“Come here.” He pulled at her until she maneuvered herself around to put her head on his chest and her leg up over his. He kissed her forehead, once, twice, and pulled a blanket from the back of the couch to cover them both. “Are you ok? Are you cold?”
They were two different questions, but she said, “Yes” to both anyway, unsure, and snuggled closer. “I have to go soon.”
“I know. Your parents, who are paying me to teach you geometry, are expecting you home for dinner, I imagine,” he said smartly and she giggled.
“Should I tell him I already ate?” she teased, running her hand under the blanket and over his belly down toward his flaccid penis.
“That’s a beastly idea.” He snorted, then groaned as her small, soft hand squeezed a little life into him. “I think we need to keep this to ourselves, luv.”
“So first geometry, then…. this?” she asked, hopefully, pressing her breasts into his side and enjoying the response between his legs, a slow but steady stiffening.
“Nothing like a rewards system.” He chuckled. “Let’s see how it works?”
Cat found herself living for the heaven and hell of her time with David, the vexation of her personal math struggles, the frustration of trying to think with his thigh brushing hers at the kitchen table, and the inevitable dissolution of his adamant insistence on separating work from pleasure. There was no stopping them once it started, it seemed.
He would be trying to help her with a proof, leaning over her, his large hand working the pencil and she would remember how his hand worked her and it would all immediately become garbled nonsense, not that it usually wasn’t anyway. The minute that happened, she became unable to focus and would whimper and press back against him in the chair. At first, he could simply shift and look sternly at her, and she would attempt to concentrate again, wanting to please him. Eventually, though, she discovered she pleased him a great deal more if she slid her hands up her thighs-Paj kept remarking on her wearing skirts all the time now-and pulled her panties aside to finger herself.
She grew more and more bold with every encounter, and so did he, as they faced the issue of her inexplicable but tightly held fear of letting go of her virginity. She had learned to suck him, stroke him and rub him from every angle, with every part of her, but she couldn’t let him inside of her. Every time he got near, the throbbing stretch and heat of him impossible, she would panic and tell him no. If he would groan and beg and press a little more, she would cry and say,
“But you promised you'd stop if I said…” and so he would.
They both had their own frustrations now, and both were keen with a growing need for resolution. She would sit for her SATs in two weeks, and she still didn’t really understand what Pythagoras was theorizing all about. David’s panting and increasing dissatisfaction of not being buried inside of her was driving him to distraction, and in fact causing her a great deal of inner turmoil, as she feared another big, beautiful blonde might show up who would be more than willing to ease his ache.
One afternoon she rushed to his place, so eager for him that she hadn’t even changed her coveralls from working with Paj in the shop. She didn’t knock anymore, just let herself in. She made her way through the house until she found him up in his room, stretched out on the futon that was positioned underneath the loft that served as his bed. He looked up at her, surprised, and suddenly lustful at the sight of her. “Nice boiler suit,” was all he said, but he'd left it mostly on her while he thrust himself to completion in her mouth, her face still streaked with oil and engine dirt.
That was the first time he'd really pushed her for an alternate solution, and it coincidentally aligned with the resolution of her problem with Pythagoras. She decided to wash away all the dirt and grime in the little shower off of David’s loft bedroom and when she came out, wearing a towel turbaned around her hair and nothing else, she found him standing there, fingering her coveralls thoughtfully.
“Want a pair?” She teased him, knowing he didn’t know the difference between a fuel injector and a timing belt. “You could come help me put the finishing touches on Stuie. He’s almost street legal now that he’s got a new muffler system.”
“Catherine, I’m a bleeding idiot!” David stared at her in awe, probably the first time he'd looked at her naked without a hint of lust in his eyes.
“Huh?” She flipped the towel off her head and quickly dried her hair with it.
“You’re a kinesthetic learner. Of course you are. How thick can I bet?” He shook his head, laughing to himself. “You can take an engine apart with one hand tied behind your back, but you can’t learn Pythagoras' theorem? What’s wrong with that picture?”
“Oh, I’m just not a math person, David. I’ve accepted it.” She tossed the towel and reached for her t-shirt.
“Buggar that!” he growled, pulling her to him. “You are absolutely brilliant!
You are the smartest, most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and I’m going to prove it to you!”
Her breath caught and she stared at him, bemused. “Catherine, you’ve heard me talk about the universe having like a geometric blueprint, a cycle that repeats over and over…” She nodded, but shrugged. He'd talked and talked about it, but she'd never really understood it.
“It’s in everything-the shape of a sunflower, in crystals, in the center of the Milky Way, in our very cells and DNA-we all have this sacred geometrical pattern.” He sat on the futon was opened flat from earlier, pulling her into his lap.
“And it all starts with a basic angle, one simple equation.”
He flipped her into the futon and she squealed, laughing, as she sprawled out before him. His excitement was catching, and she was admittedly curious.
“You, my little duck, are a hands-on kinda girl, hm?” He smiled down at her, rubbing her ankles with his thumbs. She shrugged, still smiling a little dreamily up at him, her body tingling like it always did when was displayed like this for him.
He opened her legs, and said, “Don’t move.” She raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t.
“Let’s start at the beginning… first define an angle,” he said. “Tell me.”
“When two lines intersect in a point, called a vertex, the circular span between the lines is called an angle,” she quoted. She could have probably quoted the whole text, and yet she didn’t have any real comprehension of it. The minute the pencil went to the paper, she was lost.
“Yes, such a good girl,” he murmured. She saw his gaze fixed between her thighs, his eyes growing darker. “When two lines,” he repeated, his hand starting at her ankles and sliding up the impossibly long, smooth length of her legs.
“Intersect in a point.” His hands stopped at the bend of her thighs, his thumbs below, his fingers above, framing her dark brown triangle with his hands. “A vertex.” He grinned, slipping his finger through the center of her, making her shiver. “This, right here… this is the vertex… do you feel that.” His finger moved gently over her clit, sending an immediate rush of blood there.
“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes closing for a moment.
“So the angle is this circular span between the two lines.” He rubbed his hand over the futon beneath her. She propped herself on her elbows, looking down at the cushioned surface, her head cocked. “This is a 90 degree angle.” He arranged her legs just so. “With a third side, this is a right triangle. An angle, if it’s less than 90 degrees, is an acute angle.” He slid her legs nearly closed by the ankles. “And I have to admit, this angle is pretty damned cute.” He looked fondly at how her lips pressed together in a sweet little pout. She was giggling, now.