Two Week Seduction (12 page)

“Oh God,” she murmured.

“Alea?”

“Hmm?”

“Does your neighbor go to church?”

“What? Oh…um…yeah.”

“Then we have at least five more minutes. Longer if she parks across the lot.” He could do a lot in five minutes. He punctuated his thrust with a nip on her ear.

“She walks. Oh God, do that again.”

He did. And he did a lot more. He held her up, he found the rhythm that made her gasp, and he listened for footsteps on the stairs.

And all the while, he watched her as her skin flushed, her eyes rolled back, and her mouth made a beautiful, wet O.

She didn’t say more, and he would do nothing to interrupt the sight of her like that. He kept up the tempo, trying to focus on the citrusy scent of her skin, her fluttering dark lashes, anything but the throbbing heat in his pants. This was about her. This was for her.

And this was for him as he watched the most beautiful woman in the world orgasm while he held her up.

She didn’t cry out. Part of him wanted her screaming his name, but what she did was even better. Her eyes flew wide, her body arched, and she made a high cry. Soft. Pure. Like a bell pealing somewhere he couldn’t quite hear.

But she could. She heard every beautiful note and he got to watch as the tones flew through her body. Pleasure cascading through her because of him. Nothing in his whole life had ever made him happier and he hadn’t even gotten off himself.

The idea staggered him. He always made sure other women enjoyed their time with him, but his focus had always been on his main event.

Not this time. Not with her.

And that realization shook him to his core. For the first time in his life, he had completely given himself over to another person’s pleasure. To her joy. To her laughter. To her…everything.

Hell.

The idea had him reeling. Before he could gather himself, she took a long shuddering breath. She came back to herself with a vague, distant smile that seemed to light her from within.

“Alea,” he rasped, wondering how he was going to get out of here before he got in any deeper. Like Friday night, when she’d stood up to him and taken control. He needed to get her inside and get himself somewhere else. He needed to think.

“Hey soldier,” she said, her eyes twinkling. And then that shock of red hair slipped down over her left eye. That flash of red was like a leash on him. One peek and he surrendered.

“Hey,” he said. It was all he could manage.

“Five minutes, right?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Good. Cause it’s my turn now.” She shifted her legs and he eased her down. He did it as gently as he could with nerveless fingers. And while he was still making sure she could support her own weight, he felt the button on his jeans pop and his zipper slide down as much from the pressure on it as from her dexterous fingers.

“Wait!” he gasped. But she didn’t give him any time as she sank right down in front of him. A moment later, his hands hit the doorframe as she pulled him out into the air. “You don’t need—”

“Shhh, baby,” she said. Then he felt her tongue. Wet and warm and swirling around him.

Oh fuck. Oh Jesus. That felt good.

He bucked in her hand. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to ease away. He told himself to stop her. But his head bowed forward as his ass tightened. He thrust himself into her hand. And then…

“God in Heaven,” he groaned.

She sucked him right in.

Enveloped in her moist heat. Teased by her tongue. And gripped at the base.

He thrust. Harder this time.

No time. Too exposed.

She took him deep.

He grunted. That had to be him making that guttural sound of hunger.

He thrust again. Hard. Faster. He couldn’t stop.

Then she found his ball sac and squeezed.

He exploded.

His vision went dark and he released.

He let go of everything and gave it all to her.

And she took it all.

So good.

And when it was done, he realized he’d sunk to his knees at her feet.

So fucking good.

And he was lost.

Chapter Twelve

He was a dick.

A first-class asshole.

After the most amazing sex in or out of a hallway, he’d cut and run. Sure he’d made excuses. Said he had to get back to painting his mother’s house, which was true, but that didn’t mean anything.

He wanted to see her again. Damn it, he did. But one more day with her might pull him in so deep he’d never get out. He was too weak around her. If he showed up at her place to explain, they’d end up in bed instead of talking about ending it now. When it was less painful.

She’d insist they should enjoy each other while they could, ignoring that it would only get more difficult to say good-bye the longer they spent together. And he couldn’t afford to lose control again.

He was a shit.

Fortunately, he’d gotten her into her apartment first. And while he was babbling out his lame excuse, he’d seen her desk. Specifically, the stack of law school envelopes—big, fat acceptance packages—right next to her computer. Sam had already mentioned that she was applying and now he saw that it was true. That she was leaving for law school in the fall. Which meant the stupid, fucking idiotic thing he was about to do was okay.

He was re-enlisting.

He dropped the forms into the mailbox and popped the red flag. Then he slammed the thing shut and listened to the metal clang. He kept waiting for the surge of relief. He should feel satisfaction that he had a place to be, an important job to do, and an income that would further support his mother. He thought again of Alea’s stack of law school acceptances. She was going away. He would be in Afghanistan. All neat and tidy.

He walked back to the paint cans and grabbed a brush. Five minutes later he settled into the steady rhythm of the work. His body relaxed. His mind eased off. And in the steady pace of painting, he came to accept one undeniable fact.

He was a total dick.

…

Five days and no call.

Alea stared at her phone and wondered if she was overreacting. John was a guy after all. He was painting his mother’s house, fixing up her car, and doing any of the zillions of things the woman had neglected while he was deployed. He was a good son. Guys didn’t check in like girls did. And maybe he thought she was too clingy with the number of times she’d texted or called him.

She’d started out simple. First night she’d sent him a text in the evening to say,
I’m thinking of you.
She hoped he’d call and they’d talk on the phone. Nope. Not a peep.

The next day she’d called and left a message. She wondered if she could see him tonight for dinner. Answer:
With mom. Still painting.

Day three she began to think that maybe he couldn’t afford to go out to eat. So she texted an offer to make him lasagna for dinner. Gave him a time to show up at her apartment. Answer:
Sorry. Can’t tonight.

In frustration, she’d texted him:
Are you dumping me? Because that’s what it feels like.

Answer:
Busy with mom right now. Sorry. Will call later. Promise.

Okay, so she’d felt like shit and texted back.
No problem. Is your mom okay?

Answer:
Full out campaign to make me stay home. I have to spend time here.

She was a jerk. She was trying to take a son away from his mother. But…
I could come there.

Answer:
Nah. She needs alone time with me.
Sorry.

So that was it. She wasn’t stupid. She taught high school boys, after all. This was a classic case of a man running for the hills. Maybe. Unless he really was trying to spend time with his mother. She decided to give it another day.

That was today. Classes had just ended and there was no communication from him. Damn damn damn. She had to face it. John was just a come-and-go kind of guy. She really ought to let him go then. High school crush over. She was an adult now. One who was determined to use her brain, not her heart. Let him go.

She managed to hold onto that resolve for four minutes. Then she grabbed her phone and texted.
I’ve got two tutoring sessions, then I’m done here. I’m coming to your house and we’re going to talk.

Short. Simple. A clear threat that he had to react to, right?

Right?

Nothing.

She was still cursing when her first student walked in.

…

John stared at his phone and cursed. Called out by teacher. He never thought of himself as a coward before, but Alea had a way of making him rethink everything.

She hadn’t given up. He’d avoided her these last days, hoping that for her it was just a fling. That after a few days, she’d get tired of him and move on.

He should have known that she didn’t scare so easily. Which meant he had to man up. He had to tell her the brutal honest truth which was… What exactly? That he’d spent the last five days aching for her? That he’d had to work himself to the bone fixing up his mother’s house just so he could lie in bed and jerk off to memories of her? That he’d had to surround himself with his mother and sisters—Jesus, his sisters!—just to avoid asking her to take him back.

No. He was somehow going to make her understand they’d never work. He’d re-upped into the Air Force, she was going to law school in the fall. And that as fun as their time had been, it didn’t do either of them any good to prolong the agony. He wasn’t the kind of person who sat around enjoying a fling that he knew was going to end. And truthfully, neither was she.

So best if they end it now.

He grabbed the two platters that had been delivered just this morning. Might as well give them to her at the same time. Then he rehearsed his speech all the way over to the school. He was still steeling himself to talk to her when he made it to her hallway. He heard the kid when he stepped out of the stairwell. Same kid, same angry, near violent tone in his voice. Christ, didn’t she have any other students?

He made it to her door in seconds, but didn’t push in. First things first. He set down the platters and listened.
Bang!
He flinched and nearly threw himself in the room. But it wasn’t a gunshot that he’d heard. It was the slam of a book hitting a desk. And then Alea’s voice, calm and reassuring. Barely heard over the pounding of his heart.

She didn’t seem alarmed. He peered into the room. He saw the kid, red-faced with fury. One hand in a fist, the other shoved deep into his backpack.

Holy crap, the kid had a weapon and Alea was standing too close. She was going to get a knife through the throat.

“You know, John was right,” Alea was saying. “You do have the strength for wrestling, if that slam was anything to judge by. I’m surprised the desk didn’t break.”

The kid jolted slightly, his gaze going to the geometry book on the student desk. Meanwhile, Alea kept talking.

“But you still have to get through geometry.”

“I can’t—”

“Wah wah. I can’t. I won’t.” She was mocking his denials. “I’m right here, Charlie, to help you. But you’ve got to sit down, stop slamming things around, and actually focus. I’ve seen you do it before.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“That’s me. Miss Bitch Geometry Teacher. You can thank me when you graduate.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up her hand.

“You can’t enlist unless you graduate, remember? And you can’t graduate until you pass geometry. So sayeth the law.”

The kid grumbled something unintelligible, but he pulled out a pencil from his backpack and sat down with a truly evil look at Alea. It was filled with resentment and if he’d seen it on someone on base, he’d have sent out an alert. But this was a kid, and apparently Alea was completely unaffected by such glares while she set a paper down in front of him.

“Take your time on the test. I don’t have anywhere to go. Unless, of course, you keep glaring at me like that. Then I’m going to pull out my girly potpourri and make sure you’re covered in lavender scent. Won’t that be fun on your walk home?”

“Don’t wave that shit at me.”

“Then stop wasting time. Glare at your test instead.” She walked over to the door and pushed it all the way open. “Come on in, John. Thanks for not interrupting.” He knew she meant thanks for trusting her to handle the situation instead of barging in like before.

“No problem,” he murmured as he picked the box off the floor. Then he stepped into her room, alert for problems from the kid. All quiet ’cause Charlie was indeed glaring down at his test. “I deal daily with thieves and murderers. You’ve got the scarier job.”

“Teaching ain’t for sissies,” she laughed. Then she guided him to the side of the room, far enough away from Charlie so they could talk without disturbing him much. “What’s that?” she asked as she gestured to the boxed-up platters in his hand.

“Oh. Replacements. For the ones I broke.”

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” She smiled at him and for a moment, he was lost in the beauty of her happiness. She seemed thrilled he was here.

“I…uh…” Damn, he’d rehearsed his speech, but now he couldn’t think of a single word. Meanwhile, she frowned at the kid.

Speaking louder, she touched John’s arm. “Let’s sit down here,
parallel
to Charlie.”

He nodded at her emphasis on the word. “Problem?” he asked.

“Charlie doesn’t have a problem with math,” she said in a low tone. “It’s a reading problem.”

His eyes widened. “And geometry is all word problems.”

“Yup.”

John glanced over at the kid who was now busy scribbling away. So he hadn’t been able to read the word “parallel” until she’d said it. Alea had not only helped him, but she’d done it in a way that didn’t hurt the boy’s pride. “Huh,” he said softly. “You’re really good at this.”

She frowned at him. “You sound just like my family. They’re always surprised that I’m a good teacher.”

He focused back on her. “That can’t be true. They’re proud of you.”

She shrugged. “Of course they are. Because teaching is a good resume builder for bigger things.” He figured she meant law school, but her expression was sour.