Finding Our Course (Finding our Way 3)

“I’ll take that for now. How about showing me how much you love me before you leave. My body needs to release some of this pent up ‘sexual frustration’.” He jerks his hips toward my thigh and places my hand on the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Nope.” I back away, grinning wickedly. “Doctor said two weeks.”

“You are NOT going to listen to him, are you?”

“Maybe, if you let me stay, I could be persuaded to break the rules.”

“Sexual blackmail? That’s what you’ve resorted to?”

“If it works, why not?”

“You sure about that?” He slides his hand up my side until it grazes the underside of my breast. “How about a little taste?”

My body curves into him, begging to be touched. He leans down and kisses along my jawline until I moan. His hand slides along my stomach and slips under the waistband of my pants, then he stops and leans his forehead against mine.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Me?” I ask innocently. “Why would you ask that?”

“Where the hell are your panties?”

“Did I forget to put them on?”

He growls and rubs his thumb in circles around my clit, never touching. I follow his earlier movements and slip my hand under his sweatpants; his dick jumping at my touch.

We tease each other with small touches, waiting for the other to give in.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I whisper against his neck and scrape my nail across his crown lightly. “I stay tonight, leave in the morning, and we’ll see if you can convince me to break the doctor’s orders.”

He leans back, and the heated hunger in his stare tells me I’ve won.

“You don’t fight fair, but I’ll fold. As much as I hate to admit it, my movements are restricted. You’re in charge.”

I lick my lips and scoot away, lifting my shirt over my head. “I think I can handle being in charge

.”

His eyes widen and then rake over my chest. “Somehow, I get the impression you had this planned.”

“I’ll deny ‘til I die.” I giggle and watch his lips tip into a sideways grin.

“Now, I have about eighteen hours to convince you to stay home and rest this week. I’d better get to work.”

“Not going to happen, but it’ll be fun to see you try.”

“Famous last words, Bryce Randolph.” I straddle him and grind our hips together until he groans.

I mentally pat myself on the back. He doesn’t stand a chance.

Getting back into a routine takes a day. It’s amazing how much has happened in the last few weeks, but when I get home, nothing’s changed. Thanks to my friends and classmates, all my assignments are caught up and projects on time.

After spring break, we have seven weeks until graduation. Quinn and I were officially accepted into the MFA program last night, so tonight, we’re celebrating with the others who received the same news.

The bar is packed for a Thursday when we arrive and spot our group in the back corner. No one specifically questions me about Bryce, but they all give encouraging smiles, followed by rounds of shots.

By ten o’clock, I’m feeling no pain and finally letting the stress go. Quinn takes charge, sending a text to Bryce. His reply is not surprising.

Bryce: Take care of my girl. Buy a round on me. Devon has my card.