Nobody Looks Good in Leather Pants (or bowties), Dear Professor Book #1

Part 7

Warning to your delicate sensibilities: This part is not G.

He groaned.

Or was that me?

Not that it mattered, and not that I possessed the higher brain function at present required to debate the matter, but I was pretty sure we were lost in each other to an equivalent degree.

He kissed me. A deep, searching, demanding kiss that tasted like urgency and annihilated restraint. And he placed his hands on me, under my shirt, his fine fingers digging into the skin of my back, pulling me against him even as he roughly pressed my body against the door with his body.

It took me point-five seconds to move beyond my shock, and when I did my response was instinctual, primitive. I melted against him, opening my mouth and searching for his tongue. I sucked on it, so very hungry for the taste of him, and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, yanking it from his pants.

Holy wow, I didn't care how I got here, how we'd arrived at this moment, but I never wanted it to end. I wanted to drown in him, in the hot, claiming slide of his mouth, in this dizzy combination of euphoria and uncertainty.

I touched him—his glorious stomach, sides, and back—and shivered at the contact. His muscles tensed beneath my fingertips, his skin hot, and his body so very reactive to my touch. Luca made a sound like a growl in the back of his throat, pressing his thigh insistently between my legs, shifting it up then down with a purposeful and brazen movement. My heart slammed against my ribcage as lust pooled low in my abdomen.

And then someone knocked on the door.

Three quick raps followed by, "Professor Kroft?"

The voice—close behind me, just beyond the door—crashed over my brain, body, and libido like a bucket of iced water. It was Taylor.

Abruptly stiff as a board, I sucked in a startled breath. My eyes flew open, crashing into his. Comprehending where I was, who I was with, and what we'd just been doing, a spike of disbelief and frenzied panic coursed through my veins.

Yet, to my utter surprise, Luca didn't appear at all flustered.

No. Not panicked.

Not even startled.

More like . . . a heady mixture of insatiability and irritation.

His stare singed me as he calmly mouthed, Shhh.

She knocked again. "It's Taylor. I . . . I wanted to talk to you about my paper. I saw your car in the parking lot and thought, if you have a free moment now—"

"Make an appointment." Luca's tone was tight and controlled. He held my gaze captive, the heat of his palms still burning my skin.

I sensed my classmate hesitate before responding. "I would, but I'm usually working during your office hours and—"

"I'm busy with another student," Luca snapped, his voice now unyielding and laced with hostility. "Make an appointment."

I flinched at the word student, my eyes falling to his throat as I tried to swallow. Heat flooded my neck and cheeks.

Crap. Crap. Craaaaaaaaaaaap.

"Oh. Sorry, sorry. I guess I'll schedule an appointment or come back later." Her voice faded, dull footsteps leading away from the door followed. Meanwhile I held my breath, staring at his bowtie, battling the crushing wave of turmoil holding my throat and lungs hostage.

His hands were still on my body, wrapped around my waist and digging into my back. Luca's muscular leg still pressed shamelessly against the apex of my thighs. I felt his eyes on me, weighted like a sandbag laying on my chest.