Teach You to Love Me (Lindon U #4)

Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Matt

T he rest of the semester goes by quickly, and a large part of that has to do with how busy classes have kept me. As finals approach, I spend a lot of time in Rachel’s office going over study materials for the two classes I struggled the most in. Each night, I bring something for us to eat, and we spend the first thirty minutes talking about life. The upcoming holidays. Winter break. How the semester went. She tells me she made up with her father and was going to spend time with them over winter break. I tell her my parents are going on a cruise after Christmas, and I’ll be spending most of the break alone. I don’t ask her to come by, even if the temptation to is on the tip of my tongue.

I don’t pry about what she’s going to do next semester when she finishes grad school. Mostly because I don’t want to know if she’s made up her mind. If she has, and it’s not staying here, I’ll have half a year to wonder what I could do to make her stay and, inevitably, watch her go, knowing it’s not my place to. I meant what I said.

She has a home here. A family here.

Lindon has been my home my whole life, but I know it isn’t hers. And I understand why she’d want to go. Her sister is there. Her father. I can’t change that.

Eventually, finals finish, and Christmas break is days away. I passed each one of my exams and my classes with flying colors, just like she said I would. Which is why I show up to Rachel’s office during our normal meeting time wearing a cheap Santa suit that I bought online and throw a pillowcase as a toy sack over my shoulder.

When she sees me, she laughs.

And the soft sound reminds me why this office is one of my favorite places in the world.

“Christmas is still a few days away,” she reminds me with an amused shake of her head as I dig through my pillowcase and pull out a box with her name on it.

It took me two hours and a lot of YouTube videos to figure out how to wrap this thing without using a whole roll of tape. I’d nearly given up when I tried getting the ribbon to look decent, but I’m happy with the results. Mostly because I didn’t have to ask my mother for help for once.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she says, her smile small but warm as I pass it to her.

I smile. “I know, but I wanted to. You’ve been helping me a lot lately, so I wanted to thank you. And don’t try fighting it and telling me it’s inappropriate to accept. Just take it.”

“I was happy to help,” she says, nibbling her lip and shaking it gently to try figuring out what’s inside. “Plus, you bought us food every time you came here. That adds up.”

The confusion pinching her face as she stares at the packaging makes me chuckle as she undoes the ribbon and tears the paper.

I sit down and hold my breath when she lifts the lid and stares inside.

A little breath escapes her as she pulls out the first edition copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz . It took me months of searching for the book before finally finding it online, and I was grateful it didn’t completely break the bank.

“Matt,” she whispers in awe, her fingers grazing the worn cover. Her eyes lift. “This is…”

I wave her speechlessness off, feeling my cheeks heat. I was afraid she wouldn’t like it, but those hazel eyes tell me everything I need to know.

“It isn’t a big deal.”

All she does is stare, her throat bobbing with a swallow. Her parted lips and soft gaze tell me it is to her.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me this semester. Not having football and getting used to a new routine wasn’t easy for me. You made things easier. I wanted to find a way to thank you for that.”

She silently shakes her head, her gaze dipping back down to the book in her hands. After what feels like forever, she says, “You never have to thank me. I was more than happy to help, Matt. Truthfully, I missed the familiarity I had last year. You brought me that.”

The words ring in my head, inflating my chest with a swell of pride. “You’re admitting you like me.”

She rolls her eyes, her lips kicking up in the corners. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

I chuckle. “Too late.”

She bites down on her bottom lip. “I know you miss football and the way things used to be. Have you thought about next year? If you’re coming back to finish school.”

The last thing I want to feel like is a failure. I’ve always prided myself on finishing what I started. But grad school…it’s not for everyone. I’ve learned that. And do I really need a master’s degree in finance? No. The problem is, the one thing that bores me more than school is the thought of working in a bank the rest of my life.

Truthfully, I’m lost. “I don’t know yet.”

I’m greeted with a sympathetic smile. “Well, you have some time.”

“It’d be easier if someone chose for me,” I mumble, wishing that were an option.

Rachel sets the book down. “That’s not how life works, unfortunately.”

We’re quiet for a long time, simply watching one another. It’s not an awkward silence or a tense one. She smiles. I smile back.

“For what it’s worth,” she finally says. “I’m proud of you. And I really do believe that you’ll find something that makes you happy. You just need to keep working for it.”

Find something that makes you happy.

If she only knew.

Scratch that.

If she only accepted what we both know.

Because she makes me happy. Football makes me happy. Being part of something like a team makes me happy.

The longer we stare at each other, the thicker the atmosphere gets around us. Can she hear my thoughts? Does she see the way I look at her? My heart does some weird backflip in its cage when I see her top front teeth dig into her full bottom lip like she knows exactly what’s on my mind.

I walk around the desk, stopping just shy of her. She looks up, worry and something else in the hues. I’d like to think it’s love or something close, but I don’t let myself think about it for too long.

I bend down and hug her because I don’t want to risk losing what we’ve managed to build after the last time.

In my mind, I say, I think I love you. At least, it feels like that’s what’s happening. Every time she’s near, my heart jerks. She’s always on my mind. Her encouragement drives me. Her words of affirmation motivate me. Rachel has become a big part of my life here in Lindon.

But I don’t say any of that out loud. “I know I will,” I tell her instead. “I know we both will. Someday.”

More staring.

A small breath escapes her.

“Merry Christmas, Ruby Red.”

Her throat bobs. “Merry Christmas, Matt.”

Pulling away, I look at her lips. They part as she sucks in a slow, deep breath. I can feel her warm breath, and it makes my heart drum harder in its cage when I feel it reflect off my face.

“Do you have any more meetings today?” I ask, eyes still studying the slight curve of her bottom lip as she pulls it farther into her mouth. I suddenly remember all the times I nibbled it during our drunken tryst over a year ago that caused subtle noises to rise from her throat.

“No.” Her answer is no more than a whisper.

Eyes lifting from her mouth to her eyes, I see the darkened orbs I can only assume are from the same lust building inside me. “Good.”

I close the space between us, dipping my head down until my mouth is over hers and swallowing the gasp she releases.

The kiss is heated and rushed—a mixture of soft-spoken sighs and heady groans.

I missed this. Missed her .

Using my foot to connect with the door, I close it. I find the lock and flick it until we’re safely secured inside, barely breaking contact.

Lifting her up, I set her on the edge of the desk and knead her fleshy hips with my fingers until my dick hardens in my jeans and stupid Santa suit.

This isn’t what I came in here for, but I’ll be damned if I want to stop now. But when my hips arch forward of their own accord to chase the friction I desperately need, I all but groan when my dick rubs against her thigh.

It takes everything in me to pull even an inch away, breathing heavy. Leaning my forehead against hers, I close my eyes and try focusing on anything but the relief I’m aching for. “Stop going on dates,” I tell her. “Please.”

Her body stiffens for a fraction before she leans back to look me in the eye. Her lips are puffy from my kisses, and it gives me an odd sense of satisfaction. “Matt…”

“If they were important enough, if they mattered , this wouldn’t be happening,” I point out, fingertips digging into her hips. “You would have kept seeing at least one of them. But you never did.”

She can’t argue with me because she knows it’s the truth. And it isn’t because I came in and ruined them. She had plenty of opportunities to salvage those nights, but she chose not to.

Rachel never chose any of those men. She always chose me , whether she knew it or not.

“If you liked any of them,” I say, lips trailing up her jaw. “If you thought there was even a possibility that they could make you feel the way I am—” I murmur, trailing a hot path of kisses to her ear. “—then I wouldn’t be between your legs right now.”

I nip the bottom of her lobe, making her shiver. Grinning against her when I hear the subtle exhale she releases, I brush my lips over her cheek.

Once.

Twice.

I stop at the corner of her mouth.

Waiting.

Waiting for her to tell me to stop.

Waiting for her to tell me I’m wrong.

She does neither.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenge, my lips ghosting over hers in a barely there touch.

Rachel’s lips part just enough to brush mine, her breath teasing my mouth. “I can’t.”

My grin stretches, but it doesn’t last long before I’m kissing her again. It’s hot and heavy and addicting. Hands trailing down the curve of her backside, I squeeze once before pulling her toward me until she can feel how hard I am.

Swallowing her soft moan with my mouth to drown out the noise, I let my hand move down her thigh until it reaches the hem of her skirt. “I suggest you be very, very quiet if you don’t want people to know what’s happening in here,” I tell her as my fingers dance along the inside of her thigh until they reach the apex where her cotton panties greet my fingertips.

Face flushed, she bites down on her bottom lip when I coast my knuckles along the sensitive skin between her thighs.

“I love how responsive you are,” I say, peppering kisses down her throat as I work her with my hand. How many times have I thought about our first time together, praying for a repeat? I touched myself almost every night for two weeks following that, thinking about the memories of every little thing I did to her.

There’s a sting of pain from where her fingers dig into my shoulders, but I live for it, knowing it’s because I’m making her feel good.

I know when she’s close to release because her legs squeeze my arm as she starts squirming where she’s hanging from the edge of the desk.

“That’s it,” I praise, my head dipping to the crook of her neck to nip and lick and suck the spot above her pulse. “Let go, Rach. I’ve got you.”

Her grip tightens as her thighs clench me until her mouth falls open in a silent orgasm.

I watch her, transfixed by the way her eyelashes flutter and her head tilts back and she absorbs the moment as I work her through her release until she’s sated.

When she looks at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, all she says is, “Please.”

And that breathless plea is all I need. I grab her and turn her around, bending her over the desk and lifting her skirt to reveal her perky, round ass in a pair of white panties that make her look so pure.

So innocent.

But we both know she’s not.

After hastily tugging down the costume pants and undoing my jeans to pull myself out, I slip on a condom and trace the edges of her panties with my finger. “Remember to be a good girl and keep quiet,” I whisper, before pulling her underwear aside, gently parting her legs to give myself more room between them and lining myself up.

I know it’s not going to be a long experience because it’s been a while, and I know the second I slide between these pretty thighs of hers, it’s going to be like the first goddamn time. Dangerous. Tight. Warm.

So, I give her all I have, surging forward and covering her mouth with my palm when she makes a noise that could easily get us found out.

She bites down on my finger as I work both of us up with every jackknife of my hips. I have to swallow every appreciative groan that rises to the surface when I hear her body react to me being inside of her, doing my best to take the brunt of the impact so her hips aren’t slamming against the wooden desk too hard.

Using my free hand, I bend her knee up to rest on the edge of the desk to give myself a deeper angle and—

“ Jesus Christ ,” I rasp, feeling her clench around me.

The desk starts moving slowly, the legs scraping against the bottom of the floor and making a hideous noise against the linoleum. I don’t know why, but it makes me lose control.

My hand, holding her leg up, slides between her legs to rub the nerves that have her moaning around my finger as I pick up the pace and feel the telltale tingle shooting down my spine before I thrust forward one more time and empty myself into the condom.

We stay like that, my hands pulling away to rub her back, her shoulders, and her side as I gently pull out and dispose of the condom.

She looks over her shoulder at me, her face pink and her lips swollen. I can’t help but grin, knowing I did that to her.

But those glassy eyes that I love having pointed in my direction seem to hold something else that slightly dims the color.

“Rach?” I ask quietly, caressing her arm.

She swallows, flattening out the wrinkles in her outfit after redressing and combing her fingers through her hair. “You’re right,” she says softly, not looking me in the eye. “If any of those guys mattered, you wouldn’t be here.” I don’t have time to celebrate the admission when she adds, “But that doesn’t make this right.”

I stare at her silently.

She’s not looking at me.

She’s looking at the present I gave her.

I see her throat bob, contemplation like a wave over her features that wipes out the lust and satisfaction we both felt moments earlier.

“I don’t regret it,” I tell her honestly.

How could I? She’s the only person I find myself constantly gravitating to. When I’m sad. When I’m happy. When I’m angry. It’s her who makes it better, no matter the circumstances.

I’ve never been in love before, not really. But I’m pretty sure this is the closest I’ve come. Because love isn’t just a feeling—it’s a decision. A judgment. Right or wrong, I’ll keep choosing the girl in front of me.

Instead of pushing her to talk to me, to tell me she doesn’t regret it either, I simply say, “Have a good break, Rach.”

That night, I get a text message from the woman I walked away from nearly five hours before.

Ruby Red: I don’t regret it either