But I don’t want to make a big deal of it because I don’t want everyone to think I’m that girl. There’s no sense in starting off the summer as the rich bitch who’s also the boss’s spoiled daughter. As a result, I decide to keep my head down. I get acquainted with my computer, clicking around on some random folders. There are no emails yet, which is good. Then, I read a bit of the company manual, but it’s exceedingly boring. So I do as Karen suggested: I pop out my phone and play around a bit. Candy Crush keeps me occupied for fifteen minutes, but then I get bored of that too. I try angling the phone for a selfie, but it’s too depressing. There’s too much gray between my suit and the cloth-covered walls. Tomorrow, I’m going to bring a few succulents to spice this place up because right now, it’s just too blah.
To my surprise, an hour passes and then two. No one comes around to say hi or introduce themselves either, so I decide to head to the bathroom. After relieving myself, there’s still nothing to do, so I decide to take myself on a tour of this place. I’ve been to Kombuchaid headquarters before, of course, but it was always with my dad and we pretty much just stuck to the reception area and his office. This time, I’ll show myself around a bit.
The building is huge, with several floors, and there aren’t any access codes or badges needed in the elevator, so I’m able to roam freely. Strange. I decide to start at the bottom, in the basement. But when I get down there, the elevator opens to what appears to be a construction site.
“Hello?” I call in a moderately loud voice. My voice seems to echo into the quiet.
Then, I step outside and begin to make my way around the construction. There’s plastic sheeting on some of the storage boxes to protect them from all the dust and grime, and the furniture is bound in saran wrap. There’s a ton of dust flying in the air, and I cough a bit, masking my nose and mouth. Damn. I swear the plaster’s getting in my air passages. Maybe I should just go back.
But then I see a women’s restroom and duck inside. Thank god. It appears relatively clean, without the layer of dust covering everything. I look at myself in the mirror, and see my tousled hair and rosy cheeks, not to mention the smart gray suit. Damn, why isn’t Gray here? I wish he could see me like this, when I’m wearing a professional outfit with an ID badge dangling from my waist. Would he laugh? Would he chuck me on the chin, and call me “sweetheart” again? I grow warm inside just at the thought.
God. Gray Jamison. Dammit, why do I keep having to think of him? I haven’t seen him in ages, but his image continues to haunt me even here, in the most inappropriate of places. He owns this building, for crying out loud! Well, at least he co-owns it with my dad.
But I want him too badly, and I can’t stop the urge. His hands on my skin…his cock in my mouth…Gray whispering my name in my ear. It’s too much, and the ache overpowers me.
Like a bad girl, I whip out my phone and google Gray’s picture. I quickly find one of him on vacation in Hawaii and I was right about his body. Damn. Tan, muscular, with a smirk that drives me wild. Unhesitating, I hitch my skirt up and then prop one leg up onto the counter, while holding my phone in my left hand while my right hand slides up my thigh and into my panties. I wish it were his hand, and not my own.
I keep thinking of what I would say if he spoke to me the way I long for him to. What would he say? Would he growl my name in my ear? Would he kiss my jaw before bending down to swipe his tongue across my clit?
I drop my phone on the counter and stare at myself in the mirror, panting. I want the view he would have of me. The feel of his mouth all over my pussy, with his fingers burrowing inside me. Him sucking on me there, forcing me to come again and again, until I can’t take it anymore, and then thrusting himself into me with that massive cock. It’s too much and I let out a high, keening cry as my body shudders and then explodes.
“FUCK!” I scream heartily, not caring who hears. I shatter on my fingertips and my pussy squeezes violently as I dream of Gray coming hard in my sweet passage. I pant, moan, and touch myself more, even as my body crests. I’m sweating now and ramped up higher, if that’s possible. But there’s no help for it. Gray’s not mine, and this is just a naughty fantasy, and nothing more.
To be continued …
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Sneak Peek: The Frat Boys Next Door
Sasha
Sasha’s had a crush on the frat boys next door for ages now, even when they keep her up all night.
* * *
It should be illegal for houses to be so close together that I can hear people having sex next door.
If only my scholarship to Remington College included room and board, then I wouldn’t have to live in this ramshackle, four-story building. My bedroom is in the attic, which is nice because I get plenty of privacy. However, the walls must not be insulated because whenever there’s a party at the frat house across the way, I feel like I’m practically there.
But right now, this drafty attic room is all I can afford. Even now, I have to work two jobs in order to make ends meet, and that’s on top of being a full-time student. It’s not easy, but I count my blessings. Things could be much worse. So what if I occasionally have to stop by Remington College’s food pantry? I’m not too proud to go hungry, and I’m grateful for what the donors provide.
But what makes life excruciatingly unbearable are the loud parties that happen pretty much every night at Delta Tau Tau. The heavy bass, random thumping noises, and of course, the moans and squeals that could drive a nun insane.
I should have known better than to accept a room next to a frat house. How anyone in my house gets their zzz’s is a mystery to me. Maybe I should invest in noise-cancelling headphones. But I’d be too afraid to use them because what if I slept right through my alarm? I’d lose my barista job, which requires me to be at Cafe La Heart by 5 a.m. each morning.
Speaking of which, there’s a thumping bass coming from next door which practically makes my floor vibrate. I sigh and check the time. It’s nearly eleven at night and it’s a Tuesday! Who the heck has parties this late on a weekday? Don’t guys in frats have class, just like everybody else? What about the people who attend these parties?
I peer out of my window. My vantage point gives me a good view of the offending house. There are people standing around in the yard next door with red cups in hand, and sure enough, the house is packed to the rafters with kids. People are talking, drinking, singing, and a few people are even dancing on the deck they have on the first floor. Apparently, weekdays mean nothing in college, but I didn’t get the memo. I’m fine with partying on weekends, but this is just sheer ridiculousness. I mean, hello. Some of us have jobs to go to in the morning, followed by a full day of classes.
I snap my curtain closed in frustration. A part of me wishes I was there, enjoying the party at Delta Tau Tau. At least if I were having fun, I wouldn’t be so mad about being kept up.
Okay, I’d probably still be kind of mad, because I have to get up super early no matter what. It’s part of the perils of having an actual job, but I bet the men next door wouldn’t know anything about that. They’re probably all here on their parents’ money and able to let it run through their fingers like water. I wish I could afford to pay for a school I barely attend. As it is, if I don’t do well in my classes, I’ll lose my scholarship, so I can’t afford to screw off like the rich kids next door.
It’s not that big of a deal though because I’m used to feeling like this. I’ve been poor my whole life. My parents gave me as much as they could for school, but they don’t have a ton of money themselves. Everything they make goes to bills, and even now, they sometimes struggle to make ends meet. I send home money whenever I can because it’s the least I can do. I may not have had much growing up, but I always had my parents’ love.
I grab my phone from the bedside table and check to make sure my alarm is set. I have to be at work by five, so I need to wake up by four-thirty at the latest. God, I am not getting enough sle
ep. I shoot daggers at the frat house through my curtains. They can’t see, but it makes me feel better at least.
Next door, a girl squeals with excitement. She just asked for a tour of the fraternity, and a man with a low voice is telling her that he’ll show her around. I’m guessing the only thing he’ll be showing her is the inside of his room, and how soft his mattress is.
There are also distinct grunts and groans coming from both the third and fourth stories of the house. This is why I haven’t been able to sleep. I think if it was just random conversations, I’d have no trouble, but listening to other people have sex can be a turn-on sometimes.
Then, another long, melodious moan fills the air. The girl’s gasp mixes with the cacophony of a headboard banging, and then a man’s murmur as he growls in his lover’s ear. I have no idea how many guys live in that house, but they’re all doing well in the sex arena, that’s for sure.
I wonder if they know I can hear them. The people living in the other bedrooms of my house are college students too, but I never hear any of them having sex. Then again, the frat boys probably don’t even care. They’re probably proud of the debauchery that goes on over there.
I pull my pillow over my ears but it doesn’t help. How long can these people go at it? This has been happening since I moved in, so I know from experience these noises are going to drive me nuts all night. These men have crazy stamina, I guess in part because they’re young, virile, and healthy. Then again, I wouldn’t know because I haven’t been with even one guy in my entire life. God, I’m going to die alone, tormented in my spinster’s bed.
Then I bolt upright in a rage. What the hell! I’m half tempted to go over there and give them a piece of my mind. But then, I slump back down again. Who am I kidding? I don’t have the courage. I’m just a coward.
I squeeze my eyes shut to try and sleep but all I can picture are the bodies to go along with the moans I’m hearing. Hard, naked bodies, filled with testosterone. Bronzed skin, with six pack abs and enormous tools between those muscular thighs. I squirm in my bed. Oh my god, this is so wrong!
But I’ve seen the guys from Delta Tau Tau, and what I envision in my head is true. The frat is known for its athletic and good-looking members. I don’t think they can legally have an attractiveness requirement during recruiting, but somehow, they ended up with all the tall, hot men at Remington College.
Then again, I’ve never spoken to a single guy in DTT. Well, aside from the casual “hi” in passing if we see each other on the sidewalk. If I tried to say anything more, I just know it’d come out as gibberish because I’ve never been good at talking to hot guys. I always end up sweaty and red-faced, with my armpits feeling damp.
A tall figure forms in my mind. There’s this guy in the frat, Mike, who I’ve seen a couple times. He’s got to be about six foot four and his hair is black and swept off his forehead. His piercing blue eyes stop me in my tracks every time I see him, and he’s got the most amazing body. I wonder if he’s a varsity athlete. It would explain the sports bag I see him carrying sometimes.
Then, there’s another DTT brother, Brent. Last winter, I saw him outside chopping wood and I thought I was going to die. I get it: this is Vermont, so people actually chop wood, but still, Brent looked like a Viking come to life. It helps that Brent also has a fantastic six-pack that I’ve been lucky enough to see a few times. The DTT guys love to walk around half-naked with gym shorts hanging about their hips. Not that I’m complaining. My only substitutes are the male models on the covers of my romance novels, so seeing these guys in 3-D is a treat.
A few of the DTT guys I’ve seen float around before my eyes as I lie in my mattress. They’re tall and muscular, with charming smiles and knowing gleams in their eyes. Sighing a bit, my hand dips into the front of my pajama shorts. I’m soaking wet, and my slit is puffy already. The men’s images, coupled with the sounds coming from next door, are enough for me to begin stroking my clit.
I start off gentle, teasing myself. This is one of my favorite things to do. I like to imagine a guy kissing me and grinning slowly as he trails his thumb over my nub.
Tonight, it’s Mike whose massive bulk is between my thighs. I easily imagine his hands in place of mine. I bet they’re rough and calloused, not to mention big. He’d feel so good entering me with one finger, stretching me out and preparing me for his cock.
I moan gently, my eyes falling shut, as I slide into myself. It’s nowhere near as good as it would be with Mike, but it’s good enough for now. I bite my lip and moan out Mike’s name as I plunge my fingers deep in my pussy with a wet sucking sound.
“Fuck, that feels good, Mike,” I whisper. I can’t be too loud or someone in my house might hear. I’d never live it down if someone overheard me masturbating because the people in this house are very square and very ordinary.
My eyes close again and my back arches as I reach deep.
“Oooh,” I breathe, tingles going through my pussy. “Mmmm.”
I stroke my clit with my thumb as I penetrate myself with more fingers. The pleasure builds and builds but I can’t quite bring myself over the edge. I try again, reaching deeper while spreading my legs. My thumb is rapidly strumming my clit now, and I’m so close, and yet I can’t get there. My body strains again, praying for climax, but it just won’t come. I collapse, sweaty and flushed on the mattress, unhappy and desperately frustrated.
This happens sometimes. No matter how turned on I am, I can’t make myself finish.
I try touching my nipples as I work on my pussy, thinking furiously of the men next door. If anything, the sex sounds outside my window crescendo, and I can hear a man groaning with exertion. But nothing helps. My body can’t get over the edge I so desperately want to reach.
I snatch my hands from my shorts and huff. I’m so horny that I’m tempted to run next door and throw myself at one of the DTT brothers. There has to be someone willing to sleep with a virgin like me, right?
But I force myself to stay in bed. First of all, sex with random strangers isn’t me. Second of all, I have to work in five hours. The last thing I need is a hookup keeping me awake all night. I’d fall asleep at the espresso maker and end up fired, which would have serious consequences. Getting laid is not worth being kicked out of school, no matter how desperate I am.
I lay back and curse myself for dreaming of the men next door. Am I being creepy? I hope not. Don’t people imagine celebrities and porn stars all the time when they masturbate? What’s the difference between that, and picturing guys I’ve seen in real life?
I close my eyes tighter and hope that I can rid my mind of these dirty fantasies, but it’s no use. If anything, it gets even worse because instead of one man, now I fantasize being surrounded by a group of them. Yes, I’m taking off my clothes for a bevy of alpha males, who look my curves up and down with appreciation before satisfying me the way I need.
Holy fuck! What am I thinking? Group sex? A gang bang? Now, things are really getting out of hand. But I’m so far down the road that I can’t stop. My hands shift over my curves, pulling at my nipples before stroking my little bud. I imagine satisfying each man in turn, even as they satisfy me. The pleasure is immense, and this time, I reach my peak. With a delirious scream, my back arches almost painfully as my toes curl and lightning bolts shoot through my pussy.
“Mike!” I scream. “Brent! Justin! Peter!”
It doesn’t matter that neither Mike, Brent, Justin or Peter know who I am. I just found ecstasy at the hands of my fantasy men, but the thing is that they’re not quite fantasy because these gorgeous men are real, and they live next door.
* * *
To be continued …
The Frat Boys Next Door is LIVE! Pick up your copy here.
About the Author
Cassandra Dee is a bestselling author of dozens of hot and steamy contemporary romances. She started out writing erotica but transitioned to romance after falling for one too many book boyfriends.
When she’s not tapping
away furiously at her laptop, Cassandra can be found drinking gallons of coffee and watching lots of reality TV. She also enjoys taking the neighbor’s dog for walks, aimlessly wandering the local grocery store, and of course, reading too much about the lives of her favorite celebrities.
Cassandra is living her own HEA with her husband and a beautiful baby boy.
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My Boss’s Husband: A Forbidden Romance Page 8
