Page 12 of The Overtime Kiss

The door snicks shut behind us. “And the sex, Tyler,” I say, stepping deeper into the room as he follows, “was just…the same. Over and over. Like hammering.” I mime the motion. Then, for good measure, I switch to a jackrabbit gesture, pumping my hips as I turn around to meet his gaze. And I wonder what has come over me. But suddenly, everything is pouring out—details about a sex life I never really enjoyed. “He never mixed it up. Over the last year, he only wanted me on all fours, and I thought it was because it felt primal to him. But I think he wanted to pretend I was someone else.”

Tyler seethes. “He didn’t deserve to see you come.”

Pleasure zips through me. Courage too. “He was like a woodpecker. Same motion over and over. I never came,” I say, and wow, I don’t usually confess everything to anyone. But I can’t stop now. Everything is coming out tonight. “I didn’t fake it either. I just told him it wasn’t a big deal that I didn’t come.”

He growls. “It is a big deal. It’sthedeal.”

My smile takes off, powered by the jet fuel of his passionate words. “I think I’d like it.”

“Coming?” It’s asked roughly. Carnally.

“Yes. I like it when I’m alone.”

“Good. You fucking should.”

“I do,” I say, breathless and tingly all over. I ache everywhere, a heavy throb that thrums in my cells, that beats like a low drum in my ears. “My solo time? I’ve enjoyed that. And I’ve spent a lot of it picturing all the things I want. So many things.”

I look at Tyler—tall and broad with muscles for days—the kind of man who could toss me onto the bed and take me apart. And he’s listening to my every word. “Know what I mean?” I ask breathily.

“I’m following you loud and clear,” he rasps out.

He’s standing near the king-size bed, and I’m mere feet away. That won’t do.

I step closer. “Are you?”

He breathes out hard, swallows, closes his eyes for a few long seconds, then opens them with a nod. “Yeah.”

One word, and it feels like permission.

I don’t weigh the next thing. I jump headfirst. “And Tyler? I definitely think you could deliver them.”

His eyes are locked on mine, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

“And I’m ready,” I say, fueled by spicy margarita bravado.

“Ready?”

“For you to take my real virginity.”

Everything goes still in the room. I can hear the June crickets chirping outside the window, the low hum of a truck rolling by, a nightingale singing.

But Tyler says nothing. He just scrubs a hand along the back of his neck while I stand here, a livewire, every nerve firing, every molecule humming.

I’m electricity itself, crackling.

And he’s still a statue.

Maybe I wasn’t clear? What if I’m being too…euphemistic? Really, why should I be anything but crystal clear? “I’m a virgin to good sex. And I want good sex.” Then, I give him my best come-hither pout—lips parted slightly, one shoulder bobbing coquettishly. Look at me go! I must radiate sex appeal right now. “I’m pretty sure you could do it right. I have this whole fantasy that starts with your beard.”

His eyes flicker. His lips twitch. “That’s awfully specific.”

Heat shimmers between us. I step closer. “I keep thinking about how it’d feel. I keep wondering, too, about those arms,” I say, my gaze drifting to his biceps, visible in his tight polo. “How you could pin me down. I wonder about your mouth. I think I’m obsessed with it.”

He winces, then shakes his head.

Shoot. I’ve crossed a line with a student’s dad. But then, maybe even against his better judgment, he asks, “How obsessed?”

My knees buckle. I’m hot everywhere. “I can’t stop thinking about how you might kiss me.” I take another step closer in my mismatched slides. “Everywhere.”

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