When He Was Bad by Cynthia Eden Shelly Laurenston Page A

proud feminist, she would be too…if she actually wanted a discourse on the Chaos Theory. She didn’t. She wanted him. She wanted to have sexual intercourse with him. Wait. That was wrong. No, she didn’t. She had sexual intercourse with men like Bradley. She didn’t want that with Van Holtz.
    She wanted to fuck him. She wanted to be fucked by him. She wanted to get sweaty and transfer fluids and forget her name. She wanted everything that a night with Niles Van Holtz promised, but she refused to want more. She refused to get so caught up in her sexual urges that she would believe, for a second, that this thing they were indulging in would ever lead to anything more. When this was done—and it would be done sooner rather than later—she’d find another Bradley who’d make a great fourth at dinner with the dean.
    Irene knew it was a very cold way of looking at relationships, even for her, but she had no delusions she’d ever get more. She was too strange, too off-key—and not in a cute, adorable way either—to ever hope someone could love her as she was, and she was smart enough to know she’d never change. Not inherently. Not where it counted. Even if she curbed her tongue and stopped scaring her students, she’d still be Irene Conridge, freak. Nothing she did would ever change that.
    But she’d indulge herself this time. She deserved it. For at least twenty years she’d always done what people expected and wanted. Now she’d do what she wanted, even if it was only for the weekend. Only for this brief time in her life.
    Big thumbs brushed her nipples and all Irene’s important thoughts floated away, leaving nothing but deep-seated lust.
    She wrapped her arms around Van Holtz’s neck and her legs around his waist, pulling him close to her. She marveled at the heat of him. His body was always warm or sometimes, like now, hot. She wondered if that was normal for shifters. If their body temperatures were hotter than other, normal humans. She wondered if he’d let her take a sample of his blood. Then he lifted her up and laid her out on the tile floor and she quickly stopped caring about his DNA strain.
    Before she realized what was happening, Van Holtz slid his tongue inside her and Irene gripped his wet hair, keeping his mouth against her. Her body rocked against his face, her hips and pelvis pushing into him. Leaving the warm water made her thoroughly aware of the chill in the air, her nipples hardening almost painfully, goosebumps racing across her skin. But the sudden cold also made her more thoroughly aware of Van Holtz’s big hands tightly gripping her thighs, his mouth and tongue stroking her to orgasm as she shook and moaned beneath his mouth and hands.
    Little else held her interest as he ate at her. Devoured her with a single-minded intensity that took her breath away.
    Irene groaned as she came. She groaned and moaned and begged him not to stop. He didn’t. He took her over again and again, until she lay exhausted on his tile floor, her breathing ragged, her body trembling.
    He pulled her back into the warm water, the bubbles much less than when she’d first gotten in. He held her against his body, stroking her back and arms until her trembling stopped.
    “Sorry about that,” he ridiculously apologized. “But all I could think about was going down on you.”
    She rested her head in the crook of his neck and sighed. “Anytime. And no apology necessary.”
    He tried nothing else, even though she could feel his own unfulfilled lust resting hard and hot against her inner thigh.
    Combing her fingers through his hair, she let out a satisfied sigh—and decided to have some fun of her own.
     
    “You know, I read so many books,” he heard her say softly in his ear. Books? She wanted to talk about books now? But he didn’t have the heart to tell her to shut up. He quickly realized talking about books and what she knew gave her a sense of control she probably had in few other areas of her