Out of Her League (22 page)

“Is he
okay with all this?” Sadie waved her pencil around, as if to indicate Michaela’s
apartment, but obviously meaning so much more.

Michaela
sighed. “I don’t really know.”

“You
haven’t talked about it?”

“No, we
have. He says it’s cool, the press and stuff? But he was trapped in his house
on Monday, and…I don’t know. It’s only going to get worse. I don’t think he
realizes that.”

“Will
the school give him shit?” asked Tanner.

That was
a really good question, and a perceptive one. She realized she should probably
ask Lachlan about it, but she dreaded hearing the answer.

“They
can’t,” Eric said firmly. “There’s no fraternization rules about you dating,
since he’s never going to be your professor.”

Tanner
grimaced. “I hope it’s that simple.”

So did Michaela,
but she felt as skeptical as Tanner appeared to be.

They
returned to their work, studying for an upcoming exam and sharing ideas about
what the questions would be, but part of Michaela’s brain was always on
Lachlan. She was almost twitching with the need to see him, to talk to him, and
to try to figure out what would happen next.

It was
supposed to be simple. Friends. Or friends with benefits. But no one, least of
all Lachlan, would see the paparazzi camped on one’s front lawn as a benefit. She
was afraid that the best answer would be that he stop going out to these events
with her. Maybe then, if they were careful, they could still be friends and no
one would be the wiser.

If staying
friends with her was what he wanted at all. She didn’t kid herself. It would be
ten times easier for Lachlan if he were to just cut ties. And who could blame
him? But, for the first time in longer than she cared to remember, Michaela
wanted to cling to a friend. To a precious friendship. She could live without
the company when she was out stumping for the Foundation. And she could learn
to go without the sex she was already craving all the time.

But
there was no way in hell she was giving up those hugs without a fight.

After another
hour or so, the others packed up, agreeing to meet again the next day for a
final review before the actual exam. As soon as they left, Michaela pulled out
her phone.

I’m
coming.

You
will be.

Michaela
shuddered and ran out her door.

Adrenaline was a funny thing. Lachlan was
well used to experiencing the thrill of it on the ice, but this was the first time
he’d ever gotten such a solid dose of the stuff because of his
work
.

He’d more or less chosen his field because
it was so unlikely to produce the heady rush he was experiencing. Not on
purpose, per se, but because he liked the predictability of his job. The quiet
discourse and hours of reading and distilling texts and ideas.

Today was nothing like that, and it was a
disorienting. His blood pumped like he’d just scored in the last seconds before
the buzzer, but instead, he was walking across campus. His hands twitched, as
if eager to fire a shot right into the back of the net, but instead, he was
fumbling with his keys before finally getting his damn door open.

Adrenaline usually made him feel alert.
Alive. His brain singing with it and full of ideas. But today it wasn’t going like
that. No, today, for some damn reason, it seemed to be channeling his energy in
a single, different, direction.

His pants.

He was not now, nor had he ever been, a
horndog—and he would gleefully strangle his brother Kieran for putting that
term into his head to begin with. He knew plenty of guys—hell, he was
related
to
several—who had this reaction to any kind of excitement. Who needed the
outlet. He was just as happy, both before and now that he was experiencing it
firsthand, that he had never been that guy.

That didn’t stop him from texting Michaela
and practically begging her to come over.

He paced around his house, jumping at every
sound from the street and waiting. The chemicals were wearing off, thank god,
and he was beginning to feel hot in the face from embarrassment, rather than
need. It was completely unlike him to send dirty text messages. He should
probably apologize. God help them both if the press ever got into one of their
phones.

The idea was starting to make him sweat
when he heard a gentle knock on his back door. Startled, his head snapped
around, on full alert, then his intellect conquered whatever lizard brain had
taken over and reminded him that Michaela couldn’t very well waltz right up the
street unnoticed.

He ran into the kitchen and threw open the
door.

All thoughts of apologizing for his
ill-conceived text messages went right out the proverbial window, the lizard
brain once more in charge as he reached for Michaela and she dove for him.
Their lips met before he could even slam and lock the door behind her. He
managed it, eventually, and then they were stumbling toward the stairs.

He paused in the living room, eyeing his
couch longingly because the bedroom just seemed
so fucking far away
, but
good sense reasserted itself, barely, and he realized that they shouldn’t do
any of the things he was thinking about doing within view of any windows, even
if the curtains were drawn.

Their climb up the stairs started out
strong, but quickly devolved when Michaela caught a heel while trying to go
backwards and Lachlan barely caught her before her back could hit the risers.
He eased her down until her ass was perched on a stair and dove in for another
kiss.

“Are you okay?” he managed when they
briefly paused for air.

She hummed against his lips, and wrapped
her long legs around his waist.

He was just going to take that as a yes.

For a long time they stayed like that,
their lips locked, Michaela sprawled on his steps with him hovering above her,
supporting her head in one hand and his weight with the other arm. His hips
pushed into hers and she groaned, pushing back, using her arms and legs to pull
him close.

He shifted forward, desperate to press his
dick against
anything
and find some fucking relief.

“Ow,” came the soft whimper.

Lifting his head, he groaned as need made
his muscles tremble and he tried to suck enough oxygen into his lungs to get
his brain functioning again.

What the hell were they doing? It had to be
a miracle they hadn’t slid right back down to the front foyer.

He straightened up and she came with him,
clinging to him like a limpet. Which, actually, worked just fine. Curling one
arm around her, he grasped the bannister in a death grip with his other hand and
stood with Michaela wrapped around him.

Goddamn, he was going to feel that in his
quads tomorrow.

“You know,” Michaela whispered against his
ear, her voice sexy and low, “that would have been super fucking hot if you
hadn’t groaned like it was killing you when you stood up.”

Lachlan chuckled and started up the stairs.
“Forgive me?”

Michaela sucked his earlobe between her
lips and bit. Lachlan almost tripped on the top stair, clutching her desperately
to his chest as he regained his footing and sprinted down the hall to his
bedroom.

He threw her to the middle of his bed,
where she landed with a bounce and a shriek of laughter.

“Dr. Morrison!” she cried as if
scandalized. “What are you doing?”

He grinned down at her, propped on her
elbows, miles of legs spread open across his bed and her skirt flipped up to
reveal tiny, tight lace shorts that hid nothing.

He reached over his shoulders to grab a
fistful of his shirt and yanked it off over his head.

Michaela stared up at Lachlan, her heart
thumping against her ribs as he systematically stripped off his clothes and
tossed them across the room without a care for where they landed. She giggled
when he almost took out the reading lamp in the corner with a sneaker.

If only the
Crimson Gossip
could see
Dr. Snorrison now.

His eyes never left her face, but she
couldn’t help but draw her eyes downward, darting her gaze over his broad
shoulders and nicely delineated pectorals. Peeking at flat nipples, just a
shade less pink and more cinnamon than his lips.

He didn’t hesitate to bare himself, and
that confidence was as singularly attractive as any one feature or part. Not
that he had reason to be shy. Far from it. She licked her lips as her eyes traced
over his cock, standing erect and pointed towards her.

It was an invitation she could not resist.

Sitting up, she reached for him, fingers
almost brushing the flushed shaft that promised to be deliciously firm and warm
and heavy, but Lachlan wrapped a hand around her wrist and stopped her.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he admonished.

Her heart skipped a few beats when he grabbed
her ankle and dragged her across the bed until she was perched on the edge of
the mattress.

And now
her
clothes were flying
around the room. She laughed, delighted, then got down to the business of
helping him, because this was all she wanted. To be rid of any restrictions and
to feel the press of all that bare skin against hers.

He hooked his fingers into the elasticized lace
running over her hips and tugged, and she lifted her butt with the idea of
helping him get the tight boy shorts off. She wasn’t expecting him to grasp her
hips and flip her over.

Her shriek was cut off with a huff as she
landed on her stomach, her legs hanging half off the bed. Dizzy with happiness
and the startling thrill, she was momentarily disoriented. Then his big hands
landed on the backs of her thighs, trailing upwards, and reality came pouring
back in with the huge gulp of air she sucked into her lungs.

God, he was killing her. She shook with a
low chuckle as she imagined what Tanner, Eric, and Sadie would think of
Lachlan’s
squiring
now. She should probably feel guilty about lying to
them, but then, she hadn’t, really. He wasn’t her boyfriend.

But calling them “just friends” wasn’t
exactly an accurate representation either. She’d thought she’d known what
friends with benefits was, but she hadn’t ever pictured this.

Pushing up onto her elbows, she looked over
her shoulder at Lachlan standing between her legs, hovering above her. Not that
he noticed the look she sent him. His entire focus was narrowed down to one
thing.

Her ass.

Yes, this
definitely
wasn’t like any
kind of friendship she’d had before. And it didn’t feel like scratching an
itch. Itches were on the surface, superficial. Her feelings for Lachlan went a whole
lot deeper than that.

A long, delicious shiver worked up her spine
as she took in his dark eyes, a ring of bright green barely visible around his
dilated pupils. His tongue poked out, wetting his lower lip, and he might as
well have traced it across her skin. Warmth bloomed low in her belly, and she
wanted more. More of this laser focus. More of whatever the hell he had in mind
for the next few hours, before she had to go meet Robby for dinner.

“God, you’re spectacular,” he murmured
softly.

She wondered if she should be insulted that
he appeared to be talking to her ass. In other circumstances, she might have
come back with the classic, “My eyes are up here, asshole.” But honestly, she
couldn’t be bothered. Not when she knew he respected so much more than the work
she put into staying fit. Not when she knew he respected her mind and would
treat her as his equal always.

Not when he was looking at her like
that.

She swore he wanted to eat her alive. Or,
better yet, fuck her senseless.

His hands slid further up her thighs until
his calloused, hockey-rough palms cupped her cheeks below the high cut of her
shorts. How many Harvard professors had hands like this? He obviously worked
hard at his hockey. Both during the games and with his own training. His hands
were as tough as any she’d shaken while she’d been “dating” Callum and had met
the rest of his team. Those men played and practiced for hours every day and
their hands were just like this.

And not one of them was a PhD.

It was hard to decide which was sexier on
its own, but the combination was, without question, the sexiest thing she could
imagine.

His hands pushed up and out and she pushed
back against them, until lace caught up against countless eager nerve endings
from the base of her spine down to her clit, teasing the already swollen nub. She
rolled her hips back again and pushed into his grip, utterly shameless.

She had no idea where this was going, but
she wasn’t worried. In fact, she was decidedly on board with the direction they
appeared to be headed, and was more than a little curious to see what he would
do next. She was so amped up with anticipation, she jumped, groaning, when his
lips brushed her waist, pressing moist warmth along the top of her panties, a
trace of cool left in his wake. She hummed happily until he got to one side, then
she squirmed, giggling, because goddamn she was ticklish there.

“Lachlan, please,” she begged, though for
what she didn’t even know. To stop tickling her? To get down to business—in
whatever form that would take?

He seemed to understand fine, though, and
lifted his head to finally tug off the last scrap of her clothing. The cool air
felt good against her flushed skin, prickling so much she could feel the
negative spaces between where the lace had left its imprint.

She jumped again when his stubbled cheek
rubbed across one cheek, nuzzling her ass like a cat would rub its face against
a hand held out to stroke it. Lachlan did it again, this time on the other
side, his lips catching on freshly abraded skin. He wasn’t kissing her, but
skimming across the fire left by his coarse beard.

Soon his cheek and chin and lips had rubbed
over every inch of her backside. She felt as though he worshipped every inch of
skin he touched as he nuzzled and caressed her with only his face, which,
really, should have been strange, maybe even ridiculous, but it wasn’t. At all.

She hummed and dropped her head, her
forehead touching the mattress, her eyes closed. Like this, she could feel each
of the thousands of coarse beard bristles as they dragged along increasingly
sensitized skin. The comforter smelled faintly of detergent, but over that she
could detect a hint of Lachlan. That something that clung to his skin, a scent
that would forever make her pulse spike and her toes curl. His soap? Deodorant?
Aftershave? Some combination of the three, perhaps, layered over the musk and
sweat and salt of his skin.

Whatever it was, she knew no man would ever
come close to replicating it. And she would miss it, horribly, when it was no
longer hers to enjoy.

He distracted her from her wandering
thoughts when he began to roll his head, this way and that, and now there
were
kisses. Quick pecks that left behind cool dots in delicious contrast to the heat
of the beard burn he’d just spread all over. On one roll, his nose dipped
between the globes of her ass, slowing and pressing in for a moment. She
squirmed against him as a flush worked up her neck and into her face, burning
as hot as any beard burn could. She’d had fantasies, lots of them, but this was
shockingly more intimate than she’d imagined, and all he was doing was holding
still, letting his breath ghost over delicate skin.

She jerked when she felt the cool press of
lips and a quick flick of tongue, every muscle in her body going taut for one
delicious moment. Then he was gone and she was left panting, sprawled face down
on his bed, ready for almost anything and not having the faintest idea what
might come next.

She lay there, utterly pliant, and tried to
absorb the shock and heat and aching need he’d stoked in her. His long fingers
encircled her thighs and slowly pushed them open, and she moaned, spreading her
legs until she had to lift up and plant her knees on the edge of the bed. Her
ass hovered in the air, exposed, which she never had guessed would be as
delicious as it was.

He resumed his slow torture, rubbing his
face down the backs of her thighs, until his nose was pressed into the creases
at her knees and he left gentle kisses there. Then back up, trailing along the
thin skin of her inner thighs which lit up against his stubble even as she
spread her legs further, encouraging him.

The first brush of his lips against her
pussy was so gentle, she wondered if it had been on purpose, or just a happy
accident on the way to the next long rub along her legs. Then it was there
again, and she hummed, pressing her chest lower to the mattress and canting her
hips back as far as she could, wantonly offering herself up.

His fingers sank into her legs, holding her
steady, and her heart dropped before she felt the quick flick of his tongue
along her labia. Once, twice.

Then he was gone.

“Please, Lachlan,” she moaned, unbearably
aware of the slow slide of liquid arousal slicking her folds for his tongue and
touch. She couldn’t see him, but she felt the press of his shoulders to her
thighs.

And then, finally, he was there. She shuddered
with the fast and hard rhythm of his tongue against her clit. The electric
zings radiating through her made her cry out and push back against his face. If
the obscene noises he made in response were anything to go by, he didn’t mind.

His tongue was dexterous and maddening,
dragging her higher until she was panting, her hands fisted in the sheets as
tremors wracked her. She was so close, so fucking
close,
when he left
her clit to lick and delve further.

Another long moan rose up out of her as she
writhed against the mattress, and perhaps embarrassingly, against his face, but
nothing stopped him in his quest to tease and tug and thrust and tickle. Her
moans and sighs bled into one another, until all that was left was to leave her
mouth hanging open, pressed to the comforter that couldn’t live up to its name
and offer her any relief. The tension in her back and legs ratcheted higher,
making her shake, as Lachlan took her apart with his mouth and lips and tongue.

The first crest hovered and he shifted
again, the broad flat of his tongue sliding back, right over the tightly
clenched and wildly sensitive knot of muscles guarding the entrance to her ass.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, momentarily
stilled by a combination of shock and raw, unbridled
want.

“Yes?” he asked quietly, so close she could
feel the word as his lips pressed it into her skin.

She’d thought about this. Wished and
wondered what it would be like to have someone do this, and then packed that
away along with all the others things she would never know or only ever do to
herself, since she could never trust anyone else to do them for her. With her.

Until now.

“Yes,” she whispered, her throat tight with
so much more than simple anticipation.

His tongue immediately slid over her again,
and again, warming and wetting and pressing at tight muscles. The sensations
were utterly foreign, completely unlike the touch of her fingers covered in
lube or the thrust of one of her toys.

She could feel her body responding, opening
little by little as he kissed and sucked and nibbled along the thin strip of
electrified skin and over the tight furl of muscles. She moaned into the
bedding, her chest aching at the intimacy of the act, even as her head swam
with how good it felt. Not just what he was doing with his tongue and lips, but
how freeing it was to be completely without concern about video cameras and the
press and the potential fallout if something like
this
were ever to hit
the internet.

Those concerns had no place here. This was
for her and Lachlan, and she trusted that he understood and believed that in
all the same ways she did.

She sighed, not an ounce of tension left
anywhere in her. Her legs slid further across the mattress, leaving her exposed
and vulnerable and utterly safe.

His finger slipped into her without a hint
of resistance, and she hummed low in her throat.

“Is that good?”

She tried to say, “That’s great,” but was
pretty sure it got lost in the translation from her mouth, through the comforter,
and on to Lachlan’s ear.

He chuckled, even as his tongue was licking
around the finger lodged inside her, stabbing in beside it.

Michaela wasn’t really sure
what
kind
of noises she was making now. Her brain had gone to static, lost to the waves
of pleasure coursing through her.

Lachlan didn’t pause, thrusting and
licking, nibbling and sucking until he could wedge a second finger in next to
the first. Her thighs quivered as pleasure rolled through her like thunder and
rain, waiting for lightening to strike.

Michaela cried out, his name bouncing off
the walls of his bedroom. She was beautiful like this, completely without
inhibition, gamely jumping into this wild idea without pause.

Which, actually, gave
him
pause. He
finally dragged his mouth away from her body to ask, “Is this okay?”

Because as much as she
sounded
like
she was having a good time, he had to be sure. This wasn’t exactly a recipe
from the vanilla cookbook.

“It was until you stopped,” she groused,
and he chuckled, already pressing back against her skin, into her body, letting
her feel the shake of his shoulders from his laughter when his mouth was
otherwise occupied. God, she had a way of undoing him. Making him talk when
he’d always been silent. Making him laugh at moments he would have sworn he
never would.