Page 94 of A Scandal in Homeroom
“Irene,” I said, hoping to take her attention away from my bare chest.
Then she did the absolutely unexpected. She touched me.
* * *
Reen
It was the craziest thing.I was seventeen and I’d never seen a man’s naked chest this up close and in person. The men who came to visit my mother never took off their clothes. It was always a rushed and purely physical event. The least I’d ever seen Mr. Sumner wear was a wife-beater T-shirt and sweatpants.
We didn’t belong to a pool club. We didn’t go to the beach. So I wasn’t hanging out with other guys in bathing suits a lot. Sure, there’d been some parties over the summers, but that wasn’t like this.
Me, alone with a guy. In his bedroom. It occurred to me that alone should have freaked me out, but it didn’t. Locke wasn’t going to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with, and that made this an extremely safe space for me.
It also made it a place for me to take risks.
So I reached up and placed my hand over his heart. Tossing the shirt behind me on to his bed, I stepped closer.
“Let me,” I said softly.
He didn’t reply other than to grunt slightly. I think the first thing I was struck by was how warm he was. The second thing I noticed was how hard he was. There was no softness anywhere I could see. His chest was broad with a light dusting of hair across his pecs. Hair that faded as his torso blended intotohis stomach, which was flat and tight. My hands followed that path. I could just find the ridges of his six-pack, but the definition was there.
I’d seen him take down a grown man twice his size, but still the layers of muscle under what appeared to be just a tall and lanky teenager surprised me. Then as my hands dipped lower toward the top of his jeans, the hair grew a bit darker.
I scraped my nails against him there, and I heard him suck in a deep breath.
Irene Adler, everyone’s perennial tease. It’s what people thought of me. They didn’t know I was afraid. They didn’t know what I’d seen as a kid.
Locke did. He knew all those things. Which is why he just let me explore up until a point.
“Irene,” he said. His voice sounded darker. Rougher. Was it meant to be a warning?
I was pushing him, I knew, but I didn’t care. I could feel my body everywhere. In my fingers where I touched him, in my chest where I found it hard to breathe. Between my legs. Totally between my legs, where I pulsed in time with the beat of my heart.
“Turn around,” I whispered. When he hesitated, I said. “Please. It will be easier if you’re not watching me.”
He did, and this was even better. He couldn’t see me. He couldn’t look at my face. I certainly hadn’t been able to look at his. Instead, I could just run my hands over his really broad shoulders. I could caress his back. I could trace the dimples just where they sat above his jeans. That made him squirm. He was ticklish there.
Bolder, I pressed my chest against his back. No cheerleading uniform today, so I was just in simple jeans and a long-sleeved, cotton T-shirt. But my nipples were hard, and he had to feel that against his back. Letting my hand wander around his waist to his front, I found him hard and hot beneath his jeans.
Another hiss of breath, but he didn’t stop me. Suddenly, I realized it was time. To discover this thing I knew about, but had always been so afraid of. With both hands now, I found the button on his jeans. I lowered the zipper and felt the push of something against my hand.
“Help me,” I said softly, my forehead resting between his shoulder blades. My breath was so shallow I might have fainted for lack of oxygen, but I was determined to do this. Determined to overcome the fear and simply enjoy the experience of learning someone else’s body for the first time.
He took my hand and slipped it inside his boxer briefs. Curled it around his heavy erection. He was so hot, I almost pulled away, but he didn’t let me for a second. But only a second, as if he knew I needed to get over the shock of it. And once I had, he wasn’t going to press me for anything else.
We stood like that for I don’t know how long. Seconds, maybe even minutes. Just me touching him, his hand resting over mine. I knew it had to hurt him. That I wasn’t stroking him, or squeezing him, but he didn’t say anything or make me do anything.
There was so much thrilling power in that. Here I was, a foster kid from the West End, but under my control was the most brilliant guy I knew. Who could protect me, who could dance with me, who could verbally spar with me and I had him enthralled by a simple touch.
I kissed his back and he groaned, his hips pushing up into my hand as if he couldn’t help it.
“Show me,” I said. This time a little bolder. Not as timid. He made a sound in his throat and his head fell back. I ran my free hand through the thick pelt of hair on his head, again scraping my nails against his neck.
“It’s okay, Locke. I want to.”
“Irene, I can’t…” The sound in his throat this time was even harsher as I began to move my hand on my own. Ultimately, he did what I asked. Showed me what I needed to know about his body, his needs. His pleasure.
When it was over, he lifted my hands to his lips and kissed each one of my fingers. Then he turned and kissed me as if I was the most special thing on earth to him. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t because I knew it would make him uncomfortable. Instead, he left to clean himself up and I beamed. Happy in the knowledge that no one could ever call me a tease again.
