Approaching his dorm, Derek brightened instantly upon catching sight of Emily leaning against his door, waiting for him. "Hey, Princess!" he greeted, leaning in to steal a quick kiss before unlocking the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I can't just come visit my boyfriend for no reason?" she asked playfully, elbowing past him into the room and heading straight for his closet.

"Say it again," he requested, watching her with curiosity.

She turned back to give him a questioning look. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked, frowning. "You were okay with it the last time we talked..."

"I still am," he insisted. "I just like to hear you say it."

She shook her head, smiling fondly. "You big softie," she muttered as she turned back to rummaging in the pile of clothes on the floor of his closet.

"Wanna tell me what exactly you're doing?" he asked.

"You texted me like seventeen times complaining about your French homework, so I came over to help," she explained as if it should be obvious.

"That's nice of you," he said, "But I meant what are you doing in my closet?"

She emerged triumphant then, one hand holding up his rugby team sweatshirt as her trophy. "Found it!" she declared, proceeding to pull it on over her head. It was comically large on her small gymnast frame, but the effect was rather adorable.

Derek hummed a pleased little note, pulling her into his chest so he could whisper in her ear, "That's kind of sexy, you know – seeing you wearing my clothes..."

She gave a husky little laugh in response, but gently pushed him away. "Behave yourself, mister, you've got French homework that needs doing."

"I can think of something else that I'd rather do..." he replied, waggling his brows.

But she was already flipping through his textbook in search of that week's lesson, letting him know that she wasn't falling for his charm just then. With a glance back over her shoulder, she said, "Come on – mettons-nous au travail!"

"Yeah," he agreed with a shrug, "Whatever you said."

She rolled her eyes. "There's a lot of work to do here..." she muttered.


She managed to keep him on task for one very long hour (or, as focused as he could be while his hand continued to wander up her thigh). "You're not even listening to me," she complained.

He held up his hands in surrender. "It's just really hard to focus when you're talking all this voulez vous coucher avec moi stuff..." he informed her seriously, lips wandering along her jawline.

"Derek..." she warned, without putting any real heat behind it.

"Come on," he wheedled, "I can think of far more interesting French things to do..."

She groaned softly, feeling herself giving in. "What about my neck?"

"We'll find a way," he insisted, tugging her to stand so that he could pull her hips up against his, lining their bodies up so he could kiss her properly. She let him gently guide her back to sit on the edge of his bed, lips never leaving hers. "How about the live version of those photos?" he husked between heated kisses, one hand teasing at the waistband of her jeans.

"I want you," she agreed.

But as his hand slipped inside her jeans, she stiffened, a look of fear crossing her face. Immediately, he withdrew his fingers, moving back to give her space.

"Em?" he said gently. "Are you okay?"

She plastered on a smile that was only half fake. "Sorry," she murmured, one hand lifting to rest against his cheek. "I guess things just got really real all of a sudden..."

"Hey," he said gently, turning his head to kiss her palm, "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"I know," she insisted, offered a smile – more genuine this time. "I'm ready," she assured him.

"If you're sure..." When she nodded her assurance, he pulled her closer by her belt loops until he could kiss her properly again. He seemed a little gun-shy, though, keeping his hands at her waist.

The silent consideration of her boundaries almost made her tear up, thinking of how genuinely good he was. With gentle pressure, she forced him to lay back, straddling his hips. (If she'd had any doubts that he wanted her, his hard-on pressing against her quickly vanquished them.)

He looked up at her, silently asking her if she was sure...and she was, assuring him with a smirk before latching her lips to his neck.

Accepting her assurances, he slipped a hand under her shirt, letting it wander over the planes of her back until he reached her bra clasp.

What might've happened next, though, remained a mystery because at that moment, the door opened to admit Matt.

"Yo, man, are you..." He trailed off sharply, catching sight of the two of them in an obviously compromising position.

Emily gave a little squeak of surprise, crawling off Derek, cheeks nearly glowing red. She couldn't meet Matt's eye.

Sitting up, Derek grabbed a pillow to cover his obvious hard-on. Clearing his throat, he mumbled, "Hey, man..."

"No tie on the door knob?" Matt asked.

"I, umm... I should go," Emily whispered, face even redder. She stood quickly, grabbed his sweatshirt from where she'd discarded it in the heat of the moment. She paused at the door, smiled back at Derek. "Love you."

As the door clicked shut behind her, Matt turned to Derek. "The L-word already, huh?"

Derek shrugged. "That a problem?"

"Well, you sure didn't waste any time..." he said pointedly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Matt fixed him with a serious look. "How long did you date Savannah? You never told her you loved her..." When Derek shot him a curious look, he explained, "Girls talk."

"I wasn't going to say it if I didn't mean it – that wouldn't have been fair to her," Derek insisted. "Just because I didn't love her doesn't mean I didn't care about her though."

"You're leaving something out, though," Matt said.

"Such as?"

"You didn't love her because you were already in love with Emily," he accused.

Derek held up his hands in self-defense. "I was loyal to Savannah the entire time," he defended.

"That's not what I said, though..."

"Look, what do you want from me, man?" Derek asked. "Did I string her along? Maybe a little. But I ended it before things got serious and spared us both a lot of heartache, so I don't understand why you're so pissed off!"

"I'm pissed off because I went to bat for you – she knew your reputation and I convinced her to give you a shot anyway – and you were a total tool."

"I'm not going to apologize for falling in love with Emily," Derek said firmly. "Because she's the best damn thing that ever happened to me. And if you have a problem with that, then...I feel sorry for you because you obviously don't know how that feels."