12
It’s a little after nine when my phone buzzes from somewhere on the table. I shuffle through the mess of papers in front of me, flipping over pages and pages of notes and study guides, until I find it lying under the flap of my open binder.
Jesse: *Waving hand emoji*
I smile at my phone screen. Jesse and his emojis. I’ve never used them, or even seen them, as much as I have since Jesse and I started texting. Sometimes his texts can be kind of difficult to figure out, but they’re still fun. Like little brain teasers.
Me: *Waving hand emoji*
Jesse:*sleeping face emoji* ???
Me:*book emoji* *computer emoji* *skull emoji*
Jesse: *house emoji* *arrow emoji*
Hmmm. I stare at the screen. Could this one be.... I glance toward the window. I stand up and walk into the living room, then peek out the curtains. Sure enough, Jesse is standing in the grassy area between my townhouse and his friends’ townhouse.
He smiles proudly at me, waves, and then points to the patio. I smile back and nod, then move to let him in.
“Hi,” I say as he steps into the kitchen. He grabs my hips and tugs me into his body.
“Hi,” he says back, and then kisses me, deep and slow, in that soul-quaking way that he does. I pull back to catch my breath, then raise an eyebrow at him.
“I told you I didn’t need any distractions,” I chide, but it’s hollow. I’m happy to see him.
“You’ve been studying for a week and I’ve left you alone,” he says, then pokes his lower lip out in a pout. I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling. “I figured I could come quiz you.”
“Quiz me?”
“Mmmm. I happen to have every bone in the human skeleton memorized,” he says, then taps his temple. “I figure I could put my memory to use by testing yours.”
I smirk at him. “This test isn’t on the human skeleton.”
“It’s still a good thing to know since you’re going to be an RN, because we all know nurses carry the doctors on their backs.”
I laugh quietly. The kids are sleeping upstairs, and I don’t want to wake them. He steps up to me and traces my jaw with his fingertips.
“I love making you laugh,” he says, his voice gruff. “You have the best laugh. I could listen to it for hours.” I blush and look away.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Okay, let’s start. You tell me the bone. If you get them all right, you get a prize.”
“What’s the prize?”
“You’ll see.” He winks, then places his lips on my forehead. When I don’t speak, he whispers over the skin there, “Bone?”
“Frontal,” I say, and he smiles. “How many bones in the cranium?”
“Eight.”
He brings his lips to my cheeks, then places a soft kiss on each one. I exhale slowly before whispering, “zygomatic.”
“How many bones make up the viscerocranium?”
“Fourteen.”
He moves his lips from my cheek to my jaw, then drags them over the length of it to my chin.
“Mandible.”
“Good,” he says against my skin, his hot breath sending goosebumps down my back and arms. He brings his lips to my throat and sucks lightly before moving to nip at my collarbone. He presses a kiss over his bite, and I have to clench my thighs and fists. “Bone?” he rumbles.
“Clavicle,” I rasp.
He tugs down the collar of my tank top and licks the spot between my breasts. I let out a gasp and move my hands to his sides, digging my fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt.
“Sternum,” I say, and my voice is shaking.
He moves his lips to the swell of my breasts. “I can feel your heart racing,” he says, lips ghosting over the surface of my skin. “Are you nervous?”
I shake my head but answer honestly, “Yes.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, then takes my nipple into his mouth. I move my fingers into his hair and whimper as his mouth wets the fabric of my thin tank top, cooling then heating the sensitive skin underneath. He sucks my nipple to a stiff peak, then bites. My body jerks toward him, and I have to clamp my mouth shut to keep from moaning loudly.
“That’s not a bone,” I croak, and he chuckles against me.
“My bad.” He pulls my tank top up, so it rests just below my breasts, and my body stiffens. For a moment, all I can think of are my imperfections and how my stomach—my whole body—is probably different from what he’s used to.
"Eres hermosa,” he says against my skin, then kisses down my side. “Absolutely beautiful.” He drags his teeth along the skin that covers my rib cage. “How many?” he asks, and I answer immediately.
“Twenty-four,” I pant out. “Twelve pairs.”
He gives my sleep shorts a small tug, exposing the rounded top of my hips, and bites there. I moan, and he kisses along my belly to my other side and bites that one as well.
“Hip bones,” I groan, and he chuckles.
“Try again,” he says, then sucks hard on my skin.
I think, digging through my fuzzy memory. “Illium? Illiac crest.”