Out of Her League (5 page)

So, the question remained, what was
his
excuse?

“We are not dating,” he said at last,
shoving the papers into his desk drawer and hoping he never found them again.
“She’s a good friend of my brother’s and doesn’t know anyone else in town.”

“Oh, okay. Well, that’s nice of you, to
show her around and stuff.”

Lachlan shrugged. He hadn’t really done it
on purpose. Or to be nice.

“So, what are you going to tell Dean
Chomelsky?”

He frowned. “The truth.” Though why it was
any of Dick’s business to begin with was a mystery to Lachlan. He rose to his
feet. “But you know what? I’ll have to do that later. I just remembered I have
an appointment.”

“I just bet you do,” Anna said with a sly grin.
She darted back to the door and waved him over. “Grab your stuff and I’ll check
the hallway to see if the coast is still clear.”

Michaela dodged into the lobby of her
building, soaked to the skin by the torrential rain that had come out of
nowhere halfway through her walk home. She should have ducked into the nearest
shop or café, but after a long day on campus and in the library, she just
wanted to curl up on her couch in her slouchiest clothes with her dog and some
homework in her lap.

Mike looked up from his desk, his eyes
widening. “Are you okay, Ms. Price?”

“Please, call me Michaela,” she said for
possibly the thousandth time. Not that he’d listen this time, either. “And yes,
I’m fine. Just damp.”

“You call that damp?” he said with a
chuckle, grabbing something from his desk and one of his handy mops from the discreet
closet hidden behind him.

She frowned at the puddle forming around
her. “I’m sorry, I’m getting your floors wet.”

“They’re your floors, and I don’t mind.
That’s why they’re marble and I have a job. Here, this is for you,” he added,
handing her a piece of paper.

She unfolded the sheet and frowned at the
phone number written on it. “What’s this?”

Mike checked to make sure the lobby was
empty before answering. “Your professor stopped by. The one you go on the walks
with? He asked me to give you that. Said it’s his phone number.”

“Oh,” Michaela said, more than a little
shocked. And possibly unduly elated. “He came by? Was he looking for me?”

Mike chuckled. “No. I mean, I asked if he
wanted me to call up to see if you were home, but he just looked freaked out
and said no. He only wanted to leave you that.”

“Did he say anything else? I mean, did he
seem like he wanted me to call him?”

Mike pursed his lips, obviously trying not
to laugh. “In my experience, Ms. Price, people rarely leave someone their
number if they don’t want them to use it.”

Michaela laughed. “Okay, it was a dumb
question.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so…”

“Go ahead,” she prompted, though sentences
that started that way rarely worked out well for her.

“I guess I just wanted to say that he seems
like a nice guy. And I like the way you smile when you see him.”

Michaela blinked, then lost all self-control
and sense and hugged her doorman, right in the middle of the lobby and in full
view of the front windows. “Thanks, Mike. You’re the best.”

Mike made a weird choking noise and kept
his hands to himself, but when Michaela released him, his smile was enormous.

Michaela’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, my
god, I got you all wet!”

He just laughed and waved her off. “I’m
fine. Now go warm up. You feel like a block of ice.”

She thanked him again and practically ran
to the elevator and back into her apartment. Fang barked happily at her arrival,
dancing in frantic circles until she picked him and kissed the top of his
bulbous little head. She popped him out onto the balcony to take advantage of
his patch of grass, and pulled out her phone.

It took ten seconds to add Lachlan to her
contacts, and an embarrassingly long time after that to decide what to do next.
She settled, at last, on a text message.

Thank you for your number. Here’s mine.

Fang’s sharp bark to be let back inside
prevented her from staring at her phone all night waiting for a reply.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she took care
of Fang, then went to her room to strip off her wet clothes. She had a ton of
reading to do tonight, but when one of her sneakers thunked against the box under
her bed, she paused, her thoughts stuck on Lachlan.

An orgasm
would
be nice. She hadn’t
had time to open the box even once since she’d moved, and it wasn’t like her
vibrator, or Mr. Big, or any of the toys she kept safely locked up in that box could
feel neglected, but…

No. She had way too much to do. Shaking her
head at herself, she decided she’d take a shower and get settled down to work.

Her plan failed. The hot water did warm her
up, but it also, along with the tickle in the back of her brain, the faint hum
in her veins, brought a flush to her skin. She ran her hands down her chest,
her palms rubbing over nipples now stiff from arousal instead of the cold.

God, she’d been so busy. And it had been
ages. Well, only weeks, really, which was long enough. Too long. But with
school and moving, she hadn’t been in the mood to take care of things. The
thought had crossed her mind, a few times, but she’d easily shoved it away,
knowing that the relief would be temporary, and that when she crawled back from
the bliss, the ache for someone
else
to touch her would only be greater.

And not just sexually. At least in New York
and Denver, there had been her family. Callum. They hugged her and held her
hand and leaned against her on the couch while they watched TV. She’d been in
Cambridge for almost a month, and in that time the only person she’d hugged was
Mike, just a few minutes ago, and that hadn’t even begun to assuage her need to
be
touched.
By someone.
Anyone.

Lachlan’s image floated through her mind
again.

Okay, so yes, there was someone in
particular who, more and more, she wanted to be touched by. And in ways that
she hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate in a long, long time.

She wouldn’t act on it, of course, and not
only because Lachlan would probably drop dead at her feet if she so much as
suggested it. It was too dangerous. The risk of the press getting wind and
having a field day with it was no small thing. That he was Callum’s brother would
only make the media shit show that much bigger. And while she was past the
point of caring most days, Lachlan would
hate
it.

She liked him too much to do that, and it
wasn’t like she had any delusions that he’d want her like that, in any case.
There was no one more ill-suited to cope with the disaster that was her life than
a quiet, shy man like Lachlan Morrison.

So, no, Lachlan was unattainable, but that
didn’t mean she didn’t wish otherwise.

She stepped from the shower and dried off
slowly, enjoying the brush of terry cotton against her skin, taking the time to
squeeze as much water as possible from her hair before pulling it up into a
messy knot on top of her head.

She left the lights off, the cool glow of
the gray day outside creeping around the edges of her curtains just enough to
see her bed, her hand reaching unerringly for the box beneath. It didn’t matter
that she’d only been in this apartment, with this arrangement of her
belongings, for a few weeks. Some things didn’t change, no matter where she
was.

She punched eight buttons in the correct
sequence to release the lock and smiled reflexively at the faint click.
Kneeling by her bed, she looked down into her treasure trove of goodies and
tried to think about what she was in the mood for.

She pictured Lachlan again.

For reasons she probably didn’t want to
look at too closely, she reached for Mr. Big, and a few other things besides,
her pulse thudding heavier as she crawled up on the bed.

Over the years she’d often had prolonged
periods of celibacy, but she’d learned to redefine what that meant. She hadn’t
been with many people—and she’d kept those encounters
strictly
vanilla—since
Blake “the douchebag” Whelton had sold that video to the entire fucking world,
but that didn’t mean her needs weren’t being met. Truth was, she had stopped
being shy about her body and her desires long before the video was released.
That was part of why it had made such good viewing. But in the years since,
she’d explored further and gotten goddamn creative with it.

All by herself.

Lying back on her bed, she settled against
the soft comforter, letting the cool air prickle across her still-damp skin. Just
before it got to be too much, too cold, she ran her hands over her hips and
belly and closed her eyes.

She didn’t often start from scratch like
this. Usually she’d be lost in a book or a movie and get to a particularly hot
scene before the thought occurred to her. Whatever had fired her imagination
was often incorporated into whatever fantasy she then built, but tonight it all
started with a single face. One man.

What would he do?

Realistically, he’d probably go dead silent
and run from the room. But fantasies were fantasies for a reason. This wasn’t
about being realistic.

She skimmed her palms over her nipples
again and sighed. The silent thing, though. That could work for her. She liked
the way he could focus on something, focus on
her
, his gaze intent, his
attention absolute. She shivered at the idea of being the center of that focus
in a more intimate setting. Of lying still as he looked her over, his
expression thoughtful, his gaze hot along her skin.

He’d want to learn the details, she’d bet.
Maybe run his hands over her shoulders or into the dip of her waist. He had big
hands, like Callum’s, only softer, less scarred. He’d probably been raised
playing hockey like his brother, but had left it behind to continue his
schooling. She could imagine the smooth drag of his fingers over her ribs,
cupping her breasts and studying the peaks carefully before bending his head
and sucking one into his mouth.

She whimpered, her fingers pinching and
pulling, her eyelids fluttering as she imagined looking down and seeing his
dark head bent over her, his lips working against her on one side. Then the
other.

Her legs moved restlessly against the
covers, her knees falling open, welcoming him closer, asking for more.

Would he find her brazenness enticing or
alarming? She smirked, suspecting it would be the latter, but hoping for the
first. She slipped her fingers down her belly and stopped to stroke the coarse
hair and soft skin, teasing herself a little. Lachlan probably wouldn’t do
this. Tease and make her wait. He seemed far too straightforward for that.

He’d dive right in, she thought as she
arched her back and slid her fingers along the just-damp folds of her labia,
then zeroed in on her clit. She bent her legs and spread her knees wide as she
took up a slow but steady flick with one fingertip. Each brush shot a zing up
her spine, her toes curling into cotton, her chin tipping higher.

This felt good. He’d know it, but he wouldn’t
take it farther. Not at first. He’d keep her hovering there, almost floating
above the sheets, as she swelled against his touch, her body silently begging
for more.

God, would he give her more? Would he have
any idea what she wanted? Needed?

Her desires were not simple. They hadn’t
been at eighteen when the douchebag had taped them fucking like rabbits, and
they’d only matured and expanded since then. She wasn’t particularly kinky, she
just wanted much more than she would allow herself to do with another person
since the douchebag exposed her to the world.

She slid her hand down, moaning as she sank
her ring finger deep into herself, riding that high for a few moments. She
teased with the index finger, getting it slick, easing partway into herself then
backing off. She turned her head, burying the side of her face in her pillow,
and drew a deep shuddery breath before sinking two fingers in and taking up a
slow, steady fuck.

It was good. But not enough.

Lachlan’s fingers would be thicker. Longer.
And that would be better. But what she really wanted, what she really
needed
,
was his cock. God, she wanted to relearn what the long, slow slide and stretch of
a man filling her felt like.

 And she wanted to feel that same moment,
that same heady, weightless thrill, when he pushed into her ass. What would
that be like? The careful push. The clench and drag.

She shuddered, her spine arching as she
teased a finger over her anus, spreading her own slick before wriggling inside.

She froze, holding her breath, her eyes
clenched tight, and pushed back the electric shocks pulsing low in her body.
She didn’t want to come yet. Didn’t want this to end.

Sometimes she could go more than once.
Sometimes she could do this for hours, and tease countless orgasms from her own
body, until she was limp and sated. Tonight, sadly, she had homework to do and
way, way, way too much pent-up need to want anything but to take herself too
high, just once, then crash back to earth.

She looked forward to the post-orgasmic
lethargy almost as much as the peak.

With a sigh, she pulled her hand from her
body and rolled onto her chest, curling her legs up against her ribs to lift
her ass in the air and leave her face smashed to the bed. She thrust her arms
under the pillows and clutched her toys before sliding both hands down between
her wide-spread knees.

She didn’t know why she liked this position
so much, but she adored how it made her feel open. Ready. She was unspeakably
grateful she hadn’t figured this out by the time Blake took up cinematography.
At the same time, it was infuriating that there were so many things that she
would never have a chance to try with someone else—and that she couldn’t even
get through one goddamn masturbatory session without thinking about that
asshole.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath,
clearing her mind of thoughts of the past and settling back on a future she
couldn’t have, and probably shouldn’t touch herself thinking about, but that
featured Lachlan anyway.

What would he think of this?

She smiled, imagining him kneeling between
her feet, his mouth hanging open as she offered herself up. His big hands on
her ass, opening her up to his view.

She was still shuddering from that image
when she switched on her favorite vibrator and pressed it to her clit. She
gasped at the sharp jolt of sensation, her brain wiping clean for a moment as
she took deep breaths and tried to settle into it.

She knew her body so well it took only a
matter of seconds. Lachlan, or any man, would be at a distinct disadvantage
this way. He’d have to read her outward reactions and make sense of them. Would
he notice how her mouth was open, pressed to the sheets as her breathing sped
up? The arch of her back and neck, the spread of her legs. She didn’t have to
manage these things when she was by herself. Would she act differently if Lachlan
were with her?