Page 61 of The Love Syllabus

No expression. No emotion. Just another swig of whiskey. “Continue, Kerry.”

I feel like he’s egging me on, so I just say it. “I think you should touch me more…for the outside perception, of course, not for me. Not because I want you to.” I lie, nervously biting my lips.

Then, Vic leans back, arms crossed, studying me with amusement. “Okay,” He says with a slow grin. “Let the learning begin.” He swallows the last bit of his drink, sets the glass down, and asks, as blunt and straightforward as ever. “How do you like to be touched?”

My lips part, but only a weak, unsteady “Huh?” slips out.

He huffs a quiet laugh through his nose. I feel as vulnerable as I am intrigued. Vic’s studying me now, sizing me up like he’s already prepared to ace this lesson.

“You said I should touch you more so I will,” He explains, voice smooth as silk. “But I’ll be dammed if I fail at it, so I need to know what makes you feel good.”

My pulse jumps when his fingers ghost over my arm, trailing up and down in slow, deliberate strokes. His touch is featherlight yet searing. And all I can do is close my eyes and moan.

“I need to know how you like to be touched.” His hand shifts, sliding to my wrist, his thumb pressing just enough to send a pulse of heat through my body. “I need to know if you prefer my hand on your back or around your waist.” His fingers trail higher, brushing the inside of my elbow. “If I can caress your skin…and where.” His hand lingers at the curve of my shoulder, his knuckles grazing the side of my neck, and my breath stutters. “And…” He leans in, voice dipping lower, his lips so close I can feel his breath fan across my skin. “I need to know if a forehead kiss is theonlytype of kiss you want.”

The room suddenly feels smaller. And I feel…hotter, tighter, wetter.

“Vic,” I whisper through my panting breath, but instead of continuing, I close my eyes and hum, inviting him in—silently begging him to keep exploring, to keep surveying my body like he’s memorizing it.

He takes the invitation.

But instead of his fingers, he outlines my shoulder with his mouth. Barely touching me. Just the ghost of his lips, grazing, teasing, making my skin prickle and my breath stutter.

His breath is warm against my skin, and I can feel the tension in his body, his restraint hanging by a thread. “Fuck, you smell so good, Kerry. But I really need you to answer my question. How do you like to be touched?”

His voice is like liquid heat, seeping into me, making me weak in the best possible way. I don’t think. I just speak.

“Everywhere,” I blurt out, my voice thick and needy. “Touch me everywhere. My aching back and muscles need some lovin’. My legs like to be massaged. My thighs enjoy being squeezed.”

His hands tighten on me like he’s already committing to my needs. Like he’s already preparing to deliver exactly what I asked for.

Then, I meet his gaze, my lashes fluttering as my heart pounds. “And my lips...” I pause, exhaling slowly, letting the weight of the confession settle between us. “Haven’t been kissed in years.”

Vic goes utterly still.

Then, like a decision has been made, his fingers slide up my throat, tilting my chin until our lips are mere inches apart. His eyes flick to mine—dark, unreadable, and searching for permission, for surrender, for something I’m not sure either of us can name.

But instead of claiming my lips, he kisses me everywhere else.

His mouth finds my neck, leaving slow, lingering pecks that warm my skin, each press of his lips setting off sparks, igniting something deep and dangerous. He trails lower, his breath fanning against my collarbone before moving to my ear, where he nibbles, teasing, his breath hot and deliberate. The vibration of it pulses through my body, sending shivers down my spine, pooling heat low in my stomach, and filling up a dam of wetness between my thighs.

What is happening?

I’ve never felt this sensation before. This slow, burning ache spreads everywhere and tightens with every pass of his hands and every brush of his lips. I’m so embarrassed, embarrassed to tell him I’m on the verge of coming without a single touch of where I need it the most, but I think he knows. How could he not? My breathless moans give me away. The tremors that rack my body make it obvious.

Still, he continues his path with persistence. His mouth lowers, and his hands kneads my flesh into a fevered frenzy, but when his lips hover over my hardened nipple, my body tenses in anticipation.

Until I break.

“Touch me there,” I pant, voice wrecked with need. “Flick my nipple with your tongue.”

A wicked, satisfied hum rumbles from him, vibrating against my skin. Without even undoing my shirt, he obeys—circling his tongue around my nipple through my thin top, slowly licking, teasing, then sucking just enough to make my back arch.

I gasp while my hands slowly drag through his low, salt-and-pepper hair, and my nails dig into his shoulders as he nibbles and flicks, drawing me deeper into the haze of pleasure. My mind is a blur, floating somewhere between the relief of my back pain and the intoxicating, humiliating edge of an impending climax.

I barely register him shifting until suddenly, I’m lifted onto his lap, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His hands are strong, relentless, and gripping my hips, molding me to him, and when he presses me down,I feel it. Thick, enormous, and long, at least four inches more than what I’ve ever felt before.

“Oh, fuck, Kerry,” he groans, voice thick and rough. “We’re fully clothed, just working through the syllabus, and yet you’re…” His fingers tighten on my thighs, his mouth brushing against my jaw. “Soaking wet right now.”

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