The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 1)

“Yes.” I feel more alive than I have in years, more sexually awake than I have in my entire freaking life.

I feel sexual. Sexy. Desirable.

Safe, protected with his strong arms wrapped around me.

Adored.

I feel powerful and respected, and there’s no doubt I’m calling the shots here.

Sebastian walks us to the bed, lays me on the edge, and gets down on one knee. Unbuckles my platform wedges, one thin leather strap at a time, before sliding them off my feet and setting them off to the side. Massages my heels before kissing my pink toenails.

Our hands reach for the zipper of my jeans at the same time.

Snap.

Zip.

I lift my hips and shimmy them off with ease. Oz kisses my knees, running his rough hands up my thighs until every last nerve in my body tingles. Quivers.

Jolts alive.

My shaking legs involuntarily spread as I reach for the hem of my sweater, pulling it up and over my head. It hits the ground at the same time Sebastian’s fingers meet the bare skin on my abdomen. He scoots up, bending forward to press his warm lips near the space below my breasts, his big hands caging my ribs.

I stare down at him, at the top of his head, astonished when his tattooed arms wrap around my waist in an embrace and he lays his forehead against my stomach, holding me.

Just…holding me.

It’s strange.

And beautiful.

My fingers rake through his short hair then skim over the firm planes of his deltoids; they’re rock-hard and potent, one of my favorite parts of a man, especially from behind. Flattening my palms, they graze his shoulder blades and thick neck, kneading and massaging his dense, muscular body.

Relaxed, Sebastian hums.

Content.

After a time, butterfly kisses pepper my stomach, that gorgeous mouth moving across my skin toward my décolletage.

“Jameson,” he mumbles against my scorching flesh, his fingers tracing the outer cup of my lacy, demi-cup bra. The sheer lace is nude and almost see-through, and I watch transfixed when Sebastian nuzzles my left breast with his nose. Sucks gently on one hard nipple through the fabric. Fondles the right breast in his oversized palm, mesmerized.

My head tips back and I gasp, pawing at the mattress beneath me when he licks and teases my nipples, dampening my bra. Sucks. Flicks the tip with his tongue.

He watches me the entire time, dark eyes burning with desire.

For me.

Our eyes collide, ablaze and aroused. Half hooded and hazy.

Drunk on lust.

My lips part. Tongue runs along my bottom lip as my head rolls, hair falling in waves, stunned that Sebastian already knows how to work my body.

Knows the tells that make me orgasm.

My boobs being one of them.

“Naked,” I whimper. “Get naked.”

“I wanna fuck these tits,” he growls, releasing one and rising to stand. Hands hasten to his zipper and I watch as he tugs, frantically propelling the metal teeth…open. Full access. Relief when his jeans finally get shoved down over his erection.

Next, he whips off his tee, tossing it aside, and I revel in his body. It’s gorgeous, a work of art. Muscular doesn’t begin to describe it. Strapping. Strong. Powerful. All broad shoulders and hard pecs. Smooth in all the right places, with a pleasure trail dipping down into his boxer briefs—a path I follow with my index finger.

“God I’m hard as a fucking rock.”

He throbs beneath his light gray boxers, the outline of his cock straining to bust through the cotton. I reach for the waistband, caressing just inside the elastic with my fingertips, back and forth (a total tease, I know) before running my flat palms along the smooth span of his waist, behind to his firm ass, inside his boxers. Squeeze that ridiculously shapely ass.

Push his underwear down the leanest hips I’ve ever had the privilege to touch, guide them over his erection until my palms cup his glutes and squeeze.

He’s eyelevel. It is right in front of my face and it is huge.

Mouth watering, I eagerly lower my head and lick it like a lollypop, teasing beneath the tip with quick flicks of my tongue before wrapping my lips completely around it, sucking. Just. The. Tip.

“Fuck James, fuck. Shit.” He pants a little frenziedly, hips thrusting toward me. “Suck it.”

I suck just the end, tongue swiping at the clear pre-come and gloating with every grunt and groan coming from his strapping chest. Sebastian’s fists clench and unclench at his sides, a sure sign he’s trying to retain his composure.

“Fuck, stop. I need you to stop, but shit…oh shit…that feels f-fucking good.” His tattooed arms go behind his neck and his head dips, eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings. He peels them open, watching my teeth friskily nip with glassy eyes. “Take it all, take it all,” he begs, voice raising a few octaves. “Please Jameson, please just fucking suck it.”

I do. Hands grasping his fine ass, I let them wander south at the same time I draw his thick, hard dick farther into my mouth. Hands continue onward, seeking, effortlessly discovering the secret spot under his balls I’ve only read about online, and I press down, rub it with circular motions while I suck.

“Oh…my…fucking…g-god,” he rasps, his loud groan sounding like a tortured mixture of pleasure and pain. “Jameson…mmph...uh…uh…fuck…”

Sebastian’s brawny muscles contract, biceps flexing behind his neck, hips driving forward. “Shit, shit, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” he repeats. “And then I’m gonna…f-fuck…fuck you.”