How to Date a Douchebag: The Studying Hours

by Sara Ney

  Turn. Dump her into the center of the bed.

  I watch her perky boobs bounce from the fall on the mattress. Watch her nipples glisten, still wet from my tongue. Watch as she shrugs out of the pale blue cardigan, spread out before me in nothing but her scanty lace panties and prim necklace.

  She squirms impatiently.

  Inviting me to devour her.

  “When I’m done with you, I’m going to fuck you in those pearls,” I growl, shucking my boxers and climbing toward her across the bed.

  Jameson spreads her thighs—spreads them wide—luring me in.

  So tempting my mouth begins to water—I’m insatiably hungry and only Jameson can satisfy me.

  I linger over her, balanced above where she wants it most. Lean in and drag my flattened tongue up the inside of her shaved bikini line. Pull back the scrap of fabric covering her smooth pussy and lick.

  Once. Twice.

  Husky, surprised, moany gasps fill the air when I flick her clit with the tip of my tongue, up and down.

  “Oh shit, oh shit,” she cries, pulling at my hair. “Don’t you d-dare…stop. Ohhh…”

  I don’t intend to.

  Hooking my fingers in the sheer waistband of her panties, I tug them down. Down her hips. Down her thighs. Down her legs. Jameson spreads herself wider, wriggling her hips on the bed, impatient and naked but for the gleaming, shiny strand of pearls around her pretty neck.

  My fingers part her and I suck, tongue going deep like our lives depend on it.

  Jameson

  “Lay on your back.”

  The command comes out more demanding than I intended, but has the desired effect. Sebastian scurries to his back, naked as the day he was born, and I marvel at the sight of him. He’s hard angles and calloused hands and firm everything.

  But gentle.

  I marvel at the fact that my cardigans turn him on.

  My pearls turn him on.

  So much so that when I reach behind my neck and unfasten the gleaming strand, Sebastian’s dark eyes glaze over with fascination. Lust.

  “Why are you taking those off?” he rumbles, weight shifting on the mattress beneath us when he puts his thick arms behind his head to study me. “Please keep them on. I like ’em.”

  My eyebrows rise as if to say, You know why I’m taking these off.

  “You like these?” I pinch the gold clasp between two fingers and let the ivory rope dangle over his solid, heaving pecs. They hover until I lower them, dragging the warm pearls over provocatively erect nipples.

  Sebastian licks his lips, dragging his teeth slowly over his tantalizing lower lip. “Did I say like? I meant love.”

  The pearls slide lower across his naked body, down the slick skin of his sternum. Down the ridged plane of his chiseled, rock-hard abdomen. Down his pelvis. I let them dip into the valley between his legs, over his thick pale thighs.

  Slowly, I tease. Dragging the pearls up. Then down.

  Up. Down.

  The moan he lets out is guttural. Raw. So filled with hunger that when his hips twitch, his arms frenziedly reach for me, hands as shaky as his legs. “Come here, baby, come here.”

  “Yes.” One word and I’m grasping the glossy necklace. I lower myself to the mattress, core pulsing and throbbing.

  He’s hot; I’m hotter.

  I need it. He needs it.

  We both want it.

  Beg for it.

  “Yes. Please, get a c-condom on.” My post-orgasm voice shudders and tremors as hard as my ovaries. I clutch the pearls tighter in my hand. “I want you so bad.”

  “I’ll wrap up after you put the pearls back on for me,” he gruffly demands, eyes blazing when I have them securely around my neck and I’m flat on my back, hair fanned out on his pillow. “You’re so sexy.”

  Sebastian begins the slow creep up my body, stiff dick and pre-come dragging along the inside of my leg when he hangs off the side of the bed to grab a condom from his bedside table. My nerve cells strum on high, buzzing. Vibrating. Thighs itching to be filled.

  He peels back the foil package, slides the condom carefully out of its wrapper. We watch breathlessly as he guides it down the length of his shaft, arms and muscles straining from the anticipation.

  Lust-filled air and sexual tension overtake us.

  We watch breathlessly when he kneels between my legs. My thighs.

  I spread my legs and lift my ass off the bed, head thrown back when he finally pushes in slowly. Pushes home. Slides that big dick in, deliberate in his continuous rhythm, in each and every thrust.

  His moan is gruff. Masculine. Intoxicating.

  “Oh. Fuck. Yeah. Yeah sweetheart…you feel so good James…so good, baby,” he chants, planting a sloppy kiss on my lips. I open for him, sucking on his tongue while those lean hips rail into me, wet and messy and wild.

  Sweetheart. Baby.

  Our eyes meet. Lock.

  Watching my partner’s face while he screws me isn’t something I normally do; I’ve always found it too intimate. Unsettling. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t in love with any of my previous partners, so gazing into their eyes while they bang me into the bedposts? Not my thing.

  But when Sebastian lifts his intense, broody eyes to mine, I’m a goner. Mesmerized.

  His rotating pelvis become unhurried, dark eyes fixated on mine. Slowly but steadily the mood changes; his feverish fucking suddenly becomes…

  Kisses to my temple. Aching, desperate moans in my mouth.

  “You’re beautiful…so gorgeous,” he murmurs hoarsely as his massive palms reach under my ass, lifting. Rocking deep, so deep I gasp. And gasp again and again. Stars shine behind my eyes and my vision blurs. I thrash my head, hair spilling on the pillow as this glorious—

  “Jameson, Jameson. I…I…” Whatever words he’s trying to say get lodged in his throat, emotion overwhelming his expression. His throaty grunts are music to my lady bits and I—

  “Wanna be on top,” I plead against his neck. “Pull out, Oz…p-pull out…”

  I can have another orgasm if I’m on top. Maybe two.

  The words spill out of my mouth as my legs go wide—wide as they’ll go, pulling and tugging him by the hips a few more frantic seconds so he’ll grind deeper. Push harder. Deeper and deeper he pumps those athletic hips, working me over, his stamina a thing of beauty.

  It’s a miracle he hasn’t come yet.

  Sebastian stops and I give a little whimper when he pulls out, moan like I’m dying from the loss of penetration. Eight limbs tremble when he rolls over and lies flat on his back, reaching for me, slick cock standing at attention.

  I lay on top of him, relishing the skin-on-skin contact before straddling his waist, dragging my tongue across his for an open-mouthed kiss. It mimics our sex. Our lovemaking.

  My knees hit the mattress when I climb on top, Sebastian’s hard cock brushing against my ass cheeks in the most delicious way. Channeling my inner stripper, I swivel my hips, watch his half-hooded eyes slam shut from the pleasure when the slippery tip teases my back door before I lower myself.

  I undulate my hips so excruciatingly slowly I want.

  To.

  Die.

  Sebastian’s fingertips grip my thighs, easing up my body. Cup my breasts. He runs his flat palms in slow circles around my hard nipples. And if it were possible for him to be any deeper inside me, Sebastian flexes, tightening his torso. Rises into a sitting position. Wraps his powerful tattooed arms around my waist and buries his nose in the crook of my neck, impaling me farther.

  “Jameson,” he croons, stroking my back, thrusting up into me. “Jameson, Jameson.”

  Loving me.

  It’s heaven.

  It’s hell.

  It’s bliss.

  “God, I love the sounds you make,” he moans. Groans and thrusts. Strokes my damp hair as his dick strokes my g-spot. His deep-throated grunts are in sync with my breathless gasps. “You feel so good…so good…shit…uh…uh…shit…I’m close…James, baby, I�
��m gonna come.”

  “Oh god, yes! Yes! Me too,” I damn near sob. “Hard, push…yes, ohgodohgod, yes, hard… Oh! Right there, right there. Oh!”

  It’s loud and beautiful and sweaty.

  It’s real.

  “I can’t do it any more, Sebastian. Leave me alone and get me food.”

  “Come on, Jameson. One more time before we go out. Please?”

  “You’re insatiable—stop begging. I’ve created a monster.”

  “Once more and I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

  “What a load of crap. You’ve said that twice already.”

  “But I didn’t mean it those other two times.”

  “Sebastian, I need a shower. And I need food—I’m hungry!”

  “I can think of a few things to satisfy your appetite.”

  “Ew.”

  “You weren’t saying ‘ew’ when you were blowing me during Game of Thrones.”

  “First of all, could we not call it ‘blowing you’? It makes me feel cheap. Secondly, you promised me a hamburger from Malone’s.”

  “Ugh, fine.”

  “Hey pal, you’re just lucky I’m still here. We’ve been in bed for what feels like a hundred godforsaken hours.”

  “Is it sick that I’m beginning to find it sexy when you roll your eyes at me like that?”

  “Um, yeah, it’s a little weird.”

  “I can’t help wanting to blow a load every time I see you.”

  “Is it weird I find that horrible, somewhat degrading sentence mildly erotic?”

  “Will it get me laid if I say it’s not weird?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then no. It’s not weird.”

  Sebastian

  Watching Jameson across the crowded room, a few things immediately cross my mind:

  I hit that—four times in the past twenty-four hours.

  Four times.

  Best sex of my life—and trust me, I’ve had plenty of it.

  She’s just as horny and depraved as I am in bed, thank. Fucking. God.

  I am harboring some serious feelings for her.

  A smug grin crosses my face, like I’ve stumbled across an untapped gold mine not a soul before me has discovered. Because no one—and I mean no one—would look at Jameson and suspect what I already know: she’s hiding a banging body under those conservative clothes. Fucking fantastic boobs. Round, toned ass. Flat stomach.

  Tight pussy.

  Slipping into that shit? Toe-curling ecstasy.

  Men pass her over; they see preppy cardigan sweaters and dainty shoes. They see boring. Staid. Buttoned up. A prude with a very smart mouth. They assume she’s sexually repressed, too much work for not enough output.

  Like I did.

  Which is fine—more Jameson Clark for me.

  Every inch of her is all mine.

  Holding court near the kitchen, the little vixen glances up from her conversation and I watch as she drags her exotic blue gaze up and down my physique, undressing me with her eyes, mouth curling into a knowing smirk above her red beer cup.

  I return the favor, sizing her up: the light pink, tight-fitted sweater with the V-neck showing only a conservative amount of cleavage. Cropped skinny capris. The high, strappy wedge sandals she debated a full ten minutes on before deciding it wasn’t too cold to wear them outside.

  In her pearl necklace’s place? A delicate gold chain with the word karma.

  Her roommate, Allison, leans into her just then, speaking into her ear, causing James to laugh cheerfully. She throws her head back, exposing a column of neck I know smells like sweet coconut and tastes like dessert when it’s sucked on.

  “Why do you keep looking over at Parker and his slam piece?” asks my teammate Pat Pitwell good-naturedly. For all his rough edges, he’s a really nice guy. Decent. He’s at school to wrestle, get a degree, and get out. He doesn’t sleep around, and he doesn’t make trouble.

  So I’m honest with him. “I’m dating the girl in pink.”

  “No shit?” Pitwell’s black bushy eyebrows shoot straight to the cornrows braided in his hair. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Goody two-shoes?”

  I let the comment slide. “Yeah. I think she’s my girlfriend.”

  “A girlfriend? Good for you, man.” He chugs from his red solo cup. “Pink sweater got a name?”

  Pink sweater—that makes me smile. “James.”

  “Seriously?” he asks again. “For real? Her name is James?”

  “Yeah, seriously.”

  “That’s a dude’s name.”

  “I know.” We both study her from across the room. “But it suits her.”

  “Home girl got class,” Pitwell observes over the top of his beer.

  “She sure does.”

  “Still wondering how she ended up with a brother like you, are you?”

  “Every day.”

  “Well good for you, man.” He looks her over. “She sure is a pretty little thing.”

  A nod. “Sure is.”

  “She can’t keep her eyes off you, brah. You should go over there, lay claim to that shit.”

  His hand clamping down on my shoulder propels me forward. I cross the room with long, purposeful strides, making it to Jameson’s side in fifteen footsteps flat. Approach her from behind. Wrap my arms around her waist, lacing my fingers just under her breasts, lips pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck while giving Parker and Allison a nod. “What was that look you were giving me from across the room?” I ask into the shell of her ear.

  She snuggles, sagging into me, but rolls her eyes. “Pfft, what look?”

  “You know the look.”

  Jameson taps a finger to her chin. “You’ll have to be more specific. Was it my ‘I’m thirsty and need another drink’ look, or my ‘I’m undressing Sebastian with my eyes’ look?”

  “Yes.” Ignoring Parker and Allison, I can’t keep my hands off her and I drag them down her ribcage, settling them at the empty belt loops of her jeans. Tug and pull closer.

  She makes no attempt to pull away, but rather, seems to melt into me.

  Getting her into bed later will be a piece of cake.

  “Fine, then yes. Guilty,” she teases. “It’s your fault for dragging me here—I just assumed I’d be spending tonight in pajamas watching a movie.”

  “So what you’re saying is, you want to go back to bed?” I purr low in her ear so only she can hear me—not that anyone would be able hear us anyway, not with the music blasting through the surround sound, high-def speakers. The room practically vibrates.

  Her laugh curls my toes. “Oh god, no—my crotch can’t handle any more Sebastian Osborne.”

  “Wanna make a bet?”

  This earns me another laugh; soft and sexy, her glossy hair beckons. I lift a hand to run my palm down the locks, fingers intimately straining through each satiny strand like sand through an hourglass.

  Fuck, even her hair makes me hard.

  I tug at the waistband of her jeans impatiently. “Come on, let’s get out of here and go back to my place before my roommates get home.”

  I’m a young, randy, walking erection; she can hardly fault me for that. Jameson’s lips part to refute—or agree—but her response is cut off by her damn roommate, whose timing is for shit.

  “This party is fun!” Allison banters shrilly, oblivious to the negotiations taking place, and frustrated, I grumble my displeasure into Jameson’s hair.

  “Make her go away.”

  “Thanks for the tickets to your meet the last week Oz. I had a great time, didn’t I James?” She nudges Jameson with her elbow—hard—prompting her. “They were amazing seats. Weren’t they amazing seats James?”

  Great. She’s drunk.

  Speaking of drunk, obnoxious friends—over Allison’s shoulder, I see a few guys from the wrestling team approaching, curiosity driving the nosy bastards forward. They’ve wasted no time encroaching on my territory.

  Awesome.

>   “Heads up ladies, assholes approaching.” I step closer to Jameson and tighten my hold around her waist in solidarity.

  Protectively.

  A united front.

  Leading the pack is Zeke Daniels, perpetual dickface, pushing through the crowd like a gladiator heading to battle. Determined and proud—and bearing a grudge.

  His hard, steely crosshairs are on Jameson, then dart to Allison, dismissing her. Those untrusting gray eyes begin their perusal of Jameson, beginning at her feet, swiftly moving up her denim clad legs. Pausing at the apex of her thighs. Linger too long on her breasts. Face. Hair.

  Zeke’s jaded perusal misses not a single scrap of fabric or inch of exposed skin on Jameson’s body.

  My guard goes up when frozen regard hits her pristine pink sweater…the elegant necklace…the glossy lips. They narrow, irritated. Nostrils flare.

  Shit, he really doesn’t want me dating this girl. I don’t know why or what his problem is, but I have a feeling at some point, I’m going to find out.

  The hard way.

  “Park. Ozzy. You gonna introduce us to your playthings?” Zeke’s sullen gray eyes hit the arm I have resting under Jameson’s tits and he plants a sneer on his face.

  Dude is just so fucking miserable.

  “Guys, this is Jameson,” I give her tiny waist a squeeze. “You know her roommate, Allison.”

  Allison tips her hand in a perky, friendly wave. “Hey guys. Congratulations on your wins this week.”

  We didn’t just beat Stanford—we decimated them, individually and as a team.

  “Hi.” One of my teammates steps forward, arm extended in a greeting like he’s meeting the homecoming queen, his expression is eager. “I’m Gunder—I mean, I’m Rex. Rex Gunderson. Hi.”

  Enthusiastic doesn’t do Gunderson justice.

  Wrestling in the lightweight class, Rex might be a winner on the mat, but he’s obviously out of practice with ladies; I can practically visualize the growing chub inside his pants and hear the internal dialogue: Hi, I’m Rex. You’re pretty. Can I take you back to my dorm and date you? I’ve never touched boobs. Can we date? And by date, I mean hump.