Extra Credit: Three Ivy Years Novellas (The Ivy Years Book 6)

OKAY, who knew I’d become a basketball fan tonight?

After his big hands scooped my dress up over my head, Andy stretched, elongating that powerful torso as he reached over his head. I was almost too busy drooling over his tight chest to notice that he’d taken care to lay my dress over the chair.

I reclined on the bed, and Andy propped himself up on his elbows over my body. Dropping his head, he began to trace the outline of my strapless it-fits-under-every-dress bra with his tongue.

My modest cleavage had never been my best attribute. But as he kissed me, Andy made the kind of low, happy noise of a man who had just been given exactly what he craved. And as if that wasn’t sexy enough, he raised his eyes to mine, his expression burning hot. I didn’t know if he was asking for permission or merely trying to torture me. But I’d never felt quite like the center of someone’s universe before. The slow slide of his lips coupled with that heated gaze had me tingling. Everywhere.

His lips skimmed lower, and then lower still. He began dropping soft, open-mouthed kisses just at the top of my panties. He lifted those eyes again, and the coal-dark stare was back, its intensity redoubled. I began to practically squirm with desire. In a second, I was probably going to start begging. At last, he dropped his mouth onto the lace between my legs and kissed me gently. All without breaking eye contact.

I was almost too turned on to care that there was only enough friction to make promises, not to deliver. The sight of his lean, muscular shoulders and biceps framing my legs was something I won’t soon forget. I panted while he teased me with the barest touch. And when he pressed his lips against my body and groaned, I thought I would die.

Okay, enough with the teasing.

I plunged my fingers into his hair, then gave his head a little tug. He came willingly, all that firm skin and muscle covering me like I wanted it to. And then we were kissing again, so deeply that I tasted more of Andy than of myself.

The heavy beat of a dance tune began to pulse on the other side of Andy’s wall. For a second I was under the illusion that the sound was my own heartbeat, amplified. Because I was throbbing. Everywhere. And then — hallelujah — he hooked the bikini strap of my panties with one thumb and dragged them down.

We made out with incredible urgency, as if a meteor were about to obliterate the earth. Our two bodies moved together, the hot beat of his neighbor’s music urging us on.

“Katie,” Andy breathed between kisses. “Should I find a…”

I gave him one more hard kiss, and then a shove on the shoulder to encourage him. “Go. Hurry.”

He was up like a shot and rifling through his top dresser drawer. But after ten seconds of fervent scraping around, I began to get nervous. It was all well and good to be with the sweet sort of guy who didn’t expect you to put out. But when push was ready to come to shove, having the necessary equipment was awfully important.

Luckily, he found what he was looking for.

A half second later, Andy was back on the bed and sheathing himself with hands so eager that they shook. I saw him take a deep breath and gather himself together. Instead of climbing on top of me, though, he gave me a little nudge and lay down beside me, pulling me into his arms. He inhaled deeply again and let it out slowly.

I trailed my hand down his chest. “Second thoughts?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t say yes.

He shook his head. “No way. You?”

“Not a chance.” But even as I said it, I had the first quiver of uncertainty I’d ever experienced just before sex. A little voice in my head said: Really, Katie? Shouldn’t you feel shame for this? Other girls would.

This stopped me for perhaps two seconds.

Oh, shut up! I ordered that voice. Those other girls didn’t know what they were missing. I was not going to let The Football Player Who Shall Not Be Named ruin this moment for me.

Andy shifted into position over me again. But he didn’t make it happen yet. Instead, he lifted his long hand to cup my face, and he kissed my forehead tenderly. “I’ve had a thing for you since the first art history lecture,” he said.

“What?” With all his warm skin over me, it was hard to track any conversation.

“You sat in front of me with a friend,” he whispered, kissing my nose. “You told her you’d always wanted to visit the Louvre and the Prado. But you were happy to take the course first. You were wearing a pink t-shirt and a denim skirt. Your friend was looking at Facebook for the whole lecture. But not you. You took notes. Your hair was held back in a pink scrunchie, and I wanted to pull that out and let your hair fall down loose.”

Somewhere in the middle of that little speech I’d stopped breathing. “Wow,” I gasped. I was blown away. Gone.

Above me, Andy just smiled. “But no pressure, right?”

Looking up at him, I giggled suddenly. And all the tensions of the evening fizzed up, shaking my stomach with laughter. For a second I thought that I was going to totally lose it, the way that laughter sometimes grabs a hold of you and won’t let go. It was entirely possible that I was about to become hysterical.

But Andy just smiled wider. Then he lowered his grin to my jaw and kissed me there. And then he kissed the sensitive spot under my ear. And my neck. And my collarbone.

The laughter died in my throat, and I relaxed onto the bed.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, bringing his body close to mine.

“Yesss…” I breathed.

As he fitted us together, Andy groaned like a man in pain. But he moved like a man in love.

I wrapped my arms around him, drinking in his kisses.

“Katie…” he whispered, his breath catching. And the sound of it was the same sound you’d make if you’d just unwrapped an unexpected gift and found just what you’d wanted inside.