Chapter Eighteen

Sami

I watched him walk toward his car like a proud man marching to meet the firing squad: chin up, shoulders back. I glanced in the direction his mother had disappeared and ached for what he must have lived through with that woman. She was a horror show. How was it possible that a hot mess like her had given birth to such a sweet, intelligent, caring man? Logic dictated he should be a disaster, too.

But kids were not their parents. I was living proof of that, wasn’t I?

And, okay, if I took off my rose-colored glasses regarding him and looked past my mushy, gooey feelings…yes, he was kind of a disaster. His desperate need to prove himself made a whole lot of sense now. As a kid, he’d probably all but killed himself trying to win his mother’s love.

I followed him to his car. I expected him to start it up and drive away as soon as I was inside, but he didn’t. He only sat there, hands on the wheel. The key rested in the ignition, but he hadn’t turned it.

After several long moments of silence, he released a breath that quivered ever so slightly and loosened his death grip on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry for…all that.”

“Why?” I blurted, unaccountably angry.

He flinched like I’d struck him, and pain lanced through my heart. Oh, God. He thought I was mad at him?

No. I was angry at myself. At my benefactor. At that woman who had tracked her son down just to rake her red nails across him and make him bleed.

I sat up on my knees and leaned over the center console to hug him. The muscles in his arm were like steel cables, tight and unyielding under my touch. “You never need to apologize to me for that woman. The only person who should feel sorry right now is her.”

His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing. “She’s incapable.”

I held him tighter. “Then she doesn’t deserve your sorrow.”

“Sami—” His voice broke, and he finally looked at me. I couldn’t stand the sheer misery I saw in his eyes. Misery I helped put there. Was this my benefactor retaliating? It couldn’t be a coincidence that I’d closed the backdoor and Harvard’s mom had shown up a few days later. They’d threatened to destroy Harvard if I reneged on our deal.

God.

Harvard didn’t deserve this.

I should tell him the truth, but I couldn’t bring myself to pile more heartbreak on him right now. Not after the night he’d had.

“I’ve been running away from that woman, one way or another, for most of my life,” he said finally, voice so quiet I had to lean close to hear him. “She always finds me.”

I nuzzled his cheek, needing to touch him as much as I thought he needed to be touched. “Then stop running.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re not alone. What can I do to help?”

Harvard backed up and stared into my eyes for a long moment. I drew a breath to say—I don’t know what. Something soothing, maybe, but I never got the chance. His hand snaked around the back of my neck and drew me toward him, his mouth closing desperately over mine.

Our kiss earlier had been sweet, full of unrequited yearning. This was different. This was hard, frantic, demanding. I felt every ounce of his anger and frustration and helplessness in that kiss. He scooped me onto his lap, and his tongue speared into my mouth in a way that promised dark pleasure. Between my open legs, his cock swelled and rubbed against me in the most delicious way despite the layers of clothing separating us. Too many layers of clothing for my liking. I needed them off, wanted to experience him flesh to flesh.

Yes, he was using me as a distraction. I didn’t care. I’d asked what I could do to help, and if this was what he needed, I was all here for it. Excitement hummed through my body. Finally, I’d be rid of my virginity, and in my mind, there was no better man to give it to.

With one hand, Harvard fumbled for the door and shoved it open. He slid out of the car, still carrying me, his mouth still devouring mine. Lost in a haze of sensation, I didn’t hear him open the back door, and I let out a squeak of surprise as he tossed me in the back seat. Then he was there, muscular body covering mine. He wedged his hips between my thighs and pressed his erection hard against me.

My insides quaked. It was both terrifying and exhilarating.

He broke our kiss long enough to drag my shirt off over my head. The cold rushed across my skin, puckering my nipples to sensitive peaks that rasped almost painfully against my bra cups. I reached behind myself and unclasped the offending garment.

Harvard hesitated only an instant before dragging it away, too. His breath caught and his eyes darkened as he stared down at my naked chest. My boobs had never been huge and had recently shrunk with all the PT I’d been doing. Where I was once a comfortable B cup, I now barely filled it out. He didn’t seem to mind. He cupped one of my breasts in his hand and nuzzled the other, tasting my nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. It sent a shockwave through me, and something clenched tight deep in my belly. Each tug of his mouth caused a corresponding throb between my legs.

I wanted him.

Oh, God, I wanted him so much. I was beyond ready to give myself to him right there in the back seat of his car.

But as suddenly as the make-out session started, it stopped.

Harvard froze, and then his mouth released my breast. My nipple, already tight, puckered painfully at the sudden cold. Groaning, he pressed his face into the side of my neck. Each quaking breath he exhaled sent delightful shivers racing down my spine.

He shoved up on his hands, exposing more of my body to the cold. I missed his warmth instantly.

“We can’t,” he breathed. “Fuck, I want to.” His hand wandered back to my breast, his fingers trailing lightly back and forth over my nipple. My eyes drifted closed. I loved when he touched me like I was a jewel.

He yanked his hand back as if I was on fire—I might have been; I was hot enough—and balled it into a fist on the seat beside my ribs. “We can’t, Sami.”

My eyes flew open, and I stared up at the hard set of his jaw. “Why not?”

I wanted to. He obviously wanted to. I might have been inexperienced, but I knew when a man was aroused and craving sex. The bulge at the front of his jeans and the way he kept pushing it against me said as much. So what was stopping him? If he gave me some line of bull about being my teacher, I might just punch him.

Swearing under his breath, he shoved away from me and raked a hand through his disheveled hair. “Your first time isn’t going to be in the back seat of my car.”

The blush started as a hot splash across my chest and flooded into my cheeks. I sat up and pulled my skirt down, ignoring the heat and wetness he’d left between my legs. I didn’t know where my bra had landed, but my sweater draped the center console. I snatched it up and used it as a shield. “H-how do you know it’ll be my first time?”

He looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. “Uh…uh…”

“It was Wolfe, wasn’t it?”

His wince told me all I needed to know.

“Oh my God. That jerk! I told him that in confidence!” It had been early on in our training, and we had both been very drunk at the time. He’d asked me out. I turned him down and then spilled my guts about my crush on Harvard and how I was inexperienced in relationships and didn’t know how to get his attention. Now I wondered if Wolfe had shared that whole story. My guess: no. Wolfe and I were friends and nothing more, but he wouldn’t have wanted to draw attention to the fact he had once asked me out.

“Now, hey, don’t be mad at him,” Harvard said, his tone placating. “He was just looking out for you.”

Disgusted with them both, I yanked on my sweater. “I can look out for myself, thank you very much. I’ve been doing it most of my life.”

“Sami—”

I jerked away from his soothing touch and shoved open the door. Climbed out and stomped around the back of the car.

God, I never should have told Wolfe. And Wolfe never should have told Harvard. The blabbermouth.

Ugh. The whole thing was so embarrassing.

Harvard scrambled out of the back seat and caught me before I got the front passenger side open. I felt his gaze on me, willing me to look at him. When I stubbornly refused, he tucked a finger under my chin and lifted. I had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“I want you,” he said, enunciating each word. He took hold of my free hand and pressed it against the bulge in his jeans. He was still so hard, so hot. Even with layers of clothing separating us, he’d already given me so much pleasure, and I wanted to experience more of it. All of it. I couldn’t help myself—I gave a pathetic little whimper and stroked his length through his jeans.

His eyes flared hot, and he crowded me against the side of his car. He dipped his head like he was going to kiss me but instead traced his lips along my jaw and gave my earlobe a little nip. “Virgin or not, I plan to have you eventually. But, as much as it’s killing me not to lift you up and bury myself balls-deep inside you right now, it’s not happening here. You are special to me, Sami. Our first time together will be something we both remember forever. Not a quickie in the back of my car.”

My knees went weak. I never thought that was a real thing, just hyperbole found in rom-coms and romance novels, but here I was, standing on rubber bands.

Harvard ran a hand down my arm and then backed up a step. Like a gentleman, he opened the door for me. “Let’s get you home. It’s cold tonight, and you’re not dressed for it.”

I set my hand on the door’s grip, intending to lift myself into the seat since my legs didn’t seem to want to work properly, but stopped short. I glanced back at him. “You promise?”

His brow wrinkled. “Promise what?”

“You’ll let me give you my virginity.”

He closed his eyes and groaned softly. “Ah, damn. You’re making it really fucking hard for me to be a gentleman right now.” Opening his eyes, he ran a hand down the curve of my backside. “I promise. Just not tonight.”