Tenure

22. Kiernan

22

Kiernan

I wake up for the second time today in a daze, only this time my body is pounding instead of my head. I feel like I’ve been run over by an eighteen-wheeler.

It seems I’ve been asleep all day, the sun low in the sky, the bedroom filled with an orange glow. I try to sit up and wince, all of my muscles screaming at me. I think I’ve pulled them all, inside and out.

I roll onto my stomach and push myself up, crawling to the edge of the bed and sliding off on my tummy. I hobble to the bathroom in search of the sweats from earlier but he’s already picked them up along with his T-shirt. Anal bastard.

I sigh and lean against the wall, embarrassed to admit my legs are shaking just from the short walk.

“I need a gym membership,” I mutter.

I hear a soft chuckle and blush at the sound, biting my bottom lip and wincing again. It’s puffy, sensitive, and sore from all the kissing.

“I think you broke me,” I grumble, turning around and crossing my arms over my chest, still very unused to being so casually naked.

He’s grinning, his eyes twinkling, and he looks . . . lighter, somehow. More mischievous.

“Good,” he says, his voice warm as he steps into me, pulling me against his chest and resting his chin on my forehead. I glance at him in the mirror, and he looks unusually relaxed. Thoughtful, but relaxed.

I pause for a moment and can’t help but think about that girl—Tanya—and how much she’d been salivating over him the entire time we talked. She went on and on about how he must have a tiny cock, because nobody with a face that perfect could be hung.

I smile to myself and admire his shoulders and the curve of his biceps. He looks different, somehow. He seems different. Gentle, almost.

I smirk to myself, because my screaming body has a lot to say about James and the word gentle.

Sorry to tell you, Tanya, but his dick is decidedly NOT small.

He shifts his head and makes eye contact with my reflection, slowly running his hand down my spine and watching the goosebumps rise on my bare flesh. He cups my ass cheek and rubs his thumb back and forth. It’s still pink.

“Where did you come from , Kiernan?” he murmurs, his voice low, face serious. The rest of my skin turns as pink as my butt, and he smiles, kissing the top of my head. Then he quietly turns and leaves, shutting the door behind me to give me my privacy.

I catch myself on the counter, blood rushing to both my head and between my legs, my stomach filled with so many butterflies I’m pretty sure I’m levitating.

I take a deep, steadying breath and pull myself together, wash my face, and steal his toothbrush. I’m a little worse for wear, some purple bruising blossoming across my hip, a thumbprint on one side of my neck and a series of three embarrassingly dark hickies on the other. But I can’t stop grinning anyway. I smile even wider as I step back into the bedroom. He’s left my skirt and shirt out on the bed, neatly folded, along with my underwear which have definitely been washed. I blush, mortified but grateful, throw on my clothes and head back out into the apartment. He’s sitting on the couch, dark hair tousled, blue glow of the computer screen reflected in his glasses. He looks less relaxed now. In fact he’s scowling, and I can’t help but smile.

There he is.

He looks up and his eyes scan my body, pausing for an extra half a second on my bare thighs before he shuts his laptop again and stands, picking up his keys off the side table.

“I’ll take you home,” he says.

I try to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment as I slip on my shoes. We’re halfway down the hall to the elevators when he suddenly stops.

“Do you have a coat?” he asks.

I’m so completely taken aback by the question that I can’t even answer, just shake my head no. He scowls a little deeper and doubles back, darting into the apartment and reappearing with a navy-blue York U hoodie.

“Up,” he says, sounding annoyed. Moody motherfucker, I think, but I raise my arms, and he pulls it on over my head. I’m drowning in it, the bottom longer than the hem of my skirt, and he takes a step back to look at me.

He reaches out and grabs the drawstrings on the hoodie, yanking them so I fall towards him, his other hand fondling one of the sleeves hanging way past my hand.

“Might get used to this,” he says quietly, and then he drops his head and kisses me senseless.