Eighteen: 18

“I’m not taking a test today, am I?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not letting you off easy. You’re not gonna get this credit without earning it. And I think you’re smart enough to realize that what we do after the test has nothing to do with what we do before it.”

“Then why am I naked?”

“I like looking at you. And after you write down the purpose of each section in chapter one, I’m going to fuck you anyway. Because I like fucking you too, and even if I had the kind of self-control it would take to let you get dressed and walk home, keeping you frustrated until tomorrow, I don’t want to practice it today.”

“You’re the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.”

He smiles. I long for the laugh, but I only get the smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now get to work.”

I read the first section. It’s easy, so I find the purpose in less than a minute and start writing it down, being careful to make it succinct, so it has meaning to me later.

Mateo cooks. He’s making lasagna because he’s got the box of pasta out on the counter with some cans of tomato paste. He starts boiling the water first, and then empties the paste in another pot to make the sauce. I’m intrigued by everything. And he’s got his back to me, so I can stare at the muscles under his t-shirt and the tattoos down his arms as he works. They are mostly stars, I realize.

Stars. He’s a fucking physicist. Or whatever. Astronomer. So that fits. They might even tell a story.

“I don’t hear your pencil moving,” Mateo says, never turning around from his tasks.

I go back to work and he continues cooking. What I’m doing is not hard. Chapter one of any math textbook is mostly stuff I already know, with a few specific additions. I’m smart enough to know the difference. I pick out the points that are important and write them down.

“Done?” Mateo asks when I set my pencil aside with a sigh.

I look over at him and get stuck on just how much there is to see. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, his head tilted a little. Those cannon biceps are bulging and he’s leaning back some, allowing me to see the definition of his abs through his tight t-shirt. He must’ve shaved this morning, because he has less stubble on his face than yesterday. Just a shadow really. I look down at his bare feet and realize he took his boots off at some point. God, I have no idea why that’s sexy, but it is. “Done,” I confirm.

“How many sections?” he asks.

“Um.” I look down at my paper. “Fifteen.”

“OK, that’s it for today. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

“What?”

“You were hoping for more?”

I laugh. “Well, you did promise more.”

“You want it?”

Jesus Christ. He’s got an ego he needs stroked? “I’m sitting here naked. I’ve been wanting it since my underwear hit the floor.”

He just stares at me.

“And I thought you’d at least feed me.” Fucking lasagna smells good. I would even consider giving up the sex if he’d let me stay for dinner.

He glances over at the oven, which has a timer that says there’s forty-five minutes left. I sigh. Big and long. And then push my chair back and get up.

“Is it wet?”

“What?” He scowls at my question. Asshole. It’s not that I don’t hear him, it’s just he’s so fucking inappropriate, I have to constantly ask myself if those words really came out of his mouth. I look down at the chair and to my horror, it is. “Yes,” I say back.

He smiles. “If you want it, come get it.”

I huff out some air. But after a second of thought, I walk over to him. If I ask a question now, he’ll give me that frown again. And then he’ll probably go on and on and on about some bullshit lesson I need to learn or blah, blah, blah. All I really want is a connection. Just something to make me feel wanted today.

So I take the hem of his t-shirt in my fingertips and begin to lift it. He prickles with goosebumps and I pause to look up into his eyes and realize he’s excited. “Keep going,” he says in a low growl.

I press my palms against the flat planes of his stomach and drag the fabric upward. He’s a lot taller than me, so when I get to his chest, he reaches down and whips the shirt over his head.

He’s got tattoos on his chest. Every kind of star you can imagine, all arranged in patterns. I gently touch one, tracing the faint line that connects it to another, and his skin prickles again. “I like these,” I say, looking up into his green eyes.

“I like you,” he says.

I blush, and look down to hide my smile.

But his fingers lift my chin back up and he says it again. “I like you. Keep going.”

I take a deep breath and slip my fingertips inside the waistband of his jeans. I can feel his cock growing under the denim and my body floods with warmth. I slide them against his tanned skin until I get to the buckle. It jingles as I work it free, and then the brown leather falls to either side of his growing bulge.

His hand slips under my hair and he pulls it aside. I look up at him again, and he nods.

Keep going.

I unbutton his jeans and slide the zipper down, and before I even give myself time to think, I reach in and pull him out. He’s fully hard now and I know what he wants. But I get the feeling he doesn’t want to have to ask for it. So I bend down and settle on my knees in front of him and look up.

He’s got a fistful of my hair now, but he doesn’t urge me on. He wants to me initiate everything today.

I open my mouth and kiss his tip, my tongue darting out to lick small swirling patterns around his thick head. His hand in my hair gives the slightest push and I have a feeling he can’t help that. He’s a disciplined guy, I’m realizing. And if he wants me to initiate, then that small urge is a weakness on his part.

I gain a little confidence and open wider so he can slip inside me an inch or so. I let my tongue explore his tight skin, my hand coming up automatically to wrap around his shaft.

“Fuck, yeah,” he moans.

I tighten the seal of my lips and suck him in. This gets me a sigh and a tighter grip on my hair. “Mmmmm,” I hum.

His hips respond to that by rocking forward an inch or two, and I have to open wider to accommodate the new girth. I ease forward and allow him to penetrate me another inch. My mouth is small, so there is no way I’m taking him all in, but I want to make him sigh and moan some more. So I start bobbing on his cock, taking him in as far as I can, then withdrawing and letting my tongue caress him as I pull away.

“I don’t usually like it so slow, Shannon.” I look up at him and find his eyes at half-mast like he’s enjoying this. “But you can do it any way you want. It doesn’t matter.”

I keep my eyes trained on his as I continue pushing forward and drawing back. I do go slow. I like it slow and I’m not in a hurry.

“Touch yourself,” he says. It’s not harsh and I like that too. Slow and soft Mateo is someone I don’t know yet, but I’d like to see more of that part of him.

I reach down between my legs and find the pool of wetness. I’m almost embarrassed by how wet I am for him, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.

“I want you to come,” he says. “I want you to come with my cock in your mouth and your fingers in your pussy.”