by Sarina Bowen
I couldn’t help it that time. I groaned.
Bella said nothing, and her eyes were still closed. She reached for the hand I’d draped on her hip, brought it up to her breast and left it there.
Another groan worked its way out of my throat as the soft swell filled my palm. I brought my lips to the creamy skin on the back of her neck. Bella pressed her body back, fitting it to mine, the invitation unmistakable.
I slipped my other arm under her pillow, which allowed me to cup both of her tatas at once. On a quiet whimper, she arched her back, pressing against my crotch. I kissed her nape again and again. “Belleza,” I whispered. And when I kissed the soft skin underneath her ear, she shivered in my arms. “Do you want to wake up for me, baby?”
Instead of answering, she lifted her top knee, making a space between her legs. Then she hiked her thigh in order to catch my dick. She lowered her knee again, trapping me between her legs.
When I flexed my hips to tighten our connection, I could feel the wet slide of her concha against my erection. “Oh, fuck,” I gasped. My whole body was on fire, now. With my heart beginning to pound, I thrust in the space between her legs. I had both her breasts cradled in my hands, and my mouth on her neck. Bella’s curves were everywhere, and it was exquisite.
With a sexy little moan, Bella ground against my dick. “Okay,” she breathed, dropping a hand to the sensitive head of my cock. “Who do I have to blow around here to get this thing inside me?”
The kiss I’d been pressing against her neck suddenly became a snort of laughter. “Love that idea, belleza. But I don’t have any condoms.”
She let go of my dick and pushed herself up on an elbow. “Then you’ve come to the right place. So to speak.”
While Bella opened the drawer in her bedside table and fished around, I tried to slow my breathing.
“I thought I had… here it is. Try this.” Bella settled onto her side again, then reached over her shoulder. The packet she handed me read “XL” in big letters. I slit it open and carefully fitted the condom over my cockhead. When I rolled it down, the fit was much more comfortable than the one that had broken on the night we hooked up. “Thanks, belleza,” I said softly.
She reached a hand over the top of her head and pushed her fingers into my hair. “If that fits, we’re going to buy a case of those.”
Chuckling, I put my arms around her again. “It does. And you feel so fucking good.”
“I could feel even better.” She didn’t turn over. Instead, she lifted her knee and reached between her legs. When her hand wrapped around me, I stopped breathing. She lined me up, and I pressed forward on an exhale.
Just like that, I was inside my girl and groaning from the feel of her body hugging my cock.
“Yessss.” She pushed back against me, taking me deeper. I grabbed her hip and thrust. Then we were both moving and moaning together.
Never had a Sunday begun so perfectly.
After only a few amazing minutes, my motor revved all the way into the red zone again. But I wasn’t ready for this to end—not by a long shot. So I wrapped my arm around Bella’s chest and rolled onto my back, keeping our connection.
Her head came to rest on my shoulder. “Why’d you stop?” she breathed.
“Don’t want to finish yet,” I admitted.
She flexed her hips, and the friction was delicious. But I wasn’t quite so trigger-happy anymore. I reached a hand down between her legs, my fingertips advancing through the little triangle of hair to the very place where we were connected. Jesucristo. That was the sexiest thing I’d ever felt — Bella’s softness around my hardness.
“Oh, fuck,” she whispered, shivering in my arms. She dug her heels into the bed and arched into my hand.
“You like that?” I began to stroke her.
“So much.” She writhed on my chest, responding with a breath or a shiver every time my fingers grazed her. I’d never felt so powerful. “Ohhhh,” she sighed. “Don’t stop.”
But I was afraid that if she came on my dick, she’d take me with her. And I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want it to happen quite like this.
I withdrew my hand.
She groaned with frustration. “I thought you were a nice person.”
“I am,” I said, lifting her body so that I could slip out. “The nicest.” Dropping Bella to the sheet, I rolled on top of her. With her curls spread out on the pillow, and her eyes made extra green by the morning light, she looked like an angel. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she whispered, her chest heaving. “Is there a problem?”
I shook my head. Then I dropped my forehead to hers. “I just want to see your pretty face while we’re fucking, belleza.” I kissed her on the nose. “Eres mi novia. Mi hermosa novia.”
At that, her eyes went a little glassy, and her mouth opened into an “O.” She lifted her hips, and I pushed back inside.
For a long moment, I didn’t move at all. I just let myself soak up her warmth and the glory of being as close to someone as it was possible to be. “Thank you, belleza.” I gave my hips a little shove, and she sighed beneath me. That felt so good I thrust again. And then again. Dios. This wasn’t going to last long. Staring into her lust-filled eyes was killing me.
“Rafe…” she whispered, and the sound of my name on her lips was intoxicating.
“Belleza,” I returned, thrusting faster.
“Kiss me, baby.”
Sí señorita. Dropping my mouth onto hers, I forced my tongue inside, and she answered with an epic moan. She reached up, then dragged her fingernails down my back. It was so good it almost finished me off. My rhythm stuttered for a second as I grabbed her naughty hands and pinned them down on either side of the mattress. I laced my fingers in hers and held her still beneath me.
“Oh, fuck,” she cried, meeting me stroke for stroke with her hips. That’s when I felt it — her body rippling around my cock. And it was all over then. My balls tightened immediately, and then I was groaning and shooting and delirious with joy.
Collapsing onto Bella’s sweet body, I felt strong arms wrap around my back. I tried to lift my hips to avoid crushing her, but she wasn’t having it.
“Don’t you dare move. God, you feel so good.”
I smiled into her pillow. We lay there together, just feeling happy. A few minutes went by before I even noticed which uptempo song was coming through the bathroom door. “She’s at it again,” I whispered.
“Mmm?”
“That song is ‘Love Shack.’”
Bella snorted. “There’s something I need to ask you. Because I’m a newbie at this girlfriend thing.”
“What is it, chica?”
“What do couples do on Sunday morning together?”
“Do I need to teach you the secret handshake?”
Bella giggled.
“You got this,” I said, nuzzling her cheek. “First we make out some more. Then we drag your lonely neighbor to brunch with us. Then we drink a whole lot of coffee.”
Her soft hands began to stroke my chest. “Sounds like a plan.”
Thirty-Two
Bella
Life looked a little brighter on Monday than it had in weeks. Maybe it was the revenge. Maybe it was the sex.
Okay, it was probably the sex.
Whatever the reason, I felt more like myself than I had in a long time. I walked all the way to my psych seminar thinking dreamy thoughts about Rafe instead of ducking my head when people passed by.
Twenty-four hours had elapsed since my prank. And then forty-eight. There were still plenty of pics and videos on social media, but I hadn’t heard my name in conjunction with any of them. And there were no more scary mentions of Beta Rho alumni taking legal action.
Life was good.
On Tuesday I went for a run with Rafe before Urban Studies. After class he left for a dining hall shift, and I took a moment to call the nurse practitioner on my way back to Beaumont.
Ms. Ogden answered on the first ring. “How are you, Bella?”
&nbs
p; “I’m good. Really good. But I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Well, I have a new boyfriend…”
“Congratulations!”
“Thanks. And I wanted to get tested once again, just out of an abundance of caution.”
“Right. You don’t even need to make an appointment for that. Just come in during business hours.”
“That’s easy,” I said. “So here’s one more question — I had a swab test of my fun zone when I was sick. But I’m assuming that this time I just have to pee in a cup?”
“That’s right. And it’s the same for him if he wants to be tested. If you’re starting a new relationship after a non-monogamous time, it’s good practice for anyone to get tested.”
“Right.” Monogamy was treating me really well these days. I’d woken up this morning with a horny Rafe in my bed again. And after we’d scratched that itch, he went out and brought back coffee. If I hadn’t already seen the point of having a boyfriend, it would have sunk in while I was drinking that latte in bed.
“Remind me, Bella,” Ms. Ogden said into my ear. “What’s your major?”
“Psych.”
“Huh. Have you ever considered nursing school? I think you’d make a great nurse practitioner. Or a midwife. There’s definitely some psych involved. You have a great attitude, and you’d get to talk fun zones for a living.”
“Wow.” What a crazy idea. “I’d never considered anything medical. Because the people who are trying to get into med school are the most stressed-out students at Harkness.”
“I’ll bet they are. And maybe nursing isn’t as glamorous as being a full-fledged doctor. But the grad school piece is so much easier. If your plans for next year aren’t firm yet, you should take a peek at the Harkness nursing program. Just to see if it interests you.”
“Harkness has a nursing program?”
She laughed. “I suppose the undergrads wouldn’t necessarily notice it because it’s hidden inside the med school. I’m on the faculty, actually.”
“Wow,” I said again. Me, a nurse? Maybe that wasn’t as crazy as it sounded. “I’ll look it up. Today.”
“You do that. And call me if you want to talk more about it.”
I walked home in a daze, wondering if I had the right coursework on my transcript to get into a nursing program. For the first time all year, I felt a tug of interest toward life beyond my Harkness degree.
The happy high I was riding lasted an entire week.
Then, inevitably, a certain voicemail message plunged me back to earth. If I’d thought there would be no repercussions for pranking Beta Rho at the football game, I’d been naive. My stomach bottomed out when I listened to the voice on the other end of the line. “This call is from the offices of Wilma Waite, dean of students. Please call us immediately regarding a confidential matter.”
Oh, shit. It was time to pay the piper. Wilma Waite wasn’t just a dean. She was the top-dog dean.
She wasn’t an easy lady, or so I’d heard. Her nickname was Whomping Wilma. My hands were actually sweating as I hit redial. I put the phone to my ear, listening to it ring. Then I gave myself a pep talk. Short of expulsion, whatever punishment they doled out to me would be worth it, right? Getting even with Beta Rho had felt very, very good. I just needed to remember that while they were grilling me in Whomping Wilma’s lair.
“Dean Waite’s office.”
“This is Bella Hall returning your call…”
“Miss Hall.” The receptionist’s voice was cool. “Thank you for being so prompt. Is there any way that you could come in to Dean Waite’s offices right now?”
Yikes. If the dean had cleared her schedule to deal with me, that couldn’t be good. “Sure,” I said, wanting to get this over with.
“I need to ask you not to speak to anyone on your way in.”
“Um, okay.” Holy crap. Did I need a lawyer? I’d watched plenty of TV. If I didn’t like the questions they were asking me, I could always stop the interview and call my father. He’d love that. But I knew he’d help me immediately.
The receptionist told me where to find the dean’s office, but I already knew where it was and it took me only two minutes of walking to reach Tappanworth Hall. The place was built to intimidate. When I pulled open the giant wooden doors, I found myself in an echoing marble anteroom. Through another set of imposing doors was a double-height office with thick Persian rugs on the floor. There were two assistants seated behind enormous desks. One jumped out of her seat when I came in. “Isabelle?”
“Yes.”
“Let me take your coat. The dean is quite grateful you could make it.”
Grateful? The rumors must be true, then. Whomping Wilma must enjoy punishing undergraduates.
“Can I get you coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Uh, water would be great.”
A few minutes later I was ushered through yet another set of carved oak doors into the dean’s private office. Dean Waite didn’t look like the dominatrix I’d expected, though. She was a rather ordinary looking lady with grey, librarian hair. “Have a seat, Isabelle. And thank you for coming.”
“It’s Bella,” I said, just to make myself feel brave.
“Bella, take a chair,” she said.
I did. Nothing happened until the receptionist had left the room and closed the door.
Then Whomping Wilma folded her hands on the desk. “Bella, we have received a complaint against the members of the Beta Rho fraternity.”
My heart lurched as I replayed that sentence in my head. She’d said the complaint was against the fraternity, not from the fraternity. Oh.
Ohhhhh. Oh no. I was afraid to hear where this was going.
“Given what the complainant has told us, the school is investigating several of the fraternity members. We have an obligation under Title Nine to maintain a safe and harassment-free atmosphere for all students.”
“Okay,” I squeaked, trying to do the math on what might have happened and how Whomping Wilma got my name.
“One member of the fraternity is cooperating with this investigation. And this member brought your name to our attention.”
Oh. But… who?
“It’s really quite unusual to have the testimony of one fraternity brother against the rest of them. So we need to corroborate the things he’s telling us.” She stared at me with expectation in her eyes.
“I see?” I said. Although I didn’t really.
“Bella, do you have anything you’d like to report?” Her gaze was like a laser.
Wow. I didn’t want to report anything. But now she had me wondering where the other complaint had come from. If another woman had gotten hurt by Whittaker and his cronies, that changed things. It had to. If I told Dean Waite that I had nothing to say, he might get away with it.
And what if they’d done something truly awful to someone else?
I swallowed hard.
“If you’re worried about implicating yourself in any wrongdoing, you could speak to a lawyer first.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said quickly. (Unless we were counting the football game stunt.) “It’s just that I really don’t want attention.”
“Bella, this office will not release your name. The investigation is private.”
Oh honey, really? “Dean Waite, there’s no such thing as private. If I tell you my story, and you start asking the fraternity questions, they’ll know exactly who talked. They have a nasty little website where they air all their grievances.”
“Do you mean…” The dean shifted the papers on her desk. “Brodacious.com?”
“That’s the one.”
The dean made a note on her pad. Shit! I’d already contributed to the investigation.
She sighed and set down her pen. “A former member of the fraternity has made serious allegations regarding their treatment of you, and I was hoping you could corroborate his story. That’s all I can say. Except that if it happened, and you don’t help us prove it, it could
easily happen again to someone else.”
Ugh. She was right, of course. The college didn’t want trouble. And I didn’t want that on my conscience. It’s just that I also didn’t want to be targeted for telling the truth.
Coward much? “Okay. Fine. I get it. I’ll tell you.”
Her eyes lifted. “Can we do this now? I’ll need to record our interview.”
Oh good God. What had I just agreed to do?
The assistant was called back in to set up a video camera. I just sat there in my chair, sweating. The assistant sat down too, a notepad in her lap.
They both stared at me. “Okay, Bella. Please tell us about your recent interactions with members of the Beta Rho fraternity.”
After a big gulp of my water, I tried to think where to start. “Well, in September I went to their Casino Night party…” Jesus Christ. I was going to have to tell a dean, her assistant and a video camera that I’d had sex with Whittaker.
So I did.
“It was consensual?” Dean Waite asked.
“Absolutely — no question,” I admitted. Shoot me already. Nobody at Harkness would ever have sex again if they knew they could end up telling Whomping Wilma about it later.
“What happened afterwards?” the dean prodded.
Marching onward through my tale of woe, I walked them through my medical diagnosis, eventually arriving at the ugly night in question.
I told my audience that Whittaker had sat me down in the breakfast nook.
I told them that we’d done shots of tequila.
And while my face burned bright red, I told them that Whittaker had denied giving me an STI. And in the next breath, he’d asked Dash to mix up “the special.”
The fucking special. It had leveled me like a tranquilizer dart. I’d spent six weeks trying not to think about that night, but the dean’s clarifying questions kept pinning me back inside that awful moment. “How did the drink appear?” Cloudy. “What was in it?” Orange juice, and an umbrella, but only in mine.
Jesus God, I was such an idiot. How could I have missed that big red flag? Why did I think guys who bragged about drinking beer out of their jock straps would suddenly decorate a lady’s drink, just to be nice?
