True by Erin McCarthy Page B

of my breast, now peeking up from the dress.
    I’d never been so aware of my body, so aware of every inch of another person, and I listened to the sound of Tyler’s breathing, the hitch and rise of his desire, the sharp intakes of air, the blast of heat from his lips as he groaned, before closing over the tightness of my nipple. He was pressing against me in various places, and the scent of him, so different from mine, so earthy and male and strong, had me digging my nails into his biceps as I clung to him.
    The rustling of our clothes and my own soft moans surrounded me and it was all so warm and damp and wonderful that when his fingers crept up under my dress, I didn’t stop him. The sash from my costume had lodged itself around my throat, but I didn’t bother to move it as I sighed in delight, his lips and stroking fingers everywhere. His rhythm on my nipple matched that of his thumb under my panties, and before I could even consider, think, stop it, I shuddered against him, biting my lip to prevent from crying out.
    Shocked, breathless, I felt my cheeks heat up as I stared at him, sucking in air. He had stopped moving, and lifted his head up to give me a cocky smile of satisfaction. “That didn’t take long.”
    I shook my head, feeling mildly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to . . .”
    He laughed and sat up so he could brush a kiss across my lips. “You’re a nut. Why else would you be doing any of this if you didn’t mean to?”
    “I don’t know.” I just wanted to be a little more sophisticated.
    Tyler readjusted my dress so my chest was covered again and he withdrew from under my skirt. “You have goose bumps. Let me turn the car on.”
    I didn’t really think the shivers were from cold, but I didn’t argue with him. Tugging my dress down closer to my knees where it belonged, I watched him light up another cigarette. There didn’t seem to be a pattern to his smoking. I’d seen him go hours without having one, but then times like tonight, he seemed to light another almost as soon as he put one out. The addiction seemed behavioral, not physical.
    Maybe I stressed him out.
    He did start the car, but he made no move to pull out of the parallel parking spot and go to Nathan’s. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?” he asked out of nowhere.
    I blinked at the unexpected topic change. “I want to be a coroner.”
    “What?” he asked, glancing over at me in surprise. “Like autopsies and shit?”
    I nodded.
    “Damn. And you look so sweet all the time.”
    “It’s very logical,” I told him, like that was supposed to explain everything. But I didn’t really feel like having a conversation about my career choice when I was still pulsing with desire and was wondering what he intended to do and what I intended to let him do.
    “I suppose it is. But gruesome.” He looked behind him and put the car in drive and pulled out onto the street. “Come on, let’s take you back to your dorm.”
    “What?” I reached back for the seat belt to click it in before I remembered there wasn’t one. For some reason that upset me, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was a need for protection, literal and otherwise. “I thought we were going to Nathan’s.”
I thought you wanted to have sex
. And I thought maybe I just would have said yes, given how he’d made me feel in under three minutes over a gearshift.
    “If we’re going to stick to just making out I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
    We had actually surpassed making out already, in my opinion. I didn’t know what to say. Did he just not want to have sex with me? Because what other explanation could there be? Maybe my future career had turned him off. I knew that not everyone understood why I would want to slice open corpses.
    “Did I do something wrong?” I said, then hated myself for saying it. God, that was such a lame, pathetic girl thing to ask. But it was out, and I couldn’t take it back.
    “No, of course not.” He sounded surprised.