“Why, Patrice?” I could see the muscle in his jaw twitch, a gesture of frustration, but I knew there was also uncertainty there. I’d seen him do that before, when he was figuring out how to proceed.

Without another word he closed those last few inches between us and grabbed my face.

His hands felt hot, and I almost flinched from the shock of it. It seemed like I hadn’t felt them on my skin for ages. As his fingers grazed my cheek, I recalled how rough his hands were. Calloused. So unexpected for a man who worked with his mind.

I knew it was from many summers working on construction sites for a family friend, but it still made something tight unfurl in my chest to feel those hands on me again.

My professor, a man who earned his livelihood from his intellect, had hardened hands. I shivered as his lips touched mine, that mouth which had ruined me for any other, so close to giving me what I’d been dreaming of for months.

I don’t know how I managed it, but I stepped back, because I wasn’t playing this game anymore. He was going to have to tell me.

“Why?”

He sighed and closed his eyes like it was really costing him to have to say it. “Because I fucking want you. Because when I’m with you, you’re the only thing that matters and I never lose my focus, Easton.” He exhaled again, and it was a helpless, astonished sound. “You make me reckless.”

Those words, that confirmation that I wasn’t the only one who was far gone and in too deep. It was like a dam broke and I wanted, no, I needed to kiss him. Our lips touched and it was...absolutely everything. Patrice blindly walked us back until we hit the couch, as I scrambled to get my hands on more of him. Without even coming up for air, I started pulling at his jeans, tugging them down. We were both barefoot and pretty soon, we were down to our briefs and panting. Breaths short as if I’d run for miles. Our tongues tangled as our hands grabbed and scratched with barely refrained desperation.

I let go of him for a moment and leaned back, needing some distance. I wanted to tell him that I was pissed that he’d deprived us both of this. Of all the time we’d lost in this stupid game.

But when I looked at him, he was shaking. His face was tight with the need to get closer, and it finally dawned on me.

Staying away had cost Patrice too.

“You know what I thought the first time I saw you like this?” I asked, my hands under his sweatshirt right above the raised skin on the tattoo on his chest. He was always so hot, like he had a fire roaring inside him.