“I don’t believe you.”

His breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

His fingers squeezed mine, his hand sliding into place until our palms connected and we were joined wrist to fingertip.

I struggled to form the words, so focused on how good it felt to hold his hand.

“You aren’t the kind of guy who just does something. Why me?”

He sighed as though the words pained him. “All that calm—the polite smiles, the pearls, the elegant voice—it’s just there for show. It’s not you. This is you.”

I wasn’t sure about that. I was afraid that was all there was with me. That I was the beige girl who was destined to stand in the background and look pretty, but not too pretty. Be smart, but not too smart. I was worried that Campaign Blair with her stupid handshakes and polite laughter was all there was.

I liked this girl better, even as she scared the shit out of me. She wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted—who she wanted.

Thom and I had started dating when we were fifteen. He’d been my first kiss, my only kiss. The first and only guy I’d ever had sex with. The worst part of it was that now that I knew he was gay, none of it felt real. I didn’t know how long he’d known that he liked guys, but the moment I’d seen him with someone else on our wedding day, everything we’d been to each other had died. And now every memory I had of us kissing or in bed was clouded with doubt and fear that there had always been someone else in his head, someone else he’d wanted when he pretended to want me.

I was filler. And all I wanted was for someone to act like I mattered, for someone to want me. Not because my father was the head of the Senate Intelligence Committee, or because my mother had been a Vanderwaal, or because I came from money, or had my picture taken in some stupid society page.

I wanted someone to want me. And I didn’t want to be beige anymore.

I closed my eyes, wondering if I was losing my mind, if this was the stupidest thing I’d ever done. Possibly. I didn’t care.

My voice shook as I spoke the words, but I said them anyway, forcing myself to take a chance.

“Can we pretend that I’m not your student? For a minute, while we’re in this car, can we just pretend? When we step out you can go back to calling on me in class every fucking week and I’ll go back to glaring at you. I don’t want special treatment. I don’t want anything but this.”

My eyes fluttered open and I stared into Gray’s eyes, losing myself in the desire I saw there. No matter what, I knew—

He wanted me.

His voice turned husky and rough, his body tense.

“What do you want? You have to tell me. If I’m going to cross this line with you, then I need to know. I need to hear you say it.”

He looked at me like I’d pushed him past the brink of sanity, to somewhere dark and dangerous. It should have terrified me, and yet it pulled me somewhere I’d never been before.

“I’ve kissed one guy in my entire life before you. And now that I know I was just a placeholder for who he really wanted, it doesn’t feel real. And after our kiss . . .” I held his gaze, the desire staring back at me giving me the confidence I needed. “Kiss me. I want to feel what it’s like to be kissed by a man who wants me,” I whispered. “Please.”

Chapter Nine

Rumor has it Blair Reynolds has moved on. Just who is her mystery man?

—Capital Confessions blog

Gray

Fuck.

A better man would have said no. I should have said no.

I kissed her instead.

The second she said the word, please, I gave her what she wanted and I’d craved since I’d first experienced the nirvana of her mouth on mine.

If I was going to hell for this one, then I was sure as fuck going to enjoy the ride.

I moved closer, our bodies just inches apart, hers throwing off heat like a fucking furnace. I allowed my gaze to drift from her pretty brown eyes, down her elegant neck, to the vee of her cream-colored sweater, her tits the perfect handful. For a moment I imagined the weight of them, fantasized about rubbing my thumbs over her nipples, rolling them between my fingers, watching them stiffen from my hands and mouth.

Her nipples were visible through her thin sweater, two tight points begging to be touched. I groaned at the sight, the tenuous thread of self-control I’d clung to, shredded.

This was what I had wanted all along, the image that had kept me company on the nights when all I’d had was my hand and a desire that couldn’t be quenched. This was the fire she’d started the first moment she’d kissed me.

I kissed her, or maybe she kissed me; I didn’t even know anymore. We both moved, and our lips collided, and the taste of Blair exploded in my mouth. Somehow I reined in the desire to consume and replaced it with the need to be the best she’d ever had. As hard as it was to resist the urge to rush, her words hit me hard.

I want to feel what it’s like to be kissed by a man who wants me.

This wasn’t about me; it was all for her. So I gave her weeks of want and need with my lips and my tongue.

And then she kissed me back with everything she had, and fuck, slow went out the window.

Blair

Any nerves I might have felt disappeared as soon as his mouth touched mine.

His lips were firm, commanding me to open, luring me in with a stroke of his tongue, with the pressure of his teeth grazing my flesh.

More.

The first time we’d kissed, I’d caught him off guard. This time he was definitely prepared.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him forward, my mouth opening wider, my hands fisting in his hair, reaching for the connection I craved.

His hands stroked my back, holding me tight. I wanted him to slip beneath the fabric. Wanted more than just a kiss. He was quicksand, pulling me in deeper until I couldn’t move.

His hands were on my breasts, stroking my nipples through my sheer sweater. I arched my back, pressing myself into his palm, my skin burning up, wanting him to take my top off and put his mouth on me.

Fuck.

We had to stop. I didn’t want to stop. But we were in his car, in a middle school parking lot, making out like a couple of teenagers. And yeah, the windows were tinted, but still.

Somehow I managed to wrench my lips off of his as I slid back into my seat, away from his hands and his mouth.

A minute passed, and still the time did nothing to clear my head or give me any idea of where this was headed or where I wanted it to go.

Gray glanced down at his watch and winced. “We’re fifteen minutes late.”

I looked away, staring out the window, wondering what happened next.

“Blair.”

His voice groaned over my name, as if it hurt to speak it. That one word contained so much—regret, want, need.

“I’m sorry I did that,” I whispered, my voice cracking. I felt like crying, and I wasn’t sure if it was because we’d kissed, or because we’d stopped, or because he’d given me a glimpse of something I couldn’t have. I wasn’t even sure what I was sorry about.

“Don’t apologize. If anything, it’s my fault.”

I turned and stared at him, incredulous. He looked down at his hands, his jaw clenched.

“I’m pretty sure I was the one who asked you to kiss me,” I corrected. Begged him to kiss me. Practically jumped him.

He grimaced. “I’m your professor. I’m older. I know better. I’m a fucking mess, and believe me, you don’t need my shit.”

He was right. Those were all thoughts that had run through my mind at one point or another. But as soon as he said it, something inside me rebelled. My entire life people had told me how to dress, how to act, tried to tell me how I should feel. Not him. Not after that kiss.

“For starters, you’re a whole seven years older than me. And yes, you clearly have been through some things in your life, but who hasn’t. And it’s not like we’re getting married. I’m not asking you to love me forever, not asking you to be my boyfriend,” I replied, my tone dry. “It was a kiss. Okay, two kisses.” I swore I could still feel the imprint of his mouth on my lips. “You’re not going to make this something tawdry and cheap by pretending you’re some lecherous professor preying on a young, virginal student. I may have been having bad sex, but I’m far from a virgin.”