Professor Feelgood (Page 64)

He raises a fist in victory. “About time.”

When I reach the bed, I climb beneath the thick comforter, snuggle down into the Jake-scented pillows, and let out a long sigh. Within seconds, everything fades to black.

_______________

I slowly become aware of someone stroking my hair. It feels like I’ve just dozed off, so I’m reluctant to open my eyes. Also, I love having my hair stroked, so I’m in no hurry for it to stop.

“Ash.”

It’s Jake. Oh, yeah, I’m in his bed. Only fitting since I just had an incredibly erotic dream about him.

I hug a pillow and sigh. My God, he smells good. He always did.

“Asha.”

“Hmmm.”

The stroking fingers move from my head down to my arm. I break out in goosebumps.

“Are you awake?”

I stay silent. The soft caresses feel amazing. Everything is becoming warm. I move my hips and make an approving noise.

I reach out and find him. He’s close. Soft fabric. I move my hand down, and then push beneath the fabric, where there’s warm skin and ridges of firm muscle. It feels amazing.

He makes a noise. “Asha, touching me like that isn’t a great idea, unless you want to redefine our friends pact.”

I crack one eye open. Jake’s right next to me, propped up on pillows, a notebook in his hand. “So you are awake?”

My hand has slipped under his t-shirt and is pressing against his stomach, dangerously close to the waistband of his jeans.

He’s looking at me with the same heat he had last night, and it’s no less thrilling and frightening today.

“Serious question,” he says, his voice strained. “Are you trying to drive me insane? You’ve been making all kinds of sex noises, and now with the touching …”

I pull my hand away. “Sorry. I was just …” I shake my head and cringe from the pain behind my eyes. “You felt nice. Warm. I was half-asleep. Sorry.”

He pushes out a breath. “Don’t apologize. It’s just that a woman hasn’t touched me like that for a long time, and my body was getting excited about finally getting some action.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Not just the unexpected admission that I turn him on, but also the unlikely news that he’s not bedding dozens of women on the regular.

“How long has it been for you?” I say. “I’d assumed that part of your quest to get over Ingrid included copious amounts of hot sex. After all, it’s not like you don’t have millions of women lusting after you.” Every time I think about how many women want him, I get deeply uncomfortable. In my mind, my attraction to him is unique and special, but perhaps that’s what everyone who fantasizes about him believes. “Your inbox must be overflowing with offers. You were never tempted to accept any of them?”

He leans his head back against the headboard. “No. Meaningless hook-ups don’t work for me anymore. I tried a few one-night stands when I got back from overseas. They were awkward as hell. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need more than just a physical attraction.” He turns to me. “If I can’t connect with someone on a deeper level, there’s no point in even trying.”

As he says this, he looks into my eyes, and the rush of desire makes the pain in my head fade into the background.

“What about you?” he asks softly. “Are you planning on getting over Derek with some hot-sex therapy? I’m sure you’d have no shortage of volunteers.”

I laugh. Yeah, tons of guys are lining up to date the woman who turns into a cold fish the second they get her into bed. It’s every man’s dream.

“Uh … no. It’s not really my thing, either.”

He goes quiet, and for several long seconds he seems to study me as if he thinks he can find the meaning of the universe in my face. “What is your thing, Ash? What turns you on more than anything else?”

Before I can stop it, a singular answer forms in my mind.

You.

“Uh …”

It’s immediately followed by quick, intense mental flashes.

You touching me. Kissing me. Slowly peeling off my clothes and putting your mouth on me.

“I, uh …”

You climbing on top of me. Pushing apart my legs as you sink into me. You making a low noise as you push all the way inside.

“Jesus …”

You making love to me. Thrusting and groaning and making every part of me belong to you.

The flood of scenes comes so thick and fast, I have to squeeze my eyes shut to block them out. My head pounds with the effort.

The bed moves, and before I know it, Jake’s cupping my cheek. “Asha?” I grip his arm. “Are you okay?” He places his palm on my forehead. “Shit, you’re burning up.”

“Headache,” I mumble, trying hard not to give into the urge to pull him on top of me. “Bad one.”

“Are you going to be sick? Do I need to get a bucket?”

I pull away from him. “I’m fine. Probably just dehydrated.”

My brain is still churning, projecting what it would be like to feel his hands all over me. His mouth. His tongue.

Dear Mother Mary, his tongue.

“Asha?”

I climb out of bed and head toward the bathroom, trying not to look at him. “I’m fine. I just need a second. You just …” Kiss me, lick me, fuck me. “Uh … keep going with your writing. I’ll be right back.”

“There are painkillers in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

I close the bathroom door behind me and collapse back against it.

Shitting shittiest shit.

I let out a long exhale. Well, that escalated quickly. I can’t even discuss what turns me on without thinking of him in the most pornographic terms possible? Not acceptable.

I run the cold water and splash some on my face.

“Fuck me!” Jake’s cold water must reach Brooklyn via the Arctic, because it’s goddamn freezing. On the upside, the extreme cold makes my excruciating blush feel better, and subsequently, my hangover is slowly fading. There’s still an extreme-fire-danger warning in my nether regions, but I’m not stripping off to splash that area with water.

I open the cabinet over the sink and grab a couple of Advil before downing them with a handful of water. Better safe than sorry.

I put both hands on the vanity and drop my head. There must be some defense against the insanity of what he does to me. And if it’s out there, I have to find it, because I’m not going to survive feeling like this for much longer.

My priority right now needs to be getting this book finished. That’s it. All other distractions need to GTFO.

I dry my face with a sweet-smelling hand towel, take a deep breath, and pull open the door.

_______________

“Can I see it, please?” There’s a touch of whine in my voice, but that’s what happens when he insists on delayed gratification.

“Not yet. Have some patience, woman.” His hand moves faster.

“Jake, you’ve been teasing me for an hour. Come on. Put me out of my misery.”

He groans. “God, I love it when you beg. Do it again.”

“Jacob!”

He smiles and finishes with a flourish. “Okay. Keep your pants on. Or not. Whatever makes you more comfortable.” He comes and sits next to me, then passes over his notebook. “Be gentle. My ego is fragile.”

“Yeah, fragile like titanium.” I flip through the book and am surprised to find he’s written ten pages, front and back.