But because nothing in Gemma's whirl-wind life can ever go seamlessly, she soon runs into the man that she'd left naked and in bed just the evening before...in the most unexpected of places. The classroom. As her Professor....if only the surprises stopped there.
So who is Evan Reeves? Bio and links my dears...
evanreeves.tumblr.com | twitter.com/EvanWritesStuff
As I stood there, hands in pockets and my eyes on the ground, looking at the little pieces of broken beer bottle glass that seemed to reflect the moonlight in a way that maybe Ben could write about, I heard the door open. I heard my name, although it seemed far away, and too soft to really grasp against the sound of the whipping air. But when his fingertips brushed against my chin, and I tilted my head (because he was tall, so ridiculously tall) up to meet his eyes, suddenly nothing that I was so busy heavily contemplating mattered anymore.
“Gemma,” Ben said, wrapped in a coat and scarf. Looking at him, he was shivering a little, which made me smile in a tender, endearing sort of way. “I'm sorry, I was worried. I swear to God that I'm not some sort of stalker or serial killer. I just...I had to find you.”
“I'm glad you did,” I said. In our shared gaze, I could see his eyes were searching for something. Sadness, anxiety, concern. His hands were at his sides; his body relaxed and yet totally prepared to jump at any time, like an animal waiting to pounce. I could read him so easily despite how little I really knew. He wore his desire like a caged demon, resting inside of him and bubbling up in his widening eyes. And I couldn't stop myself anymore.
His height proved to be a minor dilemma, given that I could only reach up and succeed in touching his torso. My fingers grazed over the back of his coat, up his spine, and over the barely-naked skin of his neck that I had to stand on my toes to reach as he leaned down to accommodate my stature. We locked eyes, his nose against mine, our breath like smoke in the cold air, our skin prickling from the single-digit temperatures and maybe something more.
Without waiting, for fear of suddenly losing him, I pulled him into the hardest kiss I've ever given anyone. His body froze, his hands fluttering nervously around my waist as I pulled away, his eyes hooded, unwavering. Completely locked into my own. Wordlessly, he moved my hair to the side, pressing my entire body against the brick wall, his lips on my neck as he tried to kiss softly, tenderly, his breath shallow and hands gripping me against him. With our difference in height leaving him leaning into me, he lifted me up so that my legs were around his waist, our hips pressed together, and with the softest of gasps he kissed me again. This time it was harder, more frantic, more panicked as if he knew, in his deepest core, that it was the only kiss we'd ever share. My hands were in his hair, around his neck, combing against his back as his mouth found that spot right below my chin, at the curve of my throat, where even the slightest brush of skin against skin sent me spiraling.
With his whole body against mine, our heat blocking out any wisp of cold air, I moaned into his hair and he responded with harder bites. He could bruise me all he wanted, I didn't care. In that small piece of perfection, I only wanted him.
Last of all minions, there's a great giveaway!