Page 9 of Scoring Position

“Are you sure?” she asks, genuine concern for my well-being apparent in her expression. “If you aren’t feeling well, we can turn the assignment in late and ask for extra credit to offset the partial grade.”

I shake my head, slumping back in my chair. “No, I’m alright. Let’s finish up and get this thing written.”

She eyes me skeptically, standing and gathering our belongings before dropping them onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask, looking from her to my computer that’s now sitting on the mattress.

She pulls down the comforter, rubbing the pillow in invitation. “You were fine a few minutes ago, but now you look like you’re going to throw up. If you insist on continuing, you can get in bed while you do it. Now, come on.”

I breathe a long, slow sigh of defeat, rising from my chair and walking toward her as she holds up the comforter, waiting for me to slide under. Although this is stupid, since the only reason I got worked up was that I imagined her in situations I’ll definitelynever have her in, I appreciate the fact that she wants to take care of me.

I stop in front of her, looking into her big blue eyes as she stares up at me. She’s curvy in all the best places, but she still looks so small as I tower over her, smiling softly before I finally relent and lie down on the soft mattress. She lays the blanket over me, and I pull myself up so that my back is against the headboard as she hands me my laptop.

“You too,” I say, patting the spot next to me. “We still have one phase left for you to explain and a whole essay to write.”

She hesitates, pressing her lips together as she considers my request. “I probably shouldn’t be in your bed, Ace. I’m your tutor,” she replies, shaking her head slowly.

“So.” I shrug. “It’s not like you work for the school. You aren’t grading my papers. Plus, this is completely innocent. No different than when we were sitting next to each other at the table.” Now that I have my imagination under control, I find my normal, flirty self. I know I can’t turn the charm all the way up, but shit almost got weird for a second, and I need us to be comfortable in these types of situations. We can be friends who sit next to each other in bed and talk about tight vaginas without anything happening.

It’s fine.

Everything isfine.

“You’re right,” she says, crawling across the mattress and settling in next to me. I want to offer for her to come under the covers, but that might be too much for us both. For her, because it would mean we’d actually bein bed together, and for me, because I was already fighting to keep my dick from getting hard just sitting there. I doubt this lesson is going to get less arousing as we write the essay.

“What’s next?” I ask, running my hands over the edges of my laptop because I honestly don’t know where else to put them. I’mtrying to act natural, but my brain and my body are at odds with her close proximity.

“Umm…” she begins, trying to remember where she left off. “Resolution. This is the last phase of sexual response, where the body returns to its pre-aroused state. This can happen fast, especially with the man after ejaculation. The penis softens, and the scrotum relaxes, along with the heart rate and pulse slowing. For women, it can take longer, depending on whether or not orgasm was achieved. If it wasn’t, the body returns to a relaxed state much slower than it would if a climax had occurred. Blood flows out of the erec?—”

“Wait,” I reply, cutting her off. “Is it normal for the woman not to have an orgasm during sex?” Her eyebrows pinch in, prompting me to go on with my question. “I mean, I know it’s harder for some than for others, but is the girl getting left unsatisfied really something that happens so regularly that you’re pointing it out to me right now?”

She looks down at her lap, where her open notebook sits. “It’s pretty normal. Some women need clitoral stimulation, whether it be with fingers or a toy. That can be a source of embarrassment for the man if he thinks he can’t get his partner there with penetration alone. Other times, I think maybe people can just be selfish when it comes to making sure the person they’re with is enjoying themselves too.”

I know I should leave it, but I’m fucking intrigued. I can’t stop the questions from coming out.

“Doesn’t that hurt? Wouldn’t it be painful for her if she got through the first two phases and couldn’t have an orgasm? All that blood gathering down low, waiting to be released—isn’t that uncomfortable? I can’t even think straight if I’m turned on and don’t take care of it.”

I look over, meeting her gaze, and I can’t explain the expression painted across her face. If I had to take a stab at it, I’dsay she was perplexed. And maybe a little awestruck. Like she’s surprised I’d care enough to ask that.

“Yeah,” she rasps. “It’s uncomfortable. I wouldn’t say it hurts. It just…aches.”

Fuck.

She says it like she has personal experience, and it makes me want to find out just how neglected her body has been. Then find whoever did it and tell them how fucking stupid they are for not treating her like the queen she is—but it’s none of my business. That’s not why we’re here.

I clear my throat, breaking our connection and returning my fingers to my laptop, where I delete everything I had typed out earlier.

“What are you doing? You had a good start,” she says.

“I’m changing direction,” I reply. “The essay can be on any topic as long as it has to do with the physiological response, so I’m going to write about the female orgasm. I want to understand it more, so what better way than by researching it like this?”

She huffs a quiet laugh. “Okay. Do you want help?”

I smirk. “Nah. I think I’ve got it. But will you hang out a little longer in case I get stuck?” I know I won’t. Now that I have a topic I’m interested in, a book that explains it, and the entire internet to fill in the blanks, this should be a breeze. I just want her to stay a while. I like the way she smells and how warm the bed is with her in it.

“Sure.”

SEVEN

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