The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 1)

Holy shit, give me the dirty talk.

“Yeah—that first one sounds about right. Then I want you to cuddle me until it’s time for breakfast.”

“Thinking ’bout that sex, but also ’bout them waffles,” comes her coo.

We both laugh; shit she’s funny. And smart. And beautiful. And the sound of my name on her lips feels better than any victory.

Sexier than any moan.

Jameson

I’m taking what I want.

I’m taking my time.

I’m taking off my skirt.

Standing in front of the bed now, the discarded plaid skirt pooled in a puddle at my feet, I step out of it and set to work on my sweater.

There’s no shame in my game: if a guy can get laid whenever the hell he wants, with whoever the hell he wants, so can I.

I want what I want, and I’m done telling Sebastian no.

Done waiting.

I want the tension gone and I want to get…

Laid.

I want him—every last part of him: the foul mouth, the stupidly hectic schedule, the needy groupies, the obnoxious roommates. The good, bad, and ugly. He’s gained my trust and I’m ready to take the next step.

I trust him.

I trust Sebastian Osborne.

On my mind constantly, I cannot stop thinking about him. Day and night. Night and day. Consuming me like a fever.

Like a drug.

Sebastian

My eyes go to her fingers. The creamy skin of her stomach. Her soft lower abs. The thighs I just had my hands on.

“Take a guess: what am I wearing under this sweater?” Jameson whispers in my direction, plucking another navy button free. A mere three buttons hold the sweater closed.

“Nothing?” I wish out loud.

Jameson drags a hand up her ribcage, looping her forefinger around the necklace circling her neck. She gives her head a shake. “Wrong.”

My breath catches. “What then?”

“This. I’m wearing this under my sweater.”

“The necklace?” I croak.

“Mmm hmmm.”

“No bra?”

I fucking knew it.

Stepping forward, she closes the gap between us in one, two, three dainty steps, then bends and clasps my hands in hers, placing them on either side of her waist. My thumbs hit the tantalizing span of belly. Raising her arms, Jameson takes a sweeping handful of hair and holds it back, both hands behind her head.

Her blue sweater gaps open, revealing smooth skin. Stomach. The tantalizing underside of her bare breasts.

“Go ahead,” she urges with that sexy whisper of hers. “Take it off.”

Like I have to be told twice.

My trembling palms glide up her stomach. My nimble fingers pluck one button free. Then another.

I part the sweater, hands sweeping across her ribcage, the tips of my thumbs brushing over her stiff, dusky nipples. My eyes are fastened on them, palms stroking them tenderly, caressing.

Her tits are perfect, full and round, filling the palm of my hand. I want to suck and fuck them both. Taste them until her panties are soaking wet.

Jameson inches forward, whimpering, her arms coming down, grasping the back of my head. Her fingers plow through my thick hair when I lean forward and drag my tongue over her nipple, flick the tip, draw the entire thing in my mouth.

Suck it. Lick it. Suck it some more.

Her labored moan fills the room, a moan so loud and arduous I thank fuck my roommates are gone for the night.

I suckle her fantastic tits. Run my tongue along her collarbone. Lick the side of her neck. Our lips connect, tongues so wet and needy with want we’re desperately seeking ecstasy. Deliriously frantically fucking with our mouths.

She mounts my lap. Straddles my thighs. Lines herself up and covers my giant erection with her hot, wet, pussy.

Hovers there.

Shamelessly, Jameson grinds down on my dick, giving a lap dance worthy of a goddamn stripper, working her pelvis until my eyes are rolling back into my skull, breasts shoved in my face.

“Shit, fuck, shit.” I’m close to coming from the erotic gyrations. Jameson’s ass cheeks fill my hands, and, unable to handle the sensations building inside my junk, I bear down, bracing myself before rising to my full height.

Turn. Dump her into the center of the bed.

I watch her perky boobs bounce from the fall on the mattress. Watch her nipples glisten, still wet from my tongue. Watch as she shrugs out of the pale blue cardigan, spread out before me in nothing but her scanty lace panties and prim necklace.

She squirms impatiently.

Inviting me to devour her.

“When I’m done with you, I’m going to fuck you in those pearls,” I growl, shucking my boxers and climbing toward her across the bed.

Jameson spreads her thighs—spreads them wide—luring me in.

So tempting my mouth begins to water—I’m insatiably hungry and only Jameson can satisfy me.

I linger over her, balanced above where she wants it most. Lean in and drag my flattened tongue up the inside of her shaved bikini line. Pull back the scrap of fabric covering her smooth pussy and lick.

Once. Twice.

Husky, surprised, moany gasps fill the air when I flick her clit with the tip of my tongue, up and down.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” she cries, pulling at my hair. “Don’t you d-dare…stop. Ohhh…”

I don’t intend to.

Hooking my fingers in the sheer waistband of her panties, I tug them down. Down her hips. Down her thighs. Down her legs. Jameson spreads herself wider, wriggling her hips on the bed, impatient and naked but for the gleaming, shiny strand of pearls around her pretty neck.