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

Part 14

R rated chapter ;-)

I gasped against his lips.

He captured the sound of surprise, crushing me to him, his fine fingers digging into my back and hip. Like the first time we'd kissed, I tasted hunger and annihilated restraint. But unlike before, the kiss wasn't frenzied. It was tender, gentle even, and at complete odds with how he held me.

Pressing his forehead to mine, he separated our mouths just long enough to say, "I never wanted to hurt you." He kissed me again, his tongue tasting my bottom lip. "I don't want to hurt you."

I grabbed fistfuls of his sweater and demanded between kisses, "Then tell me tell me what you want."

"I want to know you," he said, holding my gaze and pressing me against the door with his imposing body.

A profound wave of relief crashed over me, then lifted me up, buoying my courage. "Anything else?" I grinned, clearly drunk with elation and relief.

He hesitated, his eyes growing hooded and lowering to my mouth. "Too many things, and I don't want to you to scare you off." I shook my head, a denial on my lips, but he stopped my words with a quick kiss, saying, "You have been a subject of much fascination, for many months. Since February. When I watched you leave in those leather pants, withholding your middle name, and I knew you were running away."

"But I'm not—"

"And when you showed up in my classroom as someone else," his eyes moved to my hair and the attentions of his fingers followed; I felt him remove the pins from my bun, "someone more, but still the same, still running away."

I made a sound of frustration in the back of my throat, drawing his eyes back to mine. "I was not expecting you to be my professor. I think my freak out was understandable and justifiable."

The side of his mouth curved upward. "And the fascination grew—with every test you turned in, every quiz, every paper relating your thoughts. I read yours first. I searched for your name and read them immediately."

My hair fell from its twist and Luca pushed his fingers into the curls, bending to claim my lips with more maddeningly soft kisses.

"Every glance, every sight of you . . ."

"Luca," I breathed, my hands sliding to his sides; needing to feel him, I slipped my fingers under the hem of his sweater and his skin jumped beneath my touch.

He hissed, sucking in a breath through his teeth, and his eyes grew dark. Luca dipped his head to my neck, kissing the sensitive skin just under my ear, whispering darkly, "I can't have you run away when I admit how much I've thought about this moment, how badly I want to touch you," kiss, bite, lick, "and taste you."

His large hands slid to my chest, lifting my shirt and bra as he cupped my breasts, drawing his thumb back and forth over their centers. I trembled, overheated with sensation and longing, and reached for his belt with shaking hands.

Blind desire.

That's what I felt.

Sightless and consuming.

My movements were clumsy, fueled by urgency and desperate want. Just as I'd unbuckled him, Luca seized my wrists with one hand and held them hostage above my head.

"I'm not interested in your regrets," his voice was rough and impatient, "If you—if we—do this—"

"I won't be running away," I shook my head quickly and said between excited breaths, "I can't. I can barely walk in these shoes, have you seen the size of the heels?"