Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

“I think I’ve been doing well today.”

“Not well enough.”

“Well enough to deserve a little credit.” My brow rose with my statement, staring down McCarthy across the opposite side of his desk. A break was justified after a correct-answer-streak of seventeen, right?

“I have been giving you credit,” he pointed out, almost offended I’d suggest otherwise. “What more do you want me to do? Call you a good girl whenever your answer’s correct?”

Tempting.

It looked as though he didn’t mean to say that, given our history of… Incidents. Immediately on high alert, his attention slipped from my eyes to my lips, back up to my eyes. Twice. If I hadn’t been so focused on him, too, I might’ve missed it.

I hummed in amusement, a slight smile on my lips that could be interpreted as teasing. “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I’m sure there would be a clause in that contract of yours that forbids it.” Never mind that he’d said it before. Just last week.

“Now you’re not giving yourself enough credit, Pressley.” His eyes gleamed with something behind their dark exterior, and he shifted in his seat to lean his forearms on the desk. “Most of the rules in there were your suggestions. Including, but not limited to, the one you’re so eager to break.”

I followed his every move as he got up. The sound of his chair scraping across the wooden floors sent goose bumps down my spine for some reason, and my heartbeat picked up all on its own as he made his way onto my side of the desk. How tall he hovered over me once he leaned against it was as intimidating as it was attractive. I stood in a matter of seconds.

Rolling my shoulders back and fanning my hair out, I cleared my throat. “You didn’t have to agree to every single one of my suggestions.” I could admit when a comeback was half-assed. My voice hardly carried any of the conviction it usually did, and if I said my words weren’t just above a whisper, I’d be lying.

If I were being honest, what I said was merely what made it past my lips first. How could I waste any time thinking of a hilarious comeback when he was right there? Looking at me like that. With his eyes on mine, a teasing smile on his lips and his tongue flicking across them.

At my words, he huffed in amusement. His head tilted, dark hair swaying slightly. “I didn’t?”

His fingers brushed mine then, gaze not wavering as he interlaced them to pull me closer. I did so in a stumble, bracing myself with my hands against his chest, before they found their place behind his neck quite effortlessly. His other hand came up to my cheek, brushing whatever hair was in his way behind my ear; his touch so gentle you’d wonder if we still disliked each other at all.

“I think that’s a lie,” he whispered. “And I think you know it.”

I tried hard not to laugh, teeth digging into my bottom lip to keep from grinning widely. I shook my head, letting it hang low to get away from his gaze. Even then I felt it on me, and when my eyes opened again, teeth releasing my lip, something in it darkened.

“Careful now, McCarthy,” I sighed against him. “You might lose whatever it is that you started.” Not long ago. In this exact room. “You’re the one who wanted to play, remember? All you have to do is say the words.”

McCarthy swallowed thickly, his gaze following my finger as it absentmindedly travelled down his chest, his stomach. His eyes flicked back up to mine.

“Five minutes.” They weren’t the words I’d expected, but I could work with the way his lips landed on mine, all the gentle touches and lingering looks forgotten. Because the force with which we collided was far from delicate and sweet. It was rough, longing—far from gentle.

He turned us quickly, effortlessly; helping me get on top of his desk, and fitting perfectly between my legs when I spread them. The air filled with suppressed groans, and heavy breathing as he shook his head against mine. “ Ten minutes ,” he corrected himself; so eager, that half of it was mumbled into my skin.

His head dipped somewhere between my neck and shoulder, nibbling, sucking, kissing my skin, as if he might never get to do it again. And my head fell back in a low moan, hands pressing on the desk behind me. “Ten minutes, and we get back to what we’re here to do,” he panted before his lips were on mine again.

My restraint snapped. Any thoughts of can’t and shouldn’t and that contract neither of us seemed to care about anymore left my mind to make more room for him. And how much I wanted this.

His hands fell to my waist, one of them dipping lower, to my thigh, caressing it in light circles that were going to be the reason I’d combust. The dark tights I wore were thinner than they should’ve been in November, though right about now, I’d never been happier with my choice of outfit. Because it felt as though there was no barrier at all that separated my bare skin from his hand. The sound of approval that came from his lips directly onto mine was enough of a confirmation that he felt the same way.

It catapulted a jolt of pleasure through me. His low moans were enough to make me feel the heat pooling between my legs. Combine that with the way his hand inched up my thigh until it disappeared underneath my skirt—and I didn’t know how I was still sitting upright. It was only when he reached where I needed him most, that he hesitated, creating a little distance between our lips. He looked at me intently, questioningly.

My breath was heavy, his chest rising just as rapidly, inches from mine. And I squirmed underneath the missing friction, trying my best not to look too desperate—and failing miserably at it. His eyes flicked to the clock in the room.

“Eight minutes,” he muttered when his gaze fell on me again. One brow rose challengingly. “We can do that. Can’t we?” Instead of waiting for an answer, his finger brushed across my panties, the motion so unexpected, my already parted lips released a moan that was entirely too loud. “That’s all I needed to hear, princess.”

Somersaults were an understatement for whatever happened in my stomach. The nickname. His hand between my thighs. The prospect of what was to follow. The anticipation alone almost made me throw up—in a good way… if that made any sense at all.

His lips were on mine again a second later, his finger gently— why was he opting for that now , of all times? —sliding along my covered entrance. Down and back up once, before he put a sliver of distance between us again. His fingers were still teasing, so close to me I could feel them, despite the actual touch missing entirely.

McCarthy’s gaze darted across my face quickly, taking in every twitch of my brow, noticing every shade of red in my cheeks. “Are you sure about this?” His tone was rough against me, face still close. I’d only have to lean an inch toward him to connect our lips again. It was tempting, though instead I nodded.

“Very sure.”

His hand curled around my thigh, fingers trailing along the skin, moving up until they reached the hem of my tights. “I don’t want you to regret this,” he said in a hush. But I could tell at this point, perhaps he was trying to reason with himself more than me. And maybe he was right. Maybe it was a bad idea, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t determined to see it through now.

My head tilted. I hummed, swallowing a frustrated groan when the pad of his thumb dipped between my thighs again. I could only get out, “That entirely depends on your performance, doesn’t it?”

His low laugh was muffled by his lips crashing onto mine once more, the vibrations traveling all the way to my stomach, causing more havoc and destruction. “I guess it does,” he agreed, focus elsewhere. With his fingers hooking underneath my tights’ waistband, he groaned. “A little help?” he managed to request, and it was all I needed to hear.

Without thinking of the consequences, I fell back against his desk, hips bucked so he could slide them far enough down my legs. Books, papers, whatever other important materials had been scattered across the table didn’t matter. Not to him, not to me.

His gaze swept across my sprawled form, and he slowly slid the fabric down my ass, over my hips. Taking his sweet time with it, watching every minuscule reaction of mine, as if he needed to burn the image into his mind. As if the agony of his torturously slow movements was displayed in my every feature, and he loved seeing it. Wanted to remember. Probably wanted to make me remember, too.

I sat up as soon as I could, lips back on his. He let himself be swept up in the fluid motion of our tongues intertwining, the sound of our heavy breathing all there was. Though he quickly caught himself, determined to see whatever plan he had through. Gently, one hand between my thighs, one on my chest, he pushed me back onto his desk. I’d be an idiot not to comply, and I was looking back up at him a second later. His smile was genuine. Wicked, and sweet and appreciative. Dark, too.

He glanced toward the clock. “Close your eyes, princess.” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet demanding all the same.

Again, I’d be an idiot not to comply. McCarthy hummed in agreement of it.

And despite everything that had happened until this point, despite the fact he’d made me feel better than anyone had managed to do with just a few inappropriate touches, this was where it really started. Where he came alive and devoured me whole.

His hands disappeared under my sweater within seconds, scrunching it up with no regard for the fact it had cost a fortune. I didn’t care either, because a moment later, his finger trailed across my exposed nipple and after another, his lips puckered around it.

My eyes shot open, simply because I hadn’t expected it: not his lips around my nipple, not the loud moan that escaped me. He chuckled against my skin, one finger coming up to his mouth when he looked at me.

“Remember what I said about these walls?” he asked. “Try to keep quiet for me.”

I mouthed a sorry , let my head fall to his desk again, and my eyes closed as the next wave of pleasure rolled through me—his mouth devoting itself to my other nipple. This time, I managed to swallow the sound that crept up my throat, sighing deeply and arching my back. With his body almost entirely on top of mine, I could feel his hard length against my thigh. The thought alone was too much now, and another moan slipped from my lips—this one quieter.

It was hard to keep it that way when his finger began circling my clit over my panties. Hooking underneath them to tease just enough, then letting the hem snap back against my skin. His other hand placed itself over my mouth then, and for a second I wondered why. Though, when he finally hooked his fingers underneath the fabric, pushed it to the side and made sure it stayed put, I knew why. And when he finally touched me, I knew it had been a good idea, too.

The moan that came from my lips would’ve been unavoidable, though now it wasn’t more than a muffled whine. His finger circled my clit, the way my own did when I was by myself. His lips still teased my nipples, drawing such heavy breaths out of me, I felt I might faint. Still, I kept quiet as best as I could, and it seemed he could sense my efforts.

“Good girl,” he breathed against my exposed skin. His pace didn’t waver as he began placing sloppy kisses down my stomach. It turned in anticipation, as soon as I realized he wasn’t going to stop halfway down. Instead, he began placing kisses on my hipbone, further down until he spread my legs and buried his head between them. Kiss after kiss, closer to my core, until he hovered right in front of it. Stopping only for a moment, his breath against my exposed skin sent shivers down my spine. I had no chance to recover before his tongue provided an entirely different kind of pleasure.

This time, it was my own hand that shot over my mouth, trying my best to muffle my moans, as my back arched off the table again. He chuckled against my core at the effort, the vibrations of it continuing the string of muffled noises coming from me. For a while, the only sounds in the room were my muted moans, whimpers, and cries as his tongue varied in speed and pressure. And then, when his second hand slid down my thigh, no warning before two fingers pumped into me, I was done for.

“God,” McCarthy grunted against my clit. The sound was heavenly. “You’re so wet for me.”

I let my back arch off his desk once more, waves of pleasure continuing to drive me closer to an orgasm I hadn’t expected. My hands were playing with his hair, tugging at it whenever his fingers found thatonespot.

And after a while, they found it over , and over , and over again. “Please don’t stop,” I murmured. Pleasure was written all over my face as I lifted my head to look at him for the first time. And fuck, was it a sight to behold.

It didn’t take more than a glance of him between my thighs, his hair a mess and his eyes connecting with mine, for my chest to tighten at the same time as my core did. “Fuck,” I hissed, falling back.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” The only answer that made it past my lips was a broken moan, though he got the message. His pace stayed consistent, and I was so, so grateful he was listening to what my body was telling him. This is good. Don’t stop. Just keep going .

And he did. He did it perfectly.

My teeth bit down harshly on my lower lip as the wave of relief washed over me.

And all with a minute to spare.

No wonder McCarthy was such a frequent topic among girls in party bathrooms. Should I be impressed?

My eyes slid over to him on the opposite side of his desk, busy reading through the practice quiz he’d made me take, like he hadn’t given me the best orgasm of my life prior to it. Completely unbothered, the epitome of contentment.

When it seemed like he’d reached the bottom of the last page, my eyes shifted. No need to stroke his ego further. I tried hard to seem just as unbothered. But cool, calm and collected wouldn’t be the words I’d use to describe myself right about now.

My heart skipped a beat whenever I so much as looked at the wrong parts of him. His lips, his eyes, his fingers—everything reminded me of what he’d done to me on the very desk we were now sitting at. Less than half an hour ago, at that. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to walk into this office without thinking of McCarthy between my legs.

Life was cruel. Unfair.

As I sighed gently, my gaze drifted back to him without any conscious effort, expecting him to still be staring at the papers in his hands, granting me another opportunity for my wandering mind to remember. Instead, my eyes met his, and they widened just slightly in surprise. His lips twitched, brows rising, as if he hadn’t just been caught staring.

“What?” I asked, irritated by nothing at all, except his unshakable confidence.

McCarthy shook his head in amusement. “Just waiting for you to get back to us.” Placing my quiz on the desk between us, he took the opportunity to halfheartedly sort through the mess my sprawled body had caused earlier. “What is it you’re thinking about?”

By the tone in his voice, there was no reason for him to ask. He knew.

“You.” I smiled as wide as I could make it, the corners of my lips dropping a second later again. “And how long it’s taking you to go through a few answers that are most likely correct.” They probably weren’t, but my eyes narrowed into his anyway. “Makes me think you’re distracted, McCarthy.”

His tongue pressed the inside of his cheek, to keep himself from breaking into a full-on, dimpled grin. “I might be a little preoccupied,” he admitted, though not without his gaze sweeping across my body so quickly, I almost missed it.

I asked him the same question he’d asked me. “What is it you’re thinking about?”

And he gave me the same answer I’d given him. “You.”

Though the smile on his lips didn’t drop like mine had, I half-expected him to ridicule the statement in the same way—to add an “ And how wrong these answers are ” or “ And how you still don’t know what you’re doing here. ” But he didn’t.

Me . Just me.

Now I was the one smiling, my gaze roaming the room casually. If I had dimples, they’d be on full display. There was no point in hiding it, either; I’d just look even goofier.

McCarthy cleared his throat. “This is pretty good,” he said, and my eyes jumped toward him to find the practice exam in his hand again. “Still a few kinks to work out, but overall, I expected much, much worse from you.”

“I believe a good girl is in order.”

“Get out of here,” he begged with a laugh, head shaking in a way that only made me smile that much more. “ Please .”

And it sounded like a plea for his own sake. Perhaps because he’d felt that same pulsing need flush through him at the memory of what had happened just half an hour ago, and he wanted to ignore it the same way I did.