Page 52 of His to Teach
His fingers tighten on my chin, his voice hardening. “And I will continue to remind you, as long as we’re doing this. That’s my job. I’m going to make sure you’re safe and in control, at all times.”
He sounds genuinely offended. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “You’re right. I appreciate the reminder.”
He watches my face and then nods, releasing my chin. “Good. Then it should go without saying that we only participate tonight if you’re comfortable. Otherwise we watch again.”
“Won’t that get boring for you?”
His eyes flash with humor. “Let me assure you, I enjoy watching.”
A sudden flash of last weekend runs through my mind, him sitting on the couch watching while I touched myself. I feel the heat spread to my chest and he chuckles, noticing it.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Sure,” I murmur, turning my attention to my window so I don’t have to look at him.
He’s not having it, once again grabbing my chin and making me look at him. “You look gorgeous tonight,” he murmurs. “I should have said that first.” Then he kisses me, a soft brushing of lips before he increases the pressure, running his tongue along the corners of my mouth. I’m breathless when he pulls away.
“Hi,” I whisper, and he laughs.
“Hello.” He turns back to the steering wheel before he adds, “and just in case you’re wondering, I very much hope that you want to participate. I have a lot of plans for you.”
Well, hell. I was just starting to get a hold of myself and he has to go and tongue fuck my mouth and then say stuff like that. How am I supposed to keep from spontaneously combusting right here in his car?
Just like last time, he’s quiet as he drives. I run through possible conversation topics in my head, having no idea what to start with. It doesn’t feel right to ask him about his day—then we’d be talking about school and work, and I don’t really think that’s what he meant by compartmentalizing. Finally, he puts me out of my misery by suggesting I turn the radio on.
“What kind of music do you like?” I ask him.
“I’ll listen to just about anything,” he says. “Except that pop shit.” I laugh and he looks over. “Let me guess—Miley Cyrus is your idol.”
I snort. “Hardly. Emma is another story.”
“Ah, so you have to put up with her bad taste.”
“Exactly. I would much rather be listening to Jason Mraz or Ingrid Mickelson. I need to be able to think when I have music on.”
He scrunches up his forehead, the expression unexpectedly boyish and adorable on him. “I’m not familiar with them.”
He has satellite radio so I find the coffee house station and familiar, chill guitar strumming fills the car.
“So you don’t like pop or folksy rock,” I say. “What do you listen to?”
He shrugs. “I guess I mostly listen to alternative rock. Stuff from the 90’s.”
“Your glory days?”
He snorts. “Exactly.”
“You’re just like Mason. He’s always listening to Pearl Jam and the Foo Fighters.”
No sooner have the words left my mouth do I regret them. Just what I want to do—remind him of my brother. His friend.One of the many reasons he didn’t want to be in this relationship with me in the first place.
But to my surprise, Nate just smiles. “We saw Pearl Jam in concert together,” he says, smiling at the memory. “Sophomore year of college, I think.”
Since he seems to be in a good mood, I decide to tease him a little. “God, you’re old.”
Hetsksunder his breath, placing a heavy hand on my bare thigh. “Pretty brave for a girl heading to a building filled with restraints and paddles.” I can’t help but giggle and he smiles at the sound. “Speaking of which…we’re here.”
Nate has skipped the parking lot in favor of the valet out front and I look up at the now-familiar brick building, my nerves returning. He makes small circles on my thigh with his thumb. “Nothing to worry about,” he reminds me. “We’re going to have fun.”
