Taming His Tutor

“No.” The words sounded dragged from him. “It’s something only you seem to pull from me.”

She rolled onto her side and stared at him.

Please. Don’t let this—the best sex of my life—be yet another man’s disappointment.

…

As Joe watched the array of emotions flit across her face, he felt his heart rip open out of his chest. That yearning. How the hell could she do this to him with just that look? “Damn it, Abbi, you make me want to…claim. To own,” he muttered. The words were choked out of his. Words he didn’t want to think, let alone say. “I have this urge to haul you close and make you mine.”

He saw desire flare in her eyes as that familiar flush bloomed over her skin. He was hard again in a second. Fastest-ever recovery time. All he could think about was hauling her close, pushing himself deep and staying there.

His. All his. Only his.

He moved, flipping her onto her back. He deftly ripped off the used condom and pulled on another. He wanted her again. Now. Wanted her exposed and open to him.

Maybe it was just that willingness—the way she looked at him. He could drown in the softness in her eyes. She made him ache for… He didn’t know what.

He closed his eyes, thrust deep inside her, and concentrated. Keep in the present. It was all about now. And now was the delight of Abbi.

He’d keep it slow this time. So slow she wouldn’t be able to cope. So slow she’d whimper and beg until he, too, was driven wild.

“Every guy likes to tame and claim,” he muttered. “It’s all the more fun when it’s a demanding woman he’s up against.”

“I’m not demanding.”

“Yes, you are.” He bit the side of her neck and then licked the spot with a circular motion. “You’re fucking demanding.”

And he loved it.

Chapter Thirteen

“Keep your interactions short and sweet.”

At four thirty in the morning Joe slipped as quietly as he could from her bed.

But she woke anyway.

“Where are you going?” She sat up, pushing the hair from her eyes.

He looked down at her. In the half light of predawn, he could see those blue eyes intent on him. Focused yet soft. Concerned. Caring.

It was the way she’d looked at him all those years ago back when he’d been no one with nothing. She’d been the first, hell, the only one to look at him like that—with more than just lust in her eyes. She’d shown more than interest in just his body or, compared with women he’d met in later years, just his bank balance.

Back then when he’d lain in bed alone and thought about her, this was the exact expression on her face. Her interest had been purely in him, not what he could maybe offer her. She’d looked like she cared about just him.

Only now her looking at him like this was real. And now it felt wrong.

There was too much depth to it—to her. To what she was offering with just her eyes. He didn’t want her concern or caring. He’d never wanted that from anyone. Never needed it.

Never wanted to need it.

Still didn’t.

And he didn’t want to see her hurt. If he kept going like this, she was going to get hurt.

Damn, he had to pull this back to the easy “lesson” sessions it was supposed to be.

“Sssshhh.” He pressed his lips to hers, mainly to stop himself from staring into her eyes and falling. “Sorry. I’ve got a class. You go back to sleep.”

“You’re crazy. People want to exercise at this hour?”

Her soft tones tempted him. For once he didn’t want to leap out of bed. Which was exactly what he didn’t want.

“Work comes first,” he answered more sharply than he’d meant to.

There was a small silence. “I know that.”

He gritted his teeth. She’d answered conciliatory enough, but he’d heard the slightest hurt in her tone. And fuck. She was right. The only kind of exercise people ought to be doing at this hour was the horizontal sort. But he’d never missed a class—was always the one to step in if one of his instructors was down, like today. And he’d never before had trouble leaving a lover to get to work. He wasn’t changing for anything. Or anyone.

But he couldn’t leave her with that hurt lingering. Couldn’t undo the progress she’d made. Nor could he let this become more intense. Playful was the only way, right? He thought fast. “I’m going to be at Pelly’s bar at eight p.m. You’re going to walk in at eight eleven and you’re going to own me by eight thirty.”

“Eight eleven?”

“On the dot.”

“And I’m going to own you?” She rolled onto her back, reached out for him in the dark.

He took her wrist with one hand and folded her fingers into a fist with the other. “Have me like putty in your hand. Eager to please any way I can.” He punctuated his words by giving a playful squeeze.

“How am I going to do that?” She shook her head. “This isn’t fair. You keep testing me all the time. Expecting me to be able to just do it and I don’t know—”

He shut her up with a kiss. A slow, deep one. The hardheaded woman still didn’t understand that all she had to do was turn up and he was putty. But he didn’t want her to angst all afternoon about what she should do. “Okay.” He eased back. “So you’re still going to turn up at the bar. And you’re going to be picked up by a stranger.” He’d turn this into more of a role-playing thing, keep his distance that way.

“Literally picked up?”

She’d liked that the other night, hadn’t she? “Possibly.” He angled his head. “Think of it as a one-night stand. You’ve had that fantasy, right? Where you go off with a guy who you barely know and have hot sex?”

“You know about that fantasy?” Her voice was soft and tempting in the darkness.

“Everyone has a version of that fantasy.” He’d had that fantasy the second he’d seen her ass swaying as she’d walked across the road the other day.

“You don’t think it’s dangerous and possibly degrading to let a guy I’ve barely spoken to use me that way?”

“Aren’t you going to be using him?” He smiled. She could so use him. “And this is just a fantasy. It’s me in disguise. And I’m not dangerous. And I’d never degrade you.”

She reached out and pressed her palm on his abs. “I know.”

He was glad she did know that. “Fantasies are just fantasies. There’s no need to overanalyze. I’m okay with anything you want to explore with me. You can tell me anything, ask me anything. I’m not going to judge.”

“You might laugh.”

“That I might, but not because I’m being mean.” He bent close again, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. “I make you laugh.”

“You do.”

“So just let it go. Indulge. Enjoy. You’re safe with me.”

“I know.”

He could hear her satisfied smile. His cock twitched. He shook his head, surreptitiously grabbed the bag of toys, and was gone before he did something reckless and stayed.

…

Abbi was crazy nervous went she walked into Pelly’s bar at exactly 8:11 p.m. She knew he’d be there, but still. She felt like a fool. Scratch that. She felt vulnerable. She’d gone all-out vixen and worn a little black dress—lower-cut and clingier in the body but with a flared skirt. A vintage style that Nadia’s tailor had made. She’d left her hair loose, put on some makeup. She looked as good as she got and she knew that was actually pretty good. And she knew she had some follow-through skills now. With Joe, anyway.

But she was still nervous.

He was leaning against the bar, facing the door, obviously waiting for her and looking so totally off the charts. Jeans of course, but not the faded worn-in kind. These were dark, and with the black muscle-hugging tee, he looked like some super-sexy avenging warrior of the night—all tall and muscled and handsome way beyond everyday.

She stopped just inside the doorway, her attention all on him already.

He

lifted the beer bottle to his lips and took a swig, not taking his eyes from her. She stepped forward, watching him swallow, irritation spurting. His drink was more important to him than coming to say hello?

Well, she wasn’t going to walk right over to him. She wasn’t making it that easy for him.

Not this time.

She walked to the bar, halfway along from where he was. Joe’s eyes felt like lasers, burning through the black dress. She knew he knew there were no panties underneath. One hell of a bra, yes, but no panties.

The bartender immediately materialized.

She knew why. She had cleavage on show. She never wore a dress cut this low normally. But then she never normally took home strangers from the bar either. Except for that once. But tonight was all about obliterating that memory and replacing it with something far more satisfying. This would be a new, better experience for her to build on.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, giving her an I’m-cool-but-I-know-I’m-hot look.

“Vodka. On the rocks with a twist.” She barely glanced into his face, but she watched his hands as he fixed her drinks.

She didn’t look over to Joe by sheer force of will. She was going to play this one cool. Question was, what did she have to do, to have him like putty? Ought she approach him? Hell, did she need to dig out her phone and search the beta version of the app for cheesy pickup lines? Why hadn’t she thought through her strategy sooner?