One Hot Fall Term (Yardley College Chronicles Book1) (21 page)

He makes a soft groan of pure sexual hunger. “When I drove here I just wanted to see you and touch you. Now—God, I want to spend the whole night making love to you.”

My legs wobble. “We should go inside.” I see how his jacket is wet and slick with melted snow. His jeans are soaked too. My wits finally click in. “Did you drive here from your school on the
bike
? Through a snowstorm?”

“I did. I wanted to get to you as soon as I could.”

My stomach drops to my toes. “You could have had an accident.” I saw CNN—cars have been sliding all over the place, and there are accidents on most of the highways in New Hampshire and the north east coast. Then I ask, “Why didn’t you drive the truck?”

“I left it with Dad. He needed it.”

“He has his own truck.”

“Had,” Ryan says. “He defaulted on the payments and it got repossessed just before college started.”

Ryan hadn’t told me that. I know he’s owned the bike for a long time. He’d bought it used for a few hundred dollars and fixed it up. But to go on a motorcycle to school meant he couldn’t have taken much with him.

It figures his father would take something of Ryan’s to make up for his personal screw up. And Ryan is too good-hearted to say no.

“You just got here, didn’t you?” I ask.

“I stopped last night, but drove straight through today.”

“You’re sure it’s okay with your school.”

He ducks his head. There’s something he doesn’t want to tell me. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “It’s something at school, isn’t it?”

Abashed, he meets my gaze. “I haven’t been totally honest with you.” His mouth turns down, making my heart wobble.

“Things aren’t going that great, Mia. I’m on academic probation. My grades are too low. It’s a condition of my scholarship that I keep a good grade point average. I’ve had a hard time studying since Dad keeps imploding. Either he’s getting drunk or he’s out of money. Or I’m scared he’ll rack up another DUI. I miss you so much it’s agony, and I can’t put wanting you out of my mind. And I’m doing a lousy job on my work without your help.”

“Ryan, I want to help you.”

“I walked out on some of my tests without giving notice, which probably means I’ll been in deep shit when I go back.”

I can’t even speak. He shouldn’t have risked so much for me. “I’m sending you back.”

A grin winks his dimples at me. “No, you’re not.”

“Well, not on the bike. You could fly back.”

“I want to spend some time with you, Mia. I need to. Please?”

He gives me a hopeful look that makes my heart melt into a bubbling puddle of helplessness. “Okay,” I say.

Lara has the door open, so I take Ryan by the hand and bring him into the dorm building. I reach up to try to brush snowflakes off his brush cut, but I can’t reach the top of his head. He steps away and shakes off, then brushes his heavy motorcycle glove across his brow to wipe away some of the melted snow.

“You need something to warm you up.” I’m thinking of the logistics of this. He’s driven for hours today in a snowstorm and must be frozen to the bone. He could be on the verge of getting seriously sick. I take him up to my room, with Lara, where I plug in a kettle.

“Do you like hot chocolate, Ryan?” Lara asks. “I’ve got six different kinds.” Dark chocolate. Peppermint. White chocolate. Raspberry chocolate. Spicy. Extra creamy.” For all she likes to eat healthy, Lara’s one vice-like addiction is hot chocolate and she shares it generously.

“Thank you,” he says, with his slight drawl. “If it’s no trouble.”

Lara looks at me and gives me a dramatic look of envy. I know she’s joking—i.e. she’s not after him, but she’s telling me how lucky I am.

I start tugging at his jacket and when I pull it off, standing on tiptoe to reach his broad shoulders, I see his sweatshirt is wet from where the snow melted through. He must be soaked to the skin.

I hang up his coat on the shower rod in our bathroom, then come out. I can’t quite believe it’s really Ryan, sitting on the chair at my computer desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His black leather motorcycle boots sit on the tray at our door, and a pair of black leather pants and his jacket are hung up. There’s something so intimate about that it makes me weak. Really, I don’t know why. My lips still tingle from his kiss. They feel full, swollen, and I want to go over to Ryan, straddle his hips and kiss him again.

Can’t do that. So I ask, struggling to sound casual, “Where are you staying?”

“I don’t have anywhere to stay yet. I came right here to see you.”

I was all he was thinking of. My throat is achingly tight.

He can’t stay in my room, obviously. I want to jump on him on a bed as fast as possible, and that I can’t do with a roomie. Anyway, I have no right to do it until he’s warm and dry and feeling comfortable.

The kettle boils, so I can at least warm him on the inside. He chooses peppermint hot chocolate, I get an extra creamy, and Lara goes for white chocolate. She goes to our mini fridge (provided by my dad—he had it shipped to the room at the end of October as a surprise) and gets out our spray whip topping. It’s part of the hot chocolate indulgence.

She hands us our hot chocolate and winks at me. “I’m going to take mine down to the common room and see what’s on T.V.” Then she’s gone.

Ryan sips his drink, leaving a sexy mustache of whipped cream. I lean forward and lick it off, then we slip into a long, slow kiss. I savor Ryan’s delectable chocolate taste. Then I realize he needs to warm up, so I let him drink.

I fire up my laptop. “You know what I want to do?” I’ve never spent a whole night with Ryan. In a bed. “We’re going to rent a room at one of the inns in the village.”

I get the phone number for the Louis Mansion which I’ve always thought was breathtaking, as it’s a French Second Empire mansion that was converted into a guesthouse. There are beautiful fireplaces in every room, twelve-foot ceilings, enormous four-poster beds. It’s expensive, but I can afford two nights. After that, Ryan should go back to school.

How is he going to get back to school? I don’t want him to ride the bike in case he runs into a storm and has an accident. I’ve got some money, so I can send him back by plane.

I close down the window, my heart hammering with excitement. “I’ve booked two nights,” I say, aware that my voice is quivering. “I’ll grab my toothbrush and some stuff, then we can go. Uh, I guess we should take a cab.” I have to admit, if it weren’t snowing and freezing, I’d love to go on the bike and get to wrap my arms tight around Ryan.

I’m about to call the inn when my phone rings. It’s Jonathon.

“Making sure you’re okay,” he says softly.

“I am. Thanks for calling.”

Ryan lifts his head. He can hear and I’m scared I’m blushing. Nothing’s happened, except Jonathon and I shared some intense and emotional things. But I feel guilty, just because I’ve grown close to Jonathon. Yet Jonathon did so much for me. “Ryan is here. He just got here. He drove all the way, almost straight. My mom told him what happened and he left school and drove here. On his motorcycle.” It still scares me what he went through to get to me.

Jonathon’s voice is soft. “He’s worried about you.”

I want to say, I’m worried about him. But I can’t on the phone in front of Ryan. “I’ll call you in a few days. I’m going to visit with Ryan.” I’m going to make love to Ryan. And talk sense into him.

I hang up. At Ryan’s questioning look, I say, “Just a friend. I’ll call the inn. In just a few more minutes…we can be in bed.” Argh. It’s going to be longer than just a few minutes. I have to get stuff together. Then we have to get there—

“Do you want to make love right now?” I ask. “It would be a quickie, but I think I’m going to explode if I have to wait any longer.”

Next thing I know, Ryan is on his knees in front of me. I’m on the tiny rolling office chair in front of my desk. He pulls me to him and the wheels take me there. He spreads my legs, looking up at me with his sapphire blue eyes.

It’s been three months almost, since I’ve been so close to him. All my breath goes out of my chest. He bends and pushes up my hoodie and shirt. He kisses my tummy just below my navel and above the waistband of my jeans. His lips are firm but velvet soft. I reach down and stroke his face, but he nudges my hand away.

So he can reach the fly of my jeans. He opens them, lifts me with one of his large hands splayed under my ass. He tries to pull my jeans down. I help him so we can get there faster. I push my jeans into a puddle at my ankles, then do the same with my panties, baring my pussy and the red-blond curls to him.

He kisses my abdomen and I moan and wriggle on the chair, so aware of how close his mouth is to my aching clit. I don’t want to slam my parts against his mouth but I’m arching up subtly. Hurting with need.

His tongue runs down my skin, skims over my curls, and flicks over my clit.

Oh God. God. God.

In my socks, my toes curl. My fingers gouge into the arms of the chair. I want to grind against him until I explode, but I can’t do that. I have to hold on. And they say guys are uncontrollably horny. I want to sob and scream and cry, I want him so badly.

I stroke his head as his tongue strokes my clit. I want to touch him, connect with him. He strums him tongue—way too intense! I almost climb up the back of the chair. I love getting my clit stroked, it always makes me come, but his tongue is too strong, and the sensations are too powerful. I don’t want to complain though. So I’m on the chair, stiff and tense. I want to relax against his mouth, but it’s too much for me.

His lips touch my clit, softly suckling. I scream. I can’t help it and put my hand over my mouth. The walls aren’t that soundproof.

His tongue goes out again and licks around the entrance to my pussy. I’m getting wet, very wet. I reach down and tug on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, trying to pull him up on top of me. This is so intense I need him to move on.

He moves over me, his body long and lean and strong. This time I go for his fly, fumbling with it. Together we manage to get the button undone and the zipper down. I reach into his briefs, my hands bumping his warm, rigid shaft. I wrap my fingers around his cock, my hand brushed by cotton, and I stroke him. Up to the head, just under the rounded crown, then down to the hilt, where my hand brushes his blond curls.

He pulls his jeans down, then his underwear, baring his lean hips, the flat plane of his stomach, and his cock.

“Stand over me and let me suck you first,” I say. Blushing again.

I take him into my mouth. He tastes so warm and good. I can’t believe this is real—that I’m with him, that I can have two days of decadent sex with him.

His cock can take a lot more pressure than my clit can. I suck him hard, until my jaws are almost aching. I play with his balls gently too. Even daringly rub his perineum—the bridge between his balls and his ass—then let my finger trail to the hot valley between his tight butt cheeks.

He jolts with surprise when I let my index finger graze his anus while my other fingers stroke his balls, feeling the seam, the way they’re wrinkled, and the way the testicles inside run away from my fingers.

I back him out of my mouth, gaze up at him. I want to say
fuck me
, but I lose courage and whisper, “I want to make love with you.”

He lowers his body, anchoring us with a foot on the floor and a hand on the desk, so we don’t roll away. Then he groans. “A condom. I need one.”

“Do you have one?” I look down to his jeans.

“No,” he says.

No?
He came to see me without bringing one? The thing is: I have some. “We have some in Lara’s bedside table.” Again with the blushing. “Yardley gives them out to everyone, and she got some. Cause she was dating a guy. That’s why we have them.”

It’s the absolute truth, but I fear I’m acting like I’ve been caught doing something bad. The college freely hands out condoms to anyone at the beginning of the year—males and females.

 Ryan tears the package, and rolls it on, cursing as he tries to adjust it over his long cock to leave the little reservoir. That always confused me—I thought they were supposed to fight tight, as if a guy had saran-wrapped himself.

I look up at him. Sapphire eyes. Sexy mouth. High cheekbones. The tenderness and lust in his eyes, something I’ve never really seen on a guy’s face before. Usually they were all about victory and lust.

Ryan leans down and kisses me, and gently lowers his cock into me.

It’s at that point, when I put my hands on his shoulder, I realize he’s still wearing his soaked sweatshirt. “Ryan, you’re wearing wet clothes. You’re going to catch a cold. I’m so worried about you—”

He gives a raspy chuckle. “It’s okay, Mia, I don’t care. I can’t stop now.”

I arch up my hips and take him inside. He lowers until his groin bumps me. He’s deeply in me and I close my eyes in bliss and joy and because I just might cry.

I’ve never had sex this special. Not ever. There’s something about it. It’s filled with love and that makes it feel almost magical. Every little bit of it is spectacular.

He starts thrusting into me, thrusts that scream of power. He has such control. He goes slow, then faster, then shifts his hips to play with me with his cock. This is really screwing, I guess, since he teases me in places that make me gasp. And moan. Or make my eyes go wide.

I moan intensely for him. After three months, I want to rock his world again.

I lift my leg and hook it around his hips. Lavishly lick his neck and his jaw while he’s fucking me. I want to come with him, really come. If I were to touch myself while he thrusts in me, it could happen.

Do I dare? I can’t really get my hand between us. How do I explain I want to play with my clit because I really want to have an orgasm, and I just can’t any other way? He thinks I can, since I faked it on the dock.

“I’m going to come,” he whispers. Sounding troubled. Like he’s doing something wrong. I know he’s worried because I haven’t come yet.

It’s so sweetly Ryan. “Do it harder,” I gasp at him.

God, he does. He really pounds in me. Okay, this is fantastic. Some thrusts rub along my clit and those screams are for real. I try to lift to him, but he’s moving too hard and too fast. I let myself be completely taken by it. I’m getting so close. I cry out his name, claw at his shoulders through his sweatshirt. I love getting pounded like this, by him. I wrap myself around him, nipping his earlobe, and moaning—