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“Hello to you too,” he said cheerfully. He opened the door wider, inviting her in, and she entered. His room was all man, clean lines and comfortable leather and touches of old-world wood on the furniture. There was a pool table in the middle of the living room—because of course there was—and the kitchen had two shelves full of what looked like very expensive booze. She took it all in, smiling a little at this private glimpse into Eric’s life, and then frowned sharply. It probably wasn’t so private at all. How many women had stood where she was? How many women had he invited over for a drink, how many bras had hung over the back of that couch? She’d caught herself thinking that the other day in the lab, their kiss, had been special, but she needed to remember that it was just business for the both of them. She wasn’t anything like his other conquests. She wore sensible cotton panties and sometimes her bras didn’t even match them, and they’d certainly never been slung over the back of a man’s couch. He was here to teach her, that was all. She needed to remember that lest she read too much into his lessons.
But at least her bra and panties matched today. Inspired by the way he’d made her feel in the lab, she’d gone on a special shopping trip to one of those embarrassing, sexy stores, and had found it much less embarrassing and more empowering than she’d ever thought it could be. Beneath her no-nonsense charcoal pencil shirt and blouse, she was wearing a silky black thong and a lacy bra that barely covered the important bits. It made her feel like she had a secret, and she wanted nothing more than to share it with Eric.
Eric. Who was staring at her in amusement by this point, one eyebrow raised as she looked around his home without speaking.
She cleared her throat, casting her mind back to why she’d come here. Rugby. She needed to learn about rugby. Well, and show him her latest research results too, but that suddenly felt much less relevant. “I was talking with a man at the gate, and I feel like my small talk skills have improved, but he got onto the topic of rugby and I barely even know what that is, much less how to talk about it,” she explained.
His eyes lit up. “Really? You really want me to teach you about sports?” He looked like a little boy eager to show off something he loved, and she couldn’t help but smile back. She didn’t think she’d smiled as much in her entire life as she had these last few weeks with Eric.
“Yes,” she affirmed.
Half an hour later, Eric was in front of her, both of them crouched forward with their heads touching. “Then they throw the ball into the tunnel in the middle of the scrum,” Eric was saying animatedly, motioning at the space on the floor between them, “and then it engages, and everyone tries to compete for the ball, tries to hook it backwards with their feet.”
“That sounds violent,” she commented.
“Oh yeah, it gets really physical.” He splayed his hands out. “I’ve broken every single finger at least once, back when I was playing seriously. Now I just play in a league with some friends, so it’s not as rough. Unless I owe one of them money or stole someone’s date.”
She narrowed her eyes against a stab of jealousy she shouldn’t be feeling. “So what usually happens then, during the scrum? Do both teams have an equal shot at getting the ball?” she asked, trying to stay focused.
“Depends on whether you’re playing union or league,” he answered, motioning animatedly. His eyes were so bright—she could watch him talk all day when he was excited like this. She had to admit, though, that by this point she wanted to do quite a lot more than talk. She squirmed a little at his nearness—he smelled so good up close, and it kept reminding her of all the amazing things that had happened at the lab the last time she’d smelled that peppermint and musk—as he continued. “In league, the forwards usually don’t push, and most of the time the ball is fed directly under the legs of their own front row so the team with the put-in keeps the ball basically every time. But in union, both sets of forwards try to push each other back to get the ball.” He demonstrated, shoving gently with the shoulder that was locked against hers. She hadn’t balanced her weight properly and toppled over sideways into the pool table. He laughed, caught off-balance himself by how easily she’d fallen, and ended up pressed against her.
She went still. His body, the way it was so firm and hard against hers, the way it fit just right as he leaned over her…this was exactly where she’d wanted to be since the second she’d walked into the room. The pressure of it was delicious. Before she could think about it, she lifted one of her legs and moved it over just slightly, so that both his knees were between hers. His eyes went dark and smoldering and he leaned down, his nose nearly touching hers, his lips barely a breath away.
“When the players get knocked down,” he murmured, “it’s best to check for injuries.”
Her breath quickened as he raised one hand, lightly brushing a thumb over her lips. They parted under his touch. His other hand ran down her side, to her breast, to the spot that had ached for him ever since that night in the lab. This time, though, he undid a button. She bit her lip against a noise as he slipped his hand inside her shirt and found her lacy new bra. He made a noise of approval, running his fingertips across it in delightful torture, then tugged it down and freed her breast. His hands were on her, skin to skin, caressing, teasing, amazing. She arched into him and he undid two more buttons, tugging her shirt to the side, baring half her chest to him. His gaze was smoky as he admired her, and it made her feel like the most beautiful woman in existence.
Then he lowered his mouth to her nipple. She tipped her head back, mouth open in a gasp.
“Good?” Eric murmured, pulling away a moment to blow a cool breath over her pebbled nipple.
“Very good,” she managed, her breath starting to come in pants.
He kissed her breast again, teased it lightly with his lips and tongue, then made his way up to her neck. One of his hands slipped across her waist, to the hem of her tight-fitting skirt. He lifted her knee, shifting her slightly so that she was partially sitting on the edge of the pool table, and slid a thumb under her hem. She couldn’t help a whimper as his fingertips swept across her knee and then ventured upward. Instinctively, she tried to spread her legs wider, but the tight skirt stopped her. Eric, sensing her need, hooked his hand under the skirt and tugged it up. She overbalanced at the motion and fell backwards and he went with her, his weight bearing her down to the pool table’s surface. The pressure of him was delicious—and then his fingers found her thong, and he touched her right there at the center of her need, and she was feeling a completely new kind of pressure.
“There,” she whispered, squirming against him. “Oh, right there.”
He touched her lightly through the thong, stroking up and down, teasing her a moment through the silky fabric before he pushed it aside. Then those strong, gentle fingers were on her, and she’d never felt anything so amazing. Her head dropped onto the table with a thump she barely noticed as she reveled in the feel of him.
“Have you ever touched yourself?” Eric asked, his voice low with wanting. He found her clit and rubbed it between his fingers, and her heart galloped, her hips helplessly pushing forward.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s…it’s good for…stress relief.” She could barely think straight.
A laugh rumbled deep in his throat. “Ever the efficient scientist,” he said, and kissed her.
“It’s never been like this though,” she gasped when they came up for air. His fingers were increasing their pressure, rolling, caressing, building her up to a pleasure she’d never thought possible.
“Good,” he said, a possessive note in his voice. He moved his other hand down and, without easing the delicious rhythm on her clit, slipped a finger inside her.
She moaned loudly and bucked against him as he pushed it deeper. “Yes,” she said, squirming hard. “More. I need more, Eric, please, more.”
With his knee, he nudged her legs a little wider and slipped another finger into her. The pressure built, spiraling toward her center, and she threw her head back and arched against the table. The pools balls rattled in their triangle at the far end of the table. “Yes,” she gasped. “Oh—yes—right there—don’t…don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promised, and increased his tempo just a little, just enough to…to…
She clenched and bucked, losing herself, heat arrowing to her core as her muscles tightened hard around his fingers. She made a helpless noise, arching into him as he buried his fingers deep in her, so deep, and it felt so impossibly good. She wanted more of him. All of him. She wanted this, again and again, forever.
A knock sounded at the door. “Eric?” called a male voice. “You’re late! We’re headed out to play, you coming?”
