19. Miller

You know how they say some people can’t stop winning? Yeah? Well, that’s my life right now. I can’t stop winning. Cannot. Literally couldn’t lose if I tried to. I have Ryan right where I want him. I mean, technically, I have him almost where I want him, but it’s still such a dramatic improvement from how things used to be that I can’t find it in myself to complain.

He’s let me fuck him three more times since the first time. Every few days, roughly twice a week, he sighs and looks at the ceiling and says, “Fine,” as if it pains him greatly to give in. As if he’s doing it purely for the money, purely for me.

He keeps his eyes hard and guarded. Narrowing them when he talks to me. He squirms when I touch him, batting my hands away and hissing at me in that sexy, complicated Ryan way, but the second I have him naked, he loses his goddamn mind.

I’ve never been with anyone who loses it like he does. The solid wall he’s built around himself comes crashing down when we touch. Falling to pieces brick by brick. Turning to dust. Leaving him so naked, it feels almost wrong to call what we do sex. It’s so different from anything I’ve done with anyone else that it feels like it should have a different name. Like it should be in a category all on its own. A category just for us.

Just for him and for me.

I look up and quickly step back into the shadow of the economics building. I check my watch and smile. He’s right on time. I could set my watch by him. His shoulders are slightly hunched, and he glances around furtively, craning his head from side to side to see if he’s being followed. He’s so fucking sexy and sweet when he isn’t being mean. He’s brilliant but has no clue how to lose a tail.

He’s wearing his chucks and a new pair of jeans today. The denim is dark, faded in all the right places. It clings to his hips and ass in a way that makes my breath catch in my throat.

I watch as he heads into the library, his army-green messenger bag bumping on his left hip as he takes the stairs two at a time. I give him a few minutes to find a seat and settle in. I like to do that for him. I like giving him some time to unwind and relax before I surprise him.

I find him in one of his usual haunts: third floor, engineering section. He blinks hard when he sees me, grimacing and keeping his eyes closed for several seconds as if that will make me disappear. He huffs loudly when he opens them again and sees me sitting opposite him.

“What are you doing, Miller?”

“I’m studying,” I say innocently. “Finals start next week, Ryan. It’s go-time.”

“You never study.”

“You’ve never known me during finals. I could study.” I don’t. Not really. I pay people to do my assignments for me and keep my coursework average so high I can scrape through my finals and still be all right, but that’s neither here nor there.

He drops his head into one hand and uses his thumb and pointer finger to follow the line of his eyebrows roughly. He knows there’s no way he’s getting rid of me. He just needs a second to get used to the idea. “Fine, you can stay, but no talking.”

I take a textbook, a notepad, and a pen out of my bag. My stalking skills are now what I’d call better than intermediate. I’ve really got the hang of knowing what props I need for each outing.

He reads for a while, and I let him. I use the time to watch him. The table between us is narrow, and he’s a lot closer to me than he likes being when we’re not fucking. The sinews of his neck are slightly tensed, and I can see the clear beat of his pulse just below his jawline.

I wedge one of my feet between his, and he kicks it away roughly. He presses his lips together firmly and manages to get the smile that’s threatening under control.

I spend the next few minutes doing a little sketch for him. A little black-and-white drawing of a boner and balls, complete with unruly ball hair. When I’m happy with it, I rub my foot along his calf to get his attention. He glares at me. I’m getting on his last nerve, and even though that’s not exactly the nerve I want to get on, it still makes me happy.

I hold the dick pic up, and when he looks at it, I point emphatically to his lap and then to my mouth. When he doesn’t immediately react, I hold the picture near my open mouth and press my tongue repeatedly against the opposite cheek, making it bulge out. His head whips back in disdain, and he says, “Stop it!”

I probably would stop if it wasn’t for the fact his pupils have dilated notably, and his lips are quivering from the effort not to smile.

Kidding. We all know I wouldn’t.

“I thought you said no talking in the library?” I whisper, scandalized.

“Miller!”

“Ryan.” He loses the smile battle, biting down hard on his bottom lip, all but sucking it into his mouth to hide it. He likes it when I say his name. He likes it, and he can’t hide it no matter how hard he tries. “Mouth, hands, ass,” I whisper. “All yours.” He opens and shuts his mouth and sucks a stuttered breath in. “Yours. No charge.”

He’s still for a while, and then he nods. Barely, I can tell he absolutely hates himself for it, but his head moves up and down microscopically. It’s enough. I’m on my feet before he is, and I have him backed against a bookshelf before he’s taken another breath. My hand is on his dick, groping and squeezing, making him gasp in shock. He’s rock-hard. Solid steel in brand-new denim. Denim I paid for. Denim he bought with money he earned with his ass.

He thrashes against me, his dick thrusting into my hand and arms pushing me away and pulling me closer at the same time. “Not here.” His eyes flash wildly. “Someone could see us.”

“Yeah, nah, don’t think anyone but you ever comes to this part of the library, bud.”

I don’t think he hears me. He’s already on the move. He leaves his books and bag where they are and starts walking. My heart beats like a drum as I follow him. A restroom sign shows us the way. He pushes the door open, and I go into the closest stall, hardly bothering to check that the other stalls are empty. He locks the door behind us, deadbolt scraping, and my knees have barely made contact with the tile beneath them by the time he has his dick out. I lick my lips and take him without hesitation, sucking his blunt head into my mouth and quickly bobbing on his length. He reaches up and hooks his hands over the top of the partition walls to the left and right of us. He looks almost helpless like that. Arms up. Stance open. His body concave as he curves his spine to get his dick closer to me. I drag his jeans down to his ankles so I can see more of his skin. I wrap my arms around his legs, his waist, and his ass, kneading my fingers into the soft warmth of his flesh. He groans softly each time I sink down on him, filling my mouth, pushing my tongue down as his fat head nudges the back of my throat. I love it. I love it. Can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of him.

His dick starts to throb in my mouth, and I feel the tension in his body mount. To slow down and make it last, I pull back and stroke him lightly with my hand.

“I’m going to fuck you later,” I promise, looking at his dick and then his face. “I am. You’ll see. I’m going to fuck you, Ry. And you know what you’re going to do?” I don’t give time to answer. “You’re going to let me. And you’re going to love it.” My hand glides up him, dragging excess skin with it. I speak slowly, quieter than before, “I’m going to love it too. Now that I know what it feels like inside you, I can’t think of anything else.” My hand moves down him, a velvet glove sliding over sinew and veins. “I want you. I want you all the time. Every minute. Every second.” My voice is hoarse and desperate. I don’t make any attempt to hide it. I can’t. “Mm, the things I’m going to do to you, baby…”

“What?” he whispers so quietly I almost don’t hear him. “What are you going to do to me?”

The question is so sweet and vulnerable, and so fucking hot, it almost stops my heart.

“I’m going to fuck you. First, I’m going to pay you, then I’m going to strip you. I’m going to make you ride me. I’m going to lie on your bed and watch you take my dick. I don’t care if I come or not. I just want to lie back and watch you. Want to see you move. Want to see you full. Want to see you come apart all over my chest. Want to taste it. Taste you. Want to…”

His dick swells and pulses in my hand. His whole body freezes for a second and he grits his teeth hard, eyes screwing shut as he bucks helplessly into my fist. I don’t hesitate. I open my mouth and catch his load as it splashes onto my tongue. I drink it, relishing the briny taste, licking my lips and fingers when I’ve swallowed what’s in my mouth.

He’s on his bed, leaning against the wall, legs crossed. His laptop is balanced on his lap. He levitates briefly when he sees me and then slams the laptop shut. A rich, dark heat spreads from his neck all the way up to his face.

I find myself intrigued.

“What are you doing?” He colors deeper, and Jesus, I love it. “Wait, are you watching porn?” I can’t contain my delight, so I don’t even try.

He flicks through several emotions at once. Embarrassment, annoyance, and something else. Something that looks suspiciously like humor. He glares at me in defiance for two long seconds and says, “It’s called research, Susan.”

I laugh so hard I double over and have to support myself with a hand on his bed.

Ryan Haraway just made a joke. An honest-to-God, actual joke. One he meant to make.

One he made just for me.

I drop my bag and crawl onto the bed beside him. Before he has time to tell me not to, I wrestle the laptop from him and open the screen.

“Show me.”

I take his hand in mine, scraping the pad of his thumb against my bottom teeth to divert his attention, and then touch the tip of his forefinger onto the print reader. The lock screen disappears and is quickly replaced by the results of his investigation. At a glance, it’s clear his research has been extensive.

He squirms in discomfort beside me, so I settle him by pressing a soft kiss onto his temple. It works. It distracts him so much that he forgets about how much he hates that I currently have his porn in my hands.

“Power bottom riding, huh?” I tease, reading the words in his search bar aloud.

He shoots me a warning look, but to my surprise, the hard fa?ade around him chips. His lips quiver and he dips his head to the side, looking up at me through his lashes when I sling my arm around his shoulders.

I scroll for a bit and click on the most ridiculous clips I can find. Amateurs falling off the bed mid-fuck? Yes, please. Paid performers getting into a heated argument when one of them takes too long to come? Hell yes.

Ryan sits beside me and laughs until I swear what he’s doing could pass for a giggle. And fuck me, it’s such a beautiful sound it makes me feel winded.

“Oooh, look,” I say, clicking on a link of a guy on his hands and knees with his head stuck in a washing machine. “Here’s one we can try.”

Ryan presses his lips together so hard that the laugh fighting for freedom escapes through his nose. That creases me. I lean against him and laugh harder than I remember laughing with anyone. It’s not just amusement leaking out of me. It’s connection. It’s affection. It’s a feeling of being close to someone in a way I haven’t felt before.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warns.

“Just be grateful we don’t have access to a private laundry room, or you know damn well what we’d be doing next.”

“It wouldn’t even work. It’s completely ridiculous. I mean, how the fuck do you get your head stuck in a washing machine? The opening is huge.”

I grab his head and put him in a headlock, wrestling him down onto the bed.

“Well, you see, Ryan, all you’ve got to do is…” I hit him with a couple of little jabs in the side, turning his sweet giggles into squawks of laughter. It’s a high-pitched, harsh sound. A sound that comes from the edge of the world, from the brink, from somewhere mystical and other, and travels back in time to the present. It hits me square between the eyes and paralyzes me. When I recover, I push the laptop away and roll onto my back. Ryan rolls on top of me. He’s heavy. Muscle and heft dig into me and hold me down. I struggle. For fun. To get closer to him. To feel his body against mine.

Laughter peters out, spluttering into nothing but breathy pants.

I run my hand down the side of his face, watching him as his features change. Looking at his eyes, then down at his mouth. His tongue flicks out, moistening his bottom lip and his top one too.

His lips part, and I feel mine do the same.

Even though the fuck that follows is epic. Even though he rides like a nervous newbie, he quickly turns pro, and he moans like a pro too. Even though he comes so hard he shoots come on my chest and my neck, the best thing about it isn’t being inside him. It’s not the orgasm or the way his ass clenches around me. It’s not even the way his eyes roll back and his mouth drops open in ecstasy. It’s not the way he looks at me, although, believe me, that’s a close second.

It’s the fact that when it started, when we kissed, he leaned in first.

When I’ve softened and slipped out of him, he moves to unmount me. I hold him down by the hips, just for a second.

“I already know what I want next time,” I say.

A lazy brow cocks. “Washing machine sex? Forget it, Miller. Never going to happen.”

“Nah, I don’t want washing machine sex. I want The Boyfriend Experience.”