Out of Her League (6 page)

She supposed one of the advantages of
autosexuality would be that you never had to be self-conscious. Too damn bad
that even after all these years, she knew she
wasn’t
autosexual. She’d
learned to take care of herself out of necessity, but it still wasn’t her
preference.

She wished someone—
Lachlan
—was here.
Doing this to her. With her. Maybe she would still be the one holding the vibe,
but it would be the warm, blunt head of Lachlan’s cock, rubbing over her,
wetting himself so that he could ease into her.

Her neck arched at how the walls of her
pussy stretched to make room as Mr. Big slid in, opening her and forcing a
groan up out of her chest. The first thrust was always good, and she hung there
for a moment, so close, but not quite where she needed to be. What she wanted,
what she
needed
, was a good fucking. One that wouldn’t leave her wrist
sore and didn’t require her to keep at least one part of her brain grounded in
reality and logistics.

But then, Mr. Big had something no man would
ever be able to offer her: a vibrate function.

She shouted into the covers as shocks
zoomed over her body, her spine snapping tight, her arm arching as she pumped
the heavy dildo into herself.

She pictured Lachlan there, doing
this,
holding the toys and working her over, his cock hanging heavy and untouched
between his legs. He’d turn all his considerable focus to pleasing her. He
would
want
to do that. He was so thoughtful. So careful.

She shook as the tension coiled in her
belly, her clit screaming from endless stimulation, her imagination firing off
flashing images of Lachlan stroking the hair from her face, steadying her with
a hand on her hip, brushing his warm skin and soft lips against her.

A sob tore from her when she finally tipped
over the edge. She rode the swells of pleasure for as long as she could stand
it, until she trembled and ached with overstimulation. Her clumsy fingers
frantically fumbled for the off switches, the vibrator dropping to the bed with
a dull thud.

She bit her lip and dragged Mr. Big out of
her body, then collapsed onto the bed and sucked in a few good, long breaths,
wallowing in the release of tension. In the twitching aftershocks of pleasure deep
in her core.

Her eyes slid closed, heavy, and she almost
fell to sleep before jerking herself awake and jumping from the bed. She
staggered before catching herself up against the mattress.

God, she wanted to get back into bed, but
she had at least a couple of hours of work she had to do tonight.

She took a moment to let her legs steady
beneath her before cleaning up, putting on the warm, soft clothes she’d
promised herself earlier, and stumbling out to the living room. Fang jumped up
on the couch, ready to snuggle up the moment she landed on one of the cushions,
and she was tempted again to lie down and close her eyes.

Her phone lit up with a text message.

Walk tomorrow? 8am with breakfast?

When did having breakfast start to feel
like a huge breakthrough? She hastily typed out a reply.
Yes! Meet in my
lobby?

Ok.

Michaela was still grinning a few minutes
later when she checked her email and saw the message from her brother, titled
“Lachlan Morrison? Anything you want to tell us about?” with a link to some
blog.

Her hands shook as she clicked on the link
to the
Crimson Gossip
.

Lachlan strode down Mass Ave, feeling good
about the day ahead. He had his graduate-level course and office hours this
afternoon, both of which had proven to be interesting and lively over the past
couple weeks. He’d taught several of these students before, but there were a
host of new and fascinating minds in the mix now, too. He liked how the two
groups were coming together, and seeing how much the students he already knew
had grown, how their thinking had expanded and changed. It was enormously
satisfying.

He stopped in front of Michaela’s building,
hovering for a moment.

Mike, of course, appeared before Lachlan
could get it together. “Good morning, Professor,” he called before holding the
door open for him—an invitation that Lachlan had always refused in the past.

He didn’t intend to today, but then Mike
let the door swing shut, leaving them standing together on the sidewalk.
Lachlan frowned and looked through the window to where Michaela sat on a padded
bench in the lobby, studying her phone.

“It’s not my place,” Mike began as he took
a couple quick steps closer.

Lachlan braced, as if for impact.

“But do you know what’s bothering her?
She’s been like that since she came down fifteen minutes ago. Hardly said good
morning.”

Lachlan shrugged. “Maybe she’s just not a
morning person?” he ventured.

Mike shook his head. “I see her at this
hour all the time. She’s always up early. Any other day she’d ask after me, or about
my niece, my mother, or if anything weird has happened.”

Lachlan’s gaze narrowed on Mike. “Anything
weird?”

“You know, like those creepy guys who try
to take pictures through her windows from the roof across the street,” Mike
explained, pointing casually to the office building in question. They both
frowned when they saw someone was, indeed, on that roof, looking out over the
street toward Michaela’s building.

“God damn it,” Mike muttered, glaring. He
tipped his head toward the lobby. “You go see if you can cheer her up, and I’ll
make sure those idiot security guards stop letting assholes onto their roof for
a twenty.”

Lachlan nodded dumbly, because Mike was
already taking off through the traffic on Mass Ave, and what the fuck was going
on in the world when creepy guys with cameras were perched on the roof across
from Michaela’s windows?

He looked over his shoulder to where
Michaela still sat hunched over her phone. She was too smart to let them see into
her apartment. Too aware and diligent. But, boy, did the idea of her having to
keep her curtains constantly drawn piss him off.

He took a deep breath and let that go for
now. Mike thought something was wrong, something more than the man being shooed
from the roof across the street as Lachlan watched. He prayed for strength and
the ability to actually speak the necessary words, and went through the door.
He even tried to smile.

Michaela’s head snapped up and she studied his
face closely. His smile faded the longer she looked at him.

“You ready to go?” he asked, uncertain what
he could do to help other than take her on a walk and hope she’d tell him if
something was wrong. Maybe he’d even ask? It wasn’t like he was good at drawing
people out, for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t even draw
himself
out.

“Yeah. Um…can you come here for a minute?”
she asked, pointing at the bench beside her. He couldn’t remember her ever
sounding so serious. Or uncertain. As uncertain as he constantly felt around
her.

Lachlan fought a spurt of panic, with
limited success.

He walked toward her stiffly, telling
himself to relax, but not able to pull it together completely. He realized he
hadn’t been nearly as uptight with her of late. Not nearly as bad as he’d been
when they’d first started this, at least.

Now he was so wound up, it felt like their
very first walk all over again.

He perched on the cushion and tried to give
her his attention, which mostly involved looking at her cheekbone or over her
shoulder. Eye contact was outside his abilities at the moment.

“I’m sorry,” she began, “I’m not sure how
to tell you this, but it seems someone has decided to jump to some
conclusions.”

“I—what?” He swallowed around the lump in
his throat, hoping that it was enough to prompt her to say more, since it was
all she was getting out him, apparently.

Michaela sighed and held out her phone. He
only had to glance down for a second to recognize what she was talking about.

A metric ton of pressure eased from
Lachlan’s shoulders. “Oh. I’ve seen that.”

Michaela’s had snapped up. “What?”

“Anna showed it to me. She thought I’d like
to know.” Lachlan actually managed to shrug, proud of himself for recovering in
record time.

Michaela searched his face. “And this isn’t
freaking you out?”

“Uh…” He wasn’t sure how honest to be here.
He decided
not
to mention that he’d dodged his boss yesterday. This
clearly was freaking
her
out, which for some damn reason made him want
to be all sensible about it. “No? I mean, I’m not thrilled about the Dr. Snorrison
thing. But these kids are full of shit anyway. No one believes what they
write.”

Michaela let out a humorless laugh. “You’d
be surprised.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it,
right?”

She studied him with a puzzled expression.
“No.”

“Right, so let’s go get breakfast. I’m
starved.” He jumped to his feet.

Michaela stood more slowly, looking at him
like he was a complete stranger, or possibly crazy. It was, sadly, a familiar
look.

“You still want to go to breakfast with
me?” she asked, as if she didn’t understand.

It was a fairly straightforward proposition,
he thought. “Of course. What did you think, that I’d just ditch you?” he asked,
half joking.

Her brows drew together. “Well,
yes
.”

“Geez.” Lachlan’s shoulders slumped. “I know
I have shitty social skills, but give me
some
credit.”

“No! That’s not what I meant,” she said
with a whap against his arm, which he guessed meant he was being funny? She
still looked serious, though. “I just figured you must hate to be in the
spotlight. And this is my fault. I’m a terrible person for you to be friends
with, Lachlan. The worst. I would totally understand if you’d rather I just
stayed away from you.”

“You’re
not
a terrible friend, and I
don’t want you to stay away from me,” Lachlan said, more forcefully than maybe he’d
intended.

Michaela stared at him, eyes wide. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he said with a decisive nod,
willing himself not to blush—which had never worked before and didn’t this time,
either.

He put a hand on her back in an attempt to nudge
her gently toward the door, but she didn’t move. He wondered what else he could
say and if there was any way he could do it without looking directly at her.

He snuck a peak at her face then froze, his
heart jumping stupidly as panic and something else he didn’t want to examine
too closely burst to life in his chest. She was smiling at up at him, the kind
of smile that always fucked him up, but this time it was
worse
. This
time she had tears in her eyes.

Lachlan barely resisted the urge to throw
his hands in the air, because
what the fuck was that?
And what was he
supposed to do now? Was she happy or was she crying? How was he supposed to
figure this shit out?

Completely flummoxed, he did the only thing
that had ever worked when his sister was being equally confusing.

He hugged her.

Michaela’s eyes widened comically, and she
made an almost wounded sound as he wrapped his arms around her and tugged her
close. Their chests bumped together, her chin glancing off his shoulder, while
she remained absolutely rigid in his arms.

So, once again, he’d probably done the
wrong thing here. And, to top it all off, Michaela Price was definitely
not
his sister. In so many ways, she was nothing like his
sister
.

Shit
.

He tried to step back, but her hands suddenly
jerked up and curled into the back of his shirt, holding him close. Then the
confounding woman went utterly limp against him. He held on tighter by instinct
alone. It seemed like a better idea than letting her slither to the floor.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice even
smokier than usual.

What the hell was she thanking him for? “For
breakfast?” he guessed wildly.

She shook in his arms, her face pressed to
his shoulder. He had a moment of sheer, unadulterated terror when he thought
she was crying for real, then he realized she was laughing.

“What?” he asked, utterly exasperated. He
was pretty sure he’d just broken his own record for most awkwardness in a five minute
period.

She shook her head, rolling her face
against his shoulder, but didn’t let go. He was trying very hard to ignore his
increasing awareness of the press of her body, the strength and tone of her
torso and in her arms, her long, long, fucking
long
legs tangled with
his.

“No one has touched me in almost six weeks.”

The confession was muffled against his
shirt, but he heard it. His first instinct was to tell her he hadn’t gotten
laid in months, either, but figured maybe that wasn’t what she was talking
about. He silently congratulated himself on keeping that thought in.

But she couldn’t mean she hadn’t been
touched at all, could she?

He tightened his hold and she snuggled in
closer, which he hadn’t thought was possible until her hip bone tucked up
against his groin, way too close to his dick. He shifted, but that really
didn’t help at all.

Think about something else!

Six weeks. He often went six weeks without
touching people, didn’t he? He thought back and remembered his sister hugging
him, and Rhian’s leg pressed to his in a booth while they had a beer. Even Anna,
pulling a chair up to the desk so they could go over student’s work with their
shoulders pressed together.

What if he didn’t have any of that for six
weeks? With no real hope that it would change?

He shuddered. That was…that was actually a really
long time.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize. I
can touch you more. I like touching you,” he added helpfully, about two seconds
before it occurred to him
what he’d just said.

Michaela started shaking again, her hands
clenched in his shirt as a delicate snort vibrated against his shoulder.

“Oh! No. I just said, but I didn’t—I mean…”
he trailed off.

Jesus fucking Christ
.

 He dropped his arms in utter defeat. He
could only imagine what his face was doing, since it felt like it was on fire
and when she stepped back, her expression became concerned, if still highly
amused.

“You okay?”

He opened his mouth. Twice. She waited
patiently, her eyes bright, her smile poorly contained. Finally, he just shook
his head.

She looked sympathetic, and on anyone else
it might have been patronizing, but her smile was genuine and her hand on his
arm was gentle. “No words, huh?”

He grimaced, his cheeks still ablaze.

“How about that breakfast, then?” she said
breezily, as if the last ten minutes hadn’t been a little bit of a fucking
disaster. As if
he
weren’t a complete fucking disaster.

 Michaela strolled along the street with
Lachlan utterly silent at her side. His color had returned to normal, at least,
but he didn’t seem ready to speak yet.

She could wait.

He directed them to Stella’s, a little
restaurant on a side street, packed with people both inside and under umbrella
tables on the patio out front. Michaela hesitated before going through the
door, wary of such close quarters. This could be bad.

Lachlan’s hand on her back gently urged her
forward and she went, if for no other reason than after terrorizing the poor
man this morning, the least she could do was try to suck it up for one meal.

The hostess recognized her instantly, if
her slow, stunned blink was any indication. But she also recognized Lachlan.

“The library, Dr. Morrison?”

“Yes, please,” he said.

The hostess led them through the restaurant,
countless heads swiveling as they passed. The muscles in Michaela’s back were
so tight by the time they’d made it to the hallway, it was a wonder she could
walk at all. It was pure relief to escape into the enclosed stairway to the
second floor, and she gasped with unexpected pleasure when it led them to
another, quieter dining room—this one lined with built-in shelves, laden with old
books.

“Wow,” Michaela breathed, looking around.
There were only ten tables up here, well-spaced and separated by tall plants
and more free-standing shelves. Theirs was by the fireplace, the mantle lined
with books, antique clocks, and a couple of stuffed pheasants.

She eyed the birds frozen mid-strut glaring
down at her. “You got a thing for taxidermy?” she asked wryly once they were
alone.

Lachlan looked up sharply. “No?”

He speaks!

“The Natural History Museum, and now these
sad souls,” she said, waving at the pair of fowl.

Lachlan’s lips quirked and he shook his
head. “Coincidence.”

“Uh huh,” she drawled, like that was utter
bullshit.

“I thought it would be sufficiently private
up here for you to be able to relax and speak freely.”

“Oh,” she said, touched by his
thoughtfulness. “Thanks. This is great.”

He nodded once as he carefully studied the
menu she could guess he’d seen plenty of times, given his greeting downstairs.

“So, does this mean you’re able to talk
again now? Or am I to speak freely to myself?”