself. Why did I think this was a good idea?
“Appendix.” His husky voice sends vibrations over my skin and has my cock starting to lengthen. I’m past the point of caring if he notices. I can’t drag my gaze away from him.
When Asher reaches my jeans, he drops the pen completely, and I barely hear it hit the ground.
Asher meets my eyes as his fingers lightly inch under the waistband of my briefs. It’s a delicious tease, and I want to encourage him lower, but instead he trails his fingers across my hip and around to my back, pulling me closer so I’m standing between his legs. We’re not touching, but I can practically feel him everywhere. “Only one part left.” He watches me for a second, holds my stare, and then … his index finger dips lower, sliding down over my tailbone and into the crease of my ass. My breath catches.