The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 1)

The electricity from our chemistry has my hair standing on end. I find my voice, testing it out. “Are you doing that on purpose? Because you’re testing my patience.”

Her fingers find the bottom button of her cardigan and tug then flip the bottom hem of her skirt, affording me another peek. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Those glossy lips tip into an angelic smile. Teeth bite down on that tempting bottom lip.

“Fine. All right.” I grip the nearby desk chair, white knuckling it when she leans back on the bed and uncrosses her legs. Sits there with her knees spread apart, toying, toying with that bottom button of her top.

Toying with me.

“Although…” Jameson sighs. “It did occur to me earlier that—” She pauses, tips her head, and studies me, blue eyes alive and sizzling. “These feelings aren’t going away, are they? In fact,” she demurs. “They’re getting worse.”

I’m confused. What feelings is she talking about? Our friendship? Our dating?

“So I’m here to do something about it. Five dates is a long time, and we already have something most couples don’t. We’re friends.” The bottom button gets pushed through its hole, her expression impassive even as it’s released. Then another…and another, until I can see the flat plane of bare stomach and cute innie belly button. “And don’t you think we both deserve it after being so patient?”

It.

It?

The death grip on my chair gets harder. Is she—

Holy fuck, is she about to strip?

“Jesus Jameson.” Eager (to say the least), my leg involuntarily starts to twitch. “Are you seducing me?”

A low mmm. “I like you, Sebastian,” comes her husky whisper. “I like your brains and your body, and I’m tired of saying no. Tired of rules. Tired of waiting for date number five.”

“I want to—wait.” Am I hearing her correctly? “What?”

A smirk. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I heard you. I’m just not sure I heard you.”

Her nimble fingertips travel down her flat stomach, teasing the waistband of her plaid skirt. Finger the delicate gold buckle fastening it. Pull the leather strap through the loop with a gentle tug.

“Listen close: I’m telling you yes.”

Spellbound, I watch when she stands. The wool skirt parts, revealing only a pair of lavender lace panties. The panties I’ve fantasized about over and over again the past few days. The panties that have literally haunted my dreams. Pale purple, they hug her slender hips but conceal nothing. Absolutely. Nothing.

Naught but a scrap of lace constructed solely to plague my testosterone levels. They’re indecent. Racy.

Magnificent.

A sexually repressed librarian fantasy come true.

I release the desk chair and forcibly raise my eyes to her face, advancing on her. “Shit, seriously?”

“Yesss,” she whines through clenched teeth when my grasping hands close in on her tiny waist then drift south along her backside. Down her spine. Down her flawless skin. Down to that taut ass. My large palms slide into her lace panties, cup her butt cheeks, and…

Squeeze.

“How far do you wanna go?” She moans when I give her ass a smack, rubbing the sting away in slow circles.

“All the way.” I bury my head at the base of her throat, groaning, grinding my erection against her stomach. “Tell me what you what James; tell me and I’ll do it.”

“I want to spend the night. This isn’t a booty call.” She rattles off demands. “This isn’t a one-night stand. I want respect. You do not get to kick me out afterward, or in the morning. I want breakfast and I want you in the kitchen cooking it for me.”

The pads of my palms continue stroking her brilliant backside, pulling her in flush. “How do waffles sound?”

“Waffles sound delicious.” She gasps and my dick weeps in celebration. “But I want your shirt off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Reaching for the hem of my navy blue wrestling tee shirt, I pull it up and over my torso and toss it to the hardwood floor. It lands in a heap near her shoes.

“What else do you want gone?”

“Everything.” Jameson leans forward, licks the smooth skin of my collarbone, and blows, humming her approval. “But we’ll start with your track pants.”

She lays her hands on me tenderly, feather-light fingers leaving a pleasure trail as they trace the corded muscles of my biceps. Forearms. Down my rock-hard abs, her fingertip drawing a leisurely circle around my belly button until it reaches the elastic band riding low on my hips.

Together we untie the corded knot at my waistband. Slide my pants down until I’m kicking, tripping over myself to get them off. Standing in just my tented gray boxer briefs.

Jameson gives me a small shove toward the foot of the bed, instructing me to, “Sit.”

Like an excited, obedient puppy, I comply, practically panting.

Bracing herself over me, Jameson leans in, her silky brown hair skimming my bare chest. Her mouth brushes the corner of my lips. “My turn.”

She goes for the middle button on her cardigan.

“Be gentle with me, James. I haven’t had sex with anyone since before Utah. I’ve done so much jerking off my junk is chafed—legit chafed.”

How’s that for brutally honest?

Jameson leans in, kissing the side of my mouth and crooning in my ear. “You want me to make sweet, sweet love to you, baby? Not give it to you hard?”