His crude words penetrate into the dark corner of my sexuality.
I feel something dormant wake up deep inside.
Five years is a long time.
The air crackles between us.
“It’s not like I’m going to make you come so fucking hard or anything.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “It’s not like it would be the best sex of your life or anything.”
I have no words . . . he’s stolen them.
“Admit it,” he says softly as his gaze drops to my lips. “You haven’t wondered what I’d be like in bed?” he whispers.
“No,” I lie. It’s the only thing I can think about. “Not once.”
“You haven’t wondered how big my dick is?” he breathes as he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear and steps toward me.
Jesus, he’s hung. Only a big man would bring attention to the size of his dick.
Not helping.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I get a vision of him naked. “No.”
He leans in and puts his mouth to my ear. “Confession.”
I close my eyes. Oh man, this is a bad . . . situation. With a bad man.
My heart begins to beat deep and slow, in time with his, as I imagine doing bad things to him.
“You’ve been on my mind.” His deep, hushed voice on my neck begins to send shock waves through my system.
“Why’s that?” I whisper, but I don’t know why I’m asking—I already know the answer.
He presses his hips forward and pins me to the wall. He’s hard and ready. My insides begin to melt.
Oh fuck . . . he feels good.
“Through three lectures and one workshop, all I’ve done is imagined you riding my cock,” he whispe
rs darkly.
I instantly get a vision of me on top of him, naked, our bodies wet with perspiration.
His erection big and deep.
“God . . . ,” he breathes as he takes a handful of my hair and grips it hard. “We’d be so fucking hot together, Anderson.”
The elevator door pings, and Nelson walks out.
My temporary brain snap dissipates, and I push back from Tristan. “Stop it,” I whisper.
Nelson looks between us from the other end of the corridor and frowns. “Hello.”
Tristan rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “Hi,” he mutters dryly.
I turn the key and open my door in a rush, taking the momentary distraction as a godsend. “Good night, Mr. Miles.”
“Anderson,” he whispers.