Lessons In Losing It (Study Abroad Book 4)

by Jessica Peterson

  “No,” she says. “I’m worried about it, too. How you feel—Fred, it matters to me.”

  I give her hair a small tug. “I feel fine, love. You make me feel very fine indeed.”

  Her features relax with relief. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I promised you I’d think about the internship with your team,” she says. “In return, I want you to promise to talk to me. Tell me if things are happening too fast for you, or if we’re going too far. Okay?”

  I smile. I smile so hard it hurts.

  “You have my word,” I say.

  Rachel grins. She angles her head back ever so slightly. Just enough to invite me to kiss her.

  I lean in, tilting my head so I don’t catch her with the bill of my hat. I press my lips to hers. They’re soft, warm, wet on the inside. Familiar heat spreads up my thighs and in my stomach, settling between my legs. I’m dying for this girl.

  I’m dying to put my hands on her again.

  I recognize that now would be a good time to address my virginity situation. But I also recognize it could stunt the magic of this moment. Rachel’s already concerned we’re breaking too many of my rules too fast. If I tell her I’m a virgin, she’ll insist on slowing things down. She respects me too much to swipe my v-card on the third night we’re together.

  But I don’t want to slow things down. Especially if we have only a couple weeks left before she’s due to leave.

  I’ll tell her later, when things between us aren’t quite so new.

  In the meantime, I want to get her naked. Make her come.

  “Come home with me,” I murmur against her mouth. “We can figure out dinner—”

  “Screw dinner,” Rachel says. She looks a little dazed when she pulls back. “Let’s make out again instead.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” I say.

  I grab her hand and make a beeline for the exit.

  Chapter 10

  Rachel

  We don’t say a word on the way to Fred’s apartment.

  The air between us crackles with anticipation as we hurtle through traffic. Fred shifts gears with impatient, authoritative thrusts. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

  By the time we get there, I’m so wet I could wring out my underwear.

  I’m nervous. Excited.

  The elevator ride up to the fifth floor of his building feels like it takes a year. When we get there, we practically run down the hall to his door.

  He opens it and lets me go in first. He follows me inside.

  Fred reaches behind me to close the door, trapping me against it. Slides the deadbolt home with an audible whack.

  I fall back against the door. My bag falls to the floor. Fred faces me, taller and broader than ever. In the shadowy hall, his eyes go dark, gleaming with heat and intent.

  I’m breathing hard, all the sudden, my skin prickling with the need to be touched.

  “Fred, we should take it slow,” I say.

  “Take it slow.” He puts his hand on the door beside my head and leans into it. Leans into me. “Tell me, love, how the fuck am I supposed to do that when I’ve wanted to touch you all day?”

  Love. I freaking adore it when he calls me that.

  “I told you,” I say, swallowing. “I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

  He looks at me. My heart is pounding.

  “I could never fucking regret anything I do with you,” he says. And then he ducks his head and covers his mouth with mine. The breath leaves my lungs as I rise to meet his caress.

  Well all right then. Starting off with a bang. I like it.

  Like he did last night, Fred steps into me, nudging his leg between mine. A flare of heat shoots through me, landing between my legs. His lips move over mine, kissing me, kissing me hard and deep. I feel trapped. Surrounded.

  Adored.

  Keep kissing me, I silently beg. Please don’t ever stop kissing me like this.

  The door is hard against my back, but I don’t care. His tongue is in my mouth now, his breath in my lungs. He smells so good; that spicy sandalwood scent wafts off his skin and fills my head, making my sex pulse in agony.

  I feel his hard-on pressing against my hip. It appears I’m not the only one who’s already hot and bothered.

  I can’t help it. I am greedy with need. I want to touch him everywhere, to feel him all over me. I roll my pelvis, rubbing against him. He makes this noise in the back of his throat, something between a growl and a groan. He takes my hip in his free hand and guides me against him again, and again, and again, thrusting just the tiniest bit against me when we meet.

  The heat pulls and prickles and intensifies between my legs. I want him there, now. I want him inside me, moving, hurting, soothing.

  I bite the edge of his mouth. He moves his lips to my jaw, my throat, and my head falls back against the door, sensation spiking through me. I put my hands on his chest; my fingers fist the fabric of his jacket, pulling him to me.

  His hand drops from my face and reappears on my leg, just behind my knee. Before I know what he’s doing, he’s hiking one leg around his hip, then the other, settling himself between my legs as he spears me against the door.

  I cry out.

  He goes still. “Rachel.” He pulls back to look me in the eye. “You okay?”

  I am not okay.

  I am so not okay.

  And I have never been better. Fred is holding me, his hands on the back of my thighs, his weight pressed against me. I’ve never felt more precious or more turned on in my life.

  “So much for slow,” I breathe.

  He scoffs. “No kidding. I can’t—I don’t want to hold back, Rachel. I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  I shake my head. “No. Keep going.”

  And he does. I drape my arms around his neck and then we’re kissing again. Or really, he’s kissing me, slaughtering me with every stroke of his tongue, every tease of his lips. His hands creep up my legs to cup my ass. The last two fingers on either of his hands settles in the aching crevice between my legs.

  Yes. A million times yes.

  He hardens his grip on me and lifts me off the door. Usually I’d never trust a guy to carry me like this—I mean, how embarrassing would it be for us both if he dropped me?—but I trust Fred. He’s huge and he’s strong and his grip on me is confident. Possessive.

  I never want him to take his hands off me. Ever.

  I sink my teeth into his neck as he moves down the hall, his stride long and just the littlest bit hurried. My entire body throbs with need. I’m all sensation, all feeling and need. I’m out of my head and in my body.

  I inhale the clean scent of his skin. My body goes wild with need.

  I somehow manage to wrangle free of my jacket, dropping it on the floor.

  Fred moves down one step, then another. Carpet swishes underneath his boots.

  His hands move back to my legs, and then he tosses me gently onto a sofa. I land with a gasp on the cushy upholstery, my eyes flying open.

  “Too much?” he asks, green eyes flashing with concern.

  “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

  I glance around. We’re in his living room, where we had our Tournament of Kings marathon last night. The pillows are squished and misshapen; there’s a blanket thrown on the floor. The room actually looks like it’s been lived in. Because we did live here last night, laughing and teasing and flirting. My heart folds in half at the happiness of that memory. I love it here. I love being so unabashedly myself with him.

  “Hey,” he says. “Eyes on me.”

  I look up at him. God, that smirk of his. I knew he’d be good in bed.

  He’s a natural.

  I watch Fred as he tugs off his jacket, rolling his shoulders back, stretching his sweater against his enormous chest. He takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair, mussing his usual tidy swoop. He looks unkempt. Flushed.

  Fucking hot.as.hell.

  I’m not grinning anymo
re. The beat between my legs is starting to get painful. Needy.

  He removes his sweater, the hem of his button down popping out of his jeans as he pulls the sweater of his head.

  “Fuck, Fred, stop teasing me.”

  “You’re incredibly sexy, love. I won’t last a bloody minute if I don’t slow this down.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Of course.”

  Truth be told, I’m flattered. That Fred wants to take his time with me makes me feel…adored, I guess.

  I’ve never been adored before.

  Popping open the first few buttons at the throat of his shirt, he moves toward me. My body leaps in anticipation.

  I take the loose hem of his shirt between my first two fingers and give it a small tug. My pinkie brushes his erection, straining against his jeans. He winces. His nostrils flare.

  I swallow.

  And then he’s lowering himself onto the couch, my legs falling apart to accept the breadth of his body between them. He supports his weight on his elbows, but I still feel him on top of me, I still feel a bit breathless; I sink further into the sofa. He’s so huge but so gentle. Gentle and rough, all at once.

  Oh, God, I am done for.

  I put my hands on his waist. I love the feel of him here; he’s all muscle, solid and taut. It’s a little intimidating, having him so close. Having him all to myself. I want to remember everything about him, every muscle and movement, but I also want to close my eyes and lose myself in the frenzy of what’s to come.

  There isn’t enough time in this life to do everything I want to do with Fred.

  He ducks his head, tugging at my earlobe with his teeth. My eyes flutter shut as his mouth moves down my neck, my collarbone. He rolls his hips, pressing against my center, hard, and I moan. My hips surge upward, seeking more of that delicious pressure, that painful friction, but he’s pinning me down. Making me wait.

  “Fred,” I beg. “Fred, please.”

  He looks up at me from between my breasts. He’s starting to unbutton my top; already my nipples are so hard you can see them through the silky fabric.

  “What do you want?” he asks.

  I blink. What do I want? I don’t know why, but that question—it hits me squarely in the chest. It feels so much bigger than the simple words that make it up.

  “You,” I say.

  “You want more than that,” he says. “I see it in your eyes.”

  I look at him for a beat, then another, his eyes never leaving mine as he nudges open one button after the next, and the next. What are you looking for, I wonder?

  What am I looking for?

  Fred opens my shirt and kisses the swell of my breast. I arch against him, sensation spiking through me, and close my eyes.

  I bury my fingers in Fred’s hair. It takes him a couple seconds longer than it should, but he pops open the front clasp of my bra and the cups fall apart.

  Cold air rushes against my nipples, pulling them to painful points. Fred nicks one with his teeth, then the other, and for a hot minute I think I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Desire bolts from each caress to my core, making it throb against the seam of my jeans. He licks and he sucks and he bites down, hard, just hard enough to be both painful and sweet.

  I whimper. He growls. I buck against him, hard, wild and needy. I’m suddenly tearing at his shirt, trying to pull it over his head, and he’s reaching for the fly of my pants.

  “Here,” I say. “Sit up for a minute.”

  Fred pulls back and somehow manages to kneel at my knees. He rips his shirt over his head—I hear a tear, probably a button or two—and after I toe off my booties, I try to shimmy out of my jeans. He reaches down and helps me, dipping his fingers inside my underwear to bring those down, too, while I raise my hips.

  He drops my jeans and undies on the floor.

  Immediately the scent of my arousal blooms between us.

  I’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t for the dark, almost sinister desire that clouds Fred’s eyes as he looks down at me, his eyes roving over my body.

  I figure it’s only polite if I return the favor. He’s shirtless now, and oh God, oh God is he gorgeous. I shamelessly drink in the glorious wonder that is his body. The sculpted ridges of his shoulders move into biceps that literally bulge with muscle. And then there are those forearms I love so much; a single vein snakes down the length of his right arm. I notice the skin on that wrist is paler than the rest of him; he must tape it. I’ll have to remember to ask him about it.

  Fred’s chest is broad, the pale skin there smattered with hair a shade darker than the stuff on his head, and works its way into a subtle v that dips into the front of his pants. And his abs—let’s just say you could do laundry on those babies.

  Everything about him is ragingly, aggressively masculine. I don’t know what to touch or explore first.

  He’s still kneeling. He reaches between my legs.

  I moan when his first two fingers glide between my lips. I’m wet. Really, really wet.

  “Fuck, Rachel,” he breathes. “You’re so bloody soft.”

  I’m rolling my hips against his fingers. I reach down and cover his hand with mine.

  “Put one inside,” I say, and guide his middle finger into my vagina. He goes slowly. Carefully. But with confidence. “Perfect. That is…wow, that is perfect.”

  I use my first two fingers to work my clitoris.

  “You like it inside and outside?” he breathes.

  I nod, the heat between my legs twisting tighter. Higher.

  My back arches off the couch.

  “Hold on,” he says, and reaches for my leg with his free hand.

  He guides that leg up over his shoulder; he does the same with the other, pulling me up against him so that I’m balanced on my shoulder blades, my knees bent over his shoulders.

  Immediately the angle of his finger inside me changes. Deepens. We both watch our hands between my legs, which are falling further and further apart with each passing heartbeat.

  After intently studying my fingers, Fred bends his neck and covers them with his tongue. The feel of his tongue against my clit—it’s warm and it’s soft and it’s so incredibly arousing my legs start to shake.

  Oh fuck. Oh, holy fuck.

  My fingers fall away. He slips another finger inside me, increasing the pressure, while he sucks on my clitoris, pulls at it with his lips. I’ve never been fingered and eaten out at the same time, and it’s just as incredible as it sounds.

  I’m seeing stars. I grab at him, locking his forearm in a death grip.

  “Fred,” I pant. “I don’t know—I can’t hold myself up—”

  He curls an arm around my back. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

  I let him hold me like his, not because I want to, but because I have to. I settle my weight into his arm, the skin of his bicep warm against the skin of my back. My shirt is scrunched up around my shoulders; I have no idea where my bra went. I think it’s somewhere behind me maybe?

  I don’t care. I have to come. Soon. Now. Or I am going to die.

  I’m rolling my hips against his mouth, he’s moving his fingers in and out of me. The muscles in my low back tighten; the throb in my clit and deep inside my vagina reach a crescendo, halting on the edge of the spasm.

  The release.

  “Oh,” I breathe. I take my nipple between my fingers and squeeze it. “Oh…”

  I plunge over the edge. I cry out, the orgasm making my entire being throb in time to the pulse of my sex. The roar of my heart fills my ears; I spasm around Fred’s fingers, against his mouth, and he growls, an anguished, satisfied sound.

  Behind my closed eyelids, a universe of color explodes, a welcome distraction from the pain that wracks my body. I’ve never had an orgasm feel so good it actually hurts. It’s sharp and it’s white hot.

  It’s intense, intense enough to make me forget myself.

  It’s unfair and it’s savage and it’s so fucking good I would sell my soul to the devil in this moment if it meant I
could have orgasms like this every day for the rest of my life.

  My sex pulses, the waves hitting me again and again until at last they recede, leaving me a panting, sweaty mess.

  This is dangerous. Already I want more. I want to come again, be with Fred again, do this again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.

  Lord, am I tempted to make this a thing. An every-night-thing where I come ten times and so does he.

  “Fred,” I say, keeping my eyes closed.

  He runs his tongue up my slit one last time, like he’s finishing the last lick of an ice cream cone. “Good?”

  I scoff. “Stop being modest. You know that was better than that. To be so considerate—you put my orgasm first—and to be so freaking good at it—”

  “Blokes don’t make you come first?”

  “Not usually, no.”

  “Wankers, that lot.” He scoffs, ducking down to kiss me. I taste the tang of my arousal on his lips. It turns me on all over again.

  I reach between us and thumb the tip of his erection through his jeans. “You want me to return the favor?”

  Chapter 11

  Fred

  Sensation, hot and tight, shoots from the head of my dick to my balls as Rachel’s thumb moves over me.

  I was supposed to take it slow. But then I kissed her, and in a single instant, I got caught up in the moment. Caught up in her.

  It was over for me the second we stepped into my flat.

  Looking down at her now, naked and panting on my couch, my fingers still wet from being inside her, a possessiveness takes over me. A softness. I want to protect her. Take her. Give to her.

  I like this girl so bloody much, I want to give her everything. Including my virginity.

  I’ve always believed sex should be with someone special.

  Rachel is special.

  We’re not in love. Not yet. But deep down, I know having sex with her would be special. I know this is not just some random hook-up with a random girl. It’s more than that.

  I care more than that. And I want to show her. I want to do this.

  Maybe I’ll regret this tomorrow. Maybe I won’t.

  It just feels right. That’s all I’ve got to go on. That seems to be enough for now.