The Tutor (Kephart College Book 3) by Cassie Mint

Author:Cassie Mint [Mint, Cassie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Cherry Publishing
Published: 2022-02-16T16:00:00+00:00

Six

Malachi

I’ve messed this up.

There’s more I’d like you to teach me. That’s what Freya said, towing me through the darkened library stacks, her hand gripped tight in mine, my lips still tingling from our kiss.

I’d like you to teach me.

Fuck. Fuck. Should I have told her that I’m a–that I’ve never done this before either? When the hell would that have come up before today? Does she only want me for this because of some tutor kink?

God. Kill me now.

If I had any final scraps of pride, I’d make some excuse and end this already. Send her home without the masterful fuck that she wants, but also without my inexpert fumblings.

Jesus Christ. She’ll figure it out in seconds. Will she laugh at me? Judge me for it? Look at me with disappointment in those big, blue eyes? I’d die.

No. No.

My thoughts may be crashing around my skull, but Freya’s hand is steady in mine. Her thumb draws gentle circles over my knuckles as we walk, and I draw in a deep breath, holding her hand tighter.

Freya Pippit does not judge people–she’s a better person than I am. And she cares about me, I know it, even if her attraction to me is purely based on the tutor thing.

“What do you want me to teach you?” I murmur, prodding the bruise. Reveling in the mess I’ve made for myself.

Freya shrugs, and she won’t look at me. The salt and pine breeze ruffles her short hair. “Political theory,” she says, and my stomach sinks.

Yeah. I’ve fucked this up.

I don’t live far from campus. Two streets over on a tree-dotted hill, on the third floor of a pale stone building. There’s no elevator, and I guess I rented a place on the third floor to make a point to myself, but now I wish that I wasn’t so fucking difficult about everything as Freya walks slowly up the steps by my side.

She doesn’t comment on the stairs.

I can’t look at her as I climb, teeth clenched and leg throbbing.

I distract myself with thoughts of the library. I made her come with my hand okay. And she was so wet, so hot and responsive. A dream. Maybe the rest will come naturally too–if she still wants it.

Ushering Freya into my apartment feels a bit like when she touches my cane–painfully intimate, like I’m cracking open my rib cage and giving her a peek. I flick a table lamp on, casting the living room in a warm glow, and she takes in the squashy black sofa, the empty mug and pile of books on the coffee table, the brown-tipped houseplant I keep almost killing with neglect.

“You should water that plant.”

“Yup.” I should do a lot of things–like punch myself in the face next time I’m considering bringing Freya here. It’s like dragging a goddess to the underworld. There’s no soul here, no life, and I never fully noticed that before seeing Freya with her bright green dress prodding my lone blue sofa cushion. I don’t even have decent coffee, damn it.

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