by L. A. Rose
When we reach our apartment building, when we’re about to get into the elevator, I stop him. “I really want to invite you over tonight.”
“An intriguing proposition,” he replies.
“But I have an eighteen-page paper due tomorrow morning worth sixty percent of my grade, and I only have an outline.”
He blinks. “You’re that crunched for time and you still gave your sister a ride to the airport?”
“Well,” I admit. “She said I could have you if I gave her that ride.”
He laughs. And as the elevator doors close around us, he pulls me into a kiss. A long, slow kiss. He tastes like rain and promises. We stay locked together so long that the elevator door closes again on my floor and I have to hit the reopen button.
“Tell you what,” he chuckles. “I’ll also let you have me if you give me a ride.”
I freeze. I need this class to graduate. If I don’t write that paper, I’ll fail.
Sex with Adrian or graduation?
Sex with Adrian or graduation??
“I’m joking,” he says as I open my mouth. “You need to write that paper. And there’s no way our first time will be a quickie.”
“Right,” I nod, since I was totally going to pick graduation anyway. Definitely.
He hugs me one more time before letting me go. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
I’m still grinning like a fool when I walk into my apartment.
Marie’s asleep, so I tiptoe around piles of romance novels, feeling oddly similar to the way I did in kindergarten when miniature heartthrob Timmy Jenkins gave me a macaroni valentine at Christmas. Good to know my emotions have matured since then.
But when I get to my bedroom, I understand how much my emotions really have matured. I never felt the wild urge to dry-hump my pillow when I was six.
The pants are across the room and I’m settling into my Adrian-motivated masturbation station when my phone buzzes. I consider ignoring it, but you never know, there could be a secret random-person lottery that I won. Even better: it’s Adrian.
“I realized something the second I closed my apartment door.” His voice is husky and low. Just the sound of it gets me going, and my fingers drift downward before I can think about it.
“Is that so?”
“I should have gone inside with you and torn your clothes off. Fuck the essay.”
Oh dear sweet lord. “What if you fuck me instead?”
There’s a ragged exhalation of breath on the other line, a moment of silence, and a sharp “Own.”
“Did you fall off the bed?”
“I had to smack myself as a reminder that I’m not the kind of guy who forces a girl to fail her class just because I want her. We’re adults.”
“Adulthood sucks. Timmy Jenkins would have come upstairs.”
“Who?” I can practically hear Adrian’s eyes narrow. “Is that the name of the next person whose face I’ll be punching?”
“Nah, he’s a washed-up football player working at the 7-11 now, he’s got his own thing going on.”
“Ah.” Adrian sighs. “Well, I guess I should let you go do your essay.”
“Wait.” I’ll be spending the next ten minutes masturbating with the speed of a small helicopter anyway—I might as well do it with Adrian on the line. “…What are you wearing?”
“Isn’t that my line?” He laughs.
“True. I’ll pretend you asked.” I glance downward. “I can tell you who’s wearing my pants, anyway—my bookshelf. The windowsill is currently in possession of my panties.”
He breathes out slowly. “So I am to deduce that you are currently naked.”
I wriggle out of my T-shirt and bra. “I am now.”
“Do you want me to tell you exactly what I’d do to you if I was in your room right now?” Adrian’s voice has a dangerous, hungry lilt.
“Yes. Tell me.”
“I’d kiss my way down your stomach, past your hips. But not before spending a good few minutes marveling at how goddamn sexy you are.”
I force my hands to stop where he left off, at my hips. “Then what?”
“Are you about to touch yourself, Cleo?” His tone is a perfect balance between teasing and serious.
“No, I’m about to scrub my toilet. What do you think I’m doing?”
“Touchy, touchy.”
“How about you get touchy instead?”
“With pleasure,” he says in a low voice. “I’d spread your smooth, soft thighs and kiss every inch of them. Then I’d show you how hard you make me. Unbelievably hard, Cleo. Like no girl ever has before.”
The thought of that particular part of him forces a moan from my lips. “I turn you on, is what you’re saying.”
“I’m stroking myself to the sound of your voice.”
“Shirtless?”
“Obviously.” His voice gets even huskier. “I’d bite the inside of your thigh, just hard enough to leave a mark. And then I’d lick all around the edges of your pussy, until you’re soaking wet.”
My fingers venture lower. I’m slick and ready. “Already there.”
“Good. Now I’m going to tell you exactly what to do. And you’re going to listen to me.”
“I think I know how to masturbate, Adrian. Thanks to you, I’ve been doing it enough these past few weeks.”
I can hear him grit his teeth. “You’ve been touching yourself to me?”
“Only about every day,” I reply, flush with daring.
“You have no idea how much that turns me on.” There’s a soft grunt behind his words and I picture him lying back, abs on display, hand wrapped around his large, firm cock. Hood-boy. I start to rub myself and groan.
“Stop,” he says sharply. “You’re going to do what I say, remember?”
“You think you know my body better than I do?”
“You’d be surprised,” he says with a dark chuckle.
I force my fingers to relax. “All right. I’m listening.”
“I want you to put three fingers inside yourself and curve them. Make a motion like you’re gesturing toward your stomach.”
I do, doubting him—I’ve only ever really masturbated with my clit before—but almost immediately, I hit a sweet spot and the resulting tremor shakes my whole core.
“Good,” he says. “That’s nothing compared to what I’d do to you if I were there, though. I’d shove my tongue into your pussy and taste every inch of you. Then I’d suck your clit into my mouth and finger-fuck you until you screamed for mercy.”
I continue fingering myself as he says this, feeling the sweet warmth build up. “Oh, God…”
“I’d wait until you begged, until you were so wet you were dripping. Then I’d grind my hard cock into your clit, sliding it over the outside of your pussy, teasing you.”
“Mm,” I groan, my fingers plunging deeper. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Now I want you to squeeze your clit and roll it between your fingers, just once. Wait five seconds and then do it again. After that, make hard circles against your hood with your finger.”
I obey, rolling myself like a little cherry. The sensation is overwhelming at once, but when I let go quickly like he said, it sets off a little firework in my stomach. He really does know my body better than me.
“Then I’d push my cock inside you. Your whole body would tense, then relax as you got used to the feeling of my entering you. There’d be a second of pain, then perfection. I’d angle my hips and let all of me enter you. And then I’d fuck you so hard you’d arch your back and forget how to say your own name.”
“Yeah…Jesus,” I gasp, massaging my clit as my internal muscles grow taut and throbbing. “That’s so good.”
“I’d pump and come inside you, and we’d be coming at the exact same time, I’d grind hard against you and slam you into the wall and bury myself in you…”
“Oh, fuck, Adrian,” I cry, and then I come all over my fingers, feeling the warm gush of fluid soak my bed sheets. I know he comes too, be
cause he lets out a harsh groan, and I wish I was there to lick it off him. For half a minute, we just breathe deeply into each other’s ears.
“Now you should be able to write your essay,” he says, and I picture that wicked grin.
“Now I’m pretty sure I could do anything,” I say after a moment. “Goodnight, Adrian.”
“Night, Cleo.”
~22~
ADRIAN
Funny thing about being famous?
It’s pretty similar to not being famous.
People have always stared at me wherever I went. Side effect of being unbelievably gorgeous, I guess. I’ve even had people ask for my autograph before. Now that White Steel has made me their golden child, it’s just my regular live upped to eleven.
And I’m surprised at how much I don’t mind it.
I’ve taken to wearing a hooded sweatshirt around campus. Right now, it’s past nine and the stragglers still outside are booking it to the library or their dorms, not paying attention to the tall guy with the hood low on his forehead, getting some air after a day of playing hide-from-the-press in his apartment.
Just then, my phone buzzes. I scowl, expecting another message from my mom listing the eight hundred and twenty ninth reason why I should model for White Steel again, but the name on the screen is much more appealing.
Cleo Reynolds: Meet me at the athletic complex.
Intriguing.
I text back Athletic complex’s closed, it’s past nine, but I’m already headed in its direction.
The girl who locks up is in my psychology club. She owed me a favor.
I grin and quicken my steps. Wanted some after-hours exercise?
The response comes in seconds. It’s more like Marie just gave me an outline for a new scene she wants me to write.
Now I’m almost jogging.
The Hirsch Athletic Complex is across campus, but I make it there in minutes. It’s dark and closed-looking, as it always does after hours, but when I try the main door, it’s unlocked. I guess I’m not the only one who can get into closed buildings at night. I take out my phone as my footsteps echo through the dim main hallway. Where are you?
Find me, she texts back.
Now this is getting interesting. But she clearly underestimates me. There’s only one place here worth going after everything’s closed.
When I reach the pool, I find that it’s unlocked too. I step through, the moonlight seeping through the windows and glancing off the water to spray across the walls, and see her. She’s naked—Jesus—sitting on the other side, dangling her bare feet in the water with her phone in her hand.
“That didn’t take long.” She tosses her phone to the side, onto her pile of clothes sitting next to the bleachers, and smiles at me.
“Like I’d let you wait.” I pull my shirt off over my shoulders. Her slight intake of breath as her eyes rove down over my chest is sexy as hell. I make to walk around the side of the pool to reach her, but she holds up a hand. “Wait.”
“I don’t know how long I can wait with you naked,” I say. Need courses through me, thick and hot. Each second I don’t have my hands on her burns into my skin like grains of sand.
“Marie gave me the outline for this scene.” She stands up and trails her hands over her full, delicious body. “It’s very…specific.”
“I’m not used to being told what to do.”
“I know you’re not,” she says, eyes still ranging over my torso. “But this time, you’re going to give it a shot. In the book, Jonathan dives in and swims over to Amelia.”
I grin. If she’s going to play games, I’m going to play my own games as well. Without taking off my pants, I dive into the water, relishing the coolness against my face. I burst through the surface and swim toward her with hard strokes. But when I look up at the edge of the pool, she’s not there.
There’s a splash behind me and I turn. Her head pops up out of the water a few feet away. “Catch me.”
The mischievous expression on her face drives me wild. I dive after her, but she swims back quickly.
“Right,” I say. “You were on the swim team in high school.”
She grins and splashes me. “So was Amelia.”
I swim toward her and then circle her slowly. This time, she doesn’t dart away. Unable to bear the sight of her sleek body submerged in water any longer, I lunge forward, but she slips out of the way again.
She wags her finger at me. “Like I said. This scene is very specific. So I’m going to tell you what you’re supposed to do. Okay?”
I growl, but I’d cut off my own head for the chance to touch her at this point. “Fine.”
“Come forward,” she tells me. “So that we’re almost touching, but not quite.”
I drift forward in the water until our skin is aligned, barely a centimeter of water separating her breasts from my chest. I can feel the warmth of her breath on my neck. The water laps between us, drawing us closer together.
“You put your hand around my back, pulling me into you,” she whispers.
I do as she says, sealing our bodies together until there’s no space for water anymore. Her hands snake around and clasp together against my back. In the poor light, she’s so gorgeous.
“Kiss me,” she says.
I do, bringing my mouth to hers with such force that I nearly push both of us underwater. She tastes sweet and silky. Her tongue slips into my mouth and I respond in kind, losing myself to her.
She jumps up in the water, wrapping her thighs around my waist. I grip her tight ass and kiss her hard, stepping forward until her back is against the side of the pool. She breaks away and pants, the echo of her breathing loud in the enclosed space. “Now touch me.”
“Where?”
“You know where,” she breathes.
I obey, reaching between us to caress her folds. Then I grind my fingers against her, and she moans into my neck, rubbing her hips against me in a way that gets me insanely hard.
“Inside me,” she demands. “I want you to touch inside me.”
I obey, moving my fingers inside and finding that special ribbed spot to rub inside her walls. She tightens against me with a ragged sigh. I press my body against hers, hard, so she can feel every contour of me pressed against every contour of her.
“Put me up on the side of the pool and spread my legs,” she commands.
“Marie gave you a very detailed outline, I see,” I chuckle, but I do as she says, lifting her easily out of the water and setting her on the edge. I spread her knees as water pours in rivulets down her stomach and into her soft creases.
“Lick me,” she says.
I chance a glance upward. Her tone is firm, but there’s a slight quake in her shoulders. It’s taking all of her strength to remain confident, in control. But the sight of that confidence is making me horny as fuck. I grip her ass and slide her hips toward me and then, still in the water, I nibble on the outsides of her folds, the taste of chlorine quickly fading to be replaced with something uniquely her.
“Now get up here and get on top of me,” she says hoarsely.
I leap out of the pool in a rush of water, and in a second I have her pinned to the tiles, liquid streaming down my skin and pouring on to hers. She looks deliciously vulnerable, there on the tile, but still in control. I’m letting her have this. I’m doing exactly as she says—something I’ve never done before—and surprisingly, I’m happy to.
I grind my hips down on her so she can feel exactly how hard I am underneath my soaking wet jeans. She moans at the pressure and I push down harder, wanting nothing more than to bury herself in her, yet knowing I can’t do it. Not tonight.
Suddenly, she pushes forward, her hands on my shoulders, and then she’s on top of me, pinning me down against the tile. Her long hair hangs into my face, creating a canopy for just the two of us. She lowers her head and bites my neck. It’s sexy as hell, and I exhale harshly.
She sits back and rocks against my hips, dry humping me slowly and deliciously.
I moan at the weight of her moving against my cock. She lets her head hang back as the lips of her pussy envelop the shape of me.
She reaches for the zipper of my pants. I stay her hand.
She actually growls at me.
“These jeans are the one thing standing between you and getting deflowered tonight,” I say as sanely as I can manage.
“Is there a problem with me getting deflowered tonight?”
“Yes,” I say. “Because I’ve planned something for this weekend. Something special.”
She moves her hips against me in another delicious stroke. “You sure?”
I’ve tested my resolve again and again, and I’m not going to break now, when I’m so close to giving her everything on my terms. “I’m sure.”
She slides off me and rolls onto her back, sighing. “I thought for sure the nudity would get you.”
“Cleo, you got me. Don’t worry about that.” I laugh raggedly and run a hand through my hair. “Did Marie really write out all those instructions for you? The girl’s a freak.”
“Well,” she says slyly. “I may have lied a little bit.”
“Wait. That was all you?”
“All me,” she says. And laughs.
~23~
CLEO
“The school newspaper wants to interview you,” Marie reports as she walks through the door, balancing a load of laundry on one arm and a pizza on the other. She tosses the laundry on the floor, the pizza on the table and raises an eye at the heap of me, upside down on the couch.
“Are they journalistically interested in seeing what happens when someone dies of horniness?” I mutter, my hair brushing the floor.
“They want to get the inside scoop from Adrian’s ‘special friend.’ Not that the two are unrelated.” She crouches, eyes me, and shoves a piece of pizza in my mouth. I chew and swallow. After a moment, I shake my head.
“Need sex. Not pizza.”
“I thought if anything could measure up to sex, it would be pizza,” she sighed.
“Nope. Sex.”
“You sound like my brother when he turned seventeen.”
“I think the libido of a seventeen-year-old boy has been implanted in me, actually.” I pull my shirt down. “Do you see a scar?”
