Greek (Palm South University)

I sigh, folding my hands behind the small of her back, but my eyes are across the room. “I just wanted everything to be perfect tonight.”

I swallow, unsure what else to say. The right words don’t exist for this moment, and I’ve already fucked it all to hell, so I don’t even feel confident enough to try.

Erin slides her hands up my chest, over my shoulders, up still until she’s cradling my face and angling it toward her. My nose flares as I drop my gaze to meet hers.

“I don’t need a fancy dinner or rose petals or candles or you in a suit,” she says, glancing at my tie as she does. “Although, you do look sexy as hell in it.”

I smirk.

Her eyes find mine again, endlessly warm and inviting. She slides her fingertips back to hold my neck, her nails brushing the tender skin and setting off a wave of chills.

“I just need you,” she whispers.

I nod, dropping my forehead down until it meets hers on a long inhale from both of us.

“Clinton?”

“Mm?”

“Take me to bed.”

Fuck, the things those words do to me, the animalistic way my body responds — gripping her tighter, heart racing, cock already thickening in my slacks. It’s like she owns me, like those four words were a snap of her fingers, and now I’m at her beck and call, ready to do whatever she wants.

Whatever she needs.

With something between a growl and an exhale, I bend down and swoop her into my arms, my lips on hers just in time to catch her giggle of surprise as I carry her down the short hall to my room.

This girl is my drug.

I realize it distantly as I carry her back, chasing her tongue with mine, savoring each little gasp and moan along with the little buzz they give me. I could never put into words what it is with her, what it’s always been with her. All I know is that in the very depths of my existence, there’s one thought that overcomes me any time I’m with her.

Mine.

Even when she wasn’t.

Even when I wasn’t sure she ever would be.

Neither of us had a choice in the matter.

She belongs to me and always has — just as I belong to her.

My bedroom is dimly lit from the candles and smells like teakwood and bourbon. I lie Erin gently down on top of my dark comforter, right on top of the rose petals, making a handful of them float up and back down like feathers on her skin and in her hair. She backs up until she’s resting on her elbows against the pillows, her legs crossed, eyes big and soft as she watches me and waits for what I’ll do next.

The night is completely in my hands.

I’m not fool enough to not realize how fucking lucky I am, and how much I must mean to her for her to trust me this way.

The soft, sexy sounds of the Tank album I put on filter around the space between us, and I turn the volume up a little more before I tug at my tie, releasing it first and then working every button on my suit jacket until I can shrug it over my shoulders.

Erin watches me with her bottom lip pinned between her teeth, her knees pulling up toward her chest.

I don’t take my eyes off her as I strip off my dress shirt next, and then make quick work of my belt, shoes, and socks. When I unfasten the top button of my pants, Erin snaps up, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing her hands on top of mine to stop me.

“Let me,” she pleads.

I let out a pained breath through my nose, because the way she looks up at me when she says those words, the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers tremble as she struggles with the button and then the zipper and then helps me pull the slacks over my hips, my ass, down my thighs… it’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen in my life.

I’m so fucking hard that I’ve pitched a tent in my briefs, and Erin gulps as she runs her palm along the length of me, the cotton fabric still between us.

I hiss, letting my head fall back, flexing my hips into the warm touch.

“Clinton,” she whispers, and when I look back down at her, she doesn’t have to say more. I can see it in her eyes.

She’s the nervous one, now.

I nod in understanding, leaning down until my fists hit the bed on either side of her and my mouth captures hers. Then I’m backing her up into the pillows again, one arm swooping around her waist to hoist her up and set her back down.

“Look at me,” I whisper when she’s settled, when her trembling fingertips are digging into my shoulders. “You are safe. Okay? You’re safe, and you’re in control. You don’t even have to say anything, I’m listening to your body.”