I lay my hand on his forearm and push my chest toward him. “I’d like that.”
His eyes drop a fraction of a centimeter, but quickly refocus on my face. He wants to look. “Here’s to co-conspiracy.”
We start toward the student union. I flip my hair over my shoulder and plaster a dreamy look on my face. Wherever Andrew has gone, I hope he’s watching his sexy brother woo his ex, and I hope it chaps his spoiled, entitled, rich boy ass.
4
Mistaken Identity
Lonestar Private College
My dick stands straight up, and I have to adjust to keep my arousal hidden from anybody might glance back. Yet all eyes are glued to the front of the classroom.
Whitney is fucking naked as a jaybird on the antique-floral-shitshow furniture down there. Her robe gapes open, and she doesn’t even act like she notices.
Then she shrugs out of her robe and tosses it across the footrest. The lights illuminates the inward curve of her waist and the outward curve of her hips. I snap my graphite pencil in two. Dammit. I have to chill the hell out. I’ve seen her naked before.
She straightens her back and lifts her chin before taking a slow turn toward her enraptured audience. She steps to the side and backs up until her calves bump into the furniture. Now she’s standing on the stage in front of God and everybody.
I glance around at the other students in the classroom. None of them seem as affected as I am. I frown. Except maybe that kid down in the front row. He’s turned bright red, and he’s leaning around his easel, getting as close as he can without breaking any rules. Rage rolls through me. That pervert needs to put his eyes back in his head. This isn’t a peep show.
She leans forward to take a seat, and her tits bounce. A nuclear bomb could go off, but there’s nothing in the world but her. My her. It knocks the wind out of my chest, and I gulp at the air like a dying koi.
Then Whitney spreads her knees and shows everybody everything. Nicely lit.
I nearly fall off my damned seat. My balls clench hard. My pulse pounds in my ear, and I can’t hear anything else. The young kid in the front row flinches, knocking art shit everywhere. Colored pencils and paint tubs go all over the floor. He coughs and stands up. He rushes out with a boner the size of Florida.
Holy shit. How are we going to do this for the next month?
I groan and adjust my now-uncomfortable pants. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She drives me crazy. Over her shoulder, the nearest student glares at my crotch and then at me. My shrug does nothing to get rid of her disapproval. I need a cold shower. No cold showers in figure drawing. I hope next month’s model is an overweight, fifty-something old codger.
Whitney leans to the side in her best impression of Rose on the Titanic. I thought she couldn’t get any more alluring, but I’m wrong. Back when we were hot and heavy, she could barely have sex with a light on. Who is this?
“Please begin,” Professor Miller commands. “Get the preliminary sketch on paper. Large, undefined shapes are best. We have four weeks to hone your work.”
Almost immediately, pencils scratch against sketchbooks. I rummage through the tray on my easel. When I find another graphite, I glance at Whitney, and nearly snap another. Her skin is pale, and her nipples are hard.
The professor drones on about art theory, and I tune him out while I try to figure out how I’m going to sit through another thirty minutes of naked Whitney on display. I throw some elongated circles up on the page. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I exhale through my mouth.
It’s just a drawing. It shouldn’t be affecting me this much. Connect the circles that’ll become her breasts, and.... add.... Nipples are the cherry on the Sunday. The best part... Whitney’s... They bounce when she... when she... Sweat collects on my upper lip and slides into my mouth.
The kid is back in the front row, sitting as though enraptured, ogling Whitney. He probably hasn’t seen a naked woman in his whole pimply-faced life. He isn’t drawing at all. Only staring. My skin turns hot. I grit my teeth. Whitney should have a problem with his leering. Making a fist snaps my new pencil, but breaks my rage-trance. Rolling my shoulders, I try to push the tension aside.
She shifts on the little couch, and her belly button ring glints in the light. That’s it.
Witch’s tits. There’s no way I can do this. The easel rattles as I place the second broken pencil pieces on the shelf with more force than necessary. The sound earns a frown from Professor Miller.
I’m not sitting here any longer. She’s doing it on purpose. She has to know how much it’s impacting me. I scoop up my book bag, hang it over my shoulder, and head out into the corridor.
Luca, the big Italian RA from one of the dorms, stops in front of me. “Sup, Andrew?”
“Luca,” I say. I don’t want to chat. Luca always wants to chat. “Headed to class?”
“I heard the teach has a taste for sophomores. Figure I’ll earn some brownie points for showing up early.” He gestures to the door. “Hot in there?”
I scowl. “What? Why?”
“You’re sweaty.”
The sound of light applause filters into the hall. I turn to look back, but the butcher paper on the window obscures my view. What is she doing now?
“Something like that,” I say.
Luca’s gaze narrows. “Who’s in there?” He wags his eyebrows. “Maybe I want to check it out.”
I snort in disgust and barely manage to keep from punching his lights out. Whitney is going to get me in all kinds of trouble. She’s not even my girlfriend anymore.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yep.”
He elbows me. “We’re having a dorm party tomorrow night. You should come so we can glean from your leave-behinds. You know the sororities turn out when you show up.”
“Sure,” I say.
Luca holds up a fist. “You’re the best.”
I bump my knuckles to his. “Just make sure to get the word out. I need to meet somebody new.”
He holds up his phone. “You got it.”
The lounge near the entrance of Breyer Hall is mostly empty. A couple of students sit at a table with their faces pointed at their textbooks. They’re “studying,” but I can see the kinky shit from a mile away. Her foot is between his legs. He’s grabbing the arms on the chair so hard his fingertips are white. They probably both get off on the thrill of almost getting caught. Exhibitionism or some shit.
To each their own, and I leave them to it.
Outside, the frigid air works a little like a cold shower. I make my way across the campus. My brothers and I share one of the only student rental houses on the grounds. Ten minutes later, I reach our front porch.
A figure sits on the porch swing, wrapped in covers. Only eyeballs peer out. The figure hops up, tossing the cover away.
Marissa Bradford grins up at me. “Hi, Adam. I’ve been waiting for you. I came to find out if you’d thought any more about my offer.”
She’s an heiress of some kind or another. I’ve forgotten to what. She’s been after Adam since the beginning of last semester. Her red hair crosses her cheek and peeks out from beneath her scarf where it curls over her cleavage.
She sees me notice, so she sticks her chest out, so I can get a good look at her tits. Her cleavage is the only thing visible, but instead of hers, I see Whitney’s. What I wouldn’t give to take a handful of Whitney’s and squeeze. Doublehanded, I could roll Whitney’s nipples between my fingers until she calls out my name.
Shit. My boner’s back.
“Well?” she repeats. But she’s not looking at me, she’s gazing at the tent in my pants, licking her lips. “I have time right now.” Her eyes cut to mine. “If you would like.”
I blink once. Reality sinks in. She thinks I’m Adam. I should be used to it by now. We all should, but it’s the last thing I expected when I rushed out of the class. She’s not just willing. She’s primed. Maybe if I pretend to be someone else, I could believe Marissa is, too. Couldn’t I?
> “Want to come inside?” I ask.
Her grin splits her face. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Part of me revolts when the words leave my mouth. I shouldn’t have sex with Marissa. She doesn’t know I’m not who she thinks I am. I know from experience she won’t figure it out unless I tell her.
Whitney’s the only girl who figured out how to tell us apart. Whitney. I grit my teeth. I don’t want Marissa. I wanted her to be Whitney. It’s unfair to both of us. Every woman I’ve ever slept with knew who I was and knew what to expect when it was over. Not Marissa.
It’s like that shit Atticus got me to do when we were teens. I gave up and blabbed who I was three seconds before Whitney caught me with my pants down. Literally. It didn’t matter that I’d changed my mind. That I hadn’t had sex with Attitcus’ girls.
I want Whitney in my bed... to sink hip-deep in her hot center. Taking her in front of the whole damn class had been on my mind.
I glance at Marissa. But I don’t have any shits to give. She’ll work as Whitney’s stand-in.
When I insert my key into the lock, Marissa is right behind me, shimmying up and down me. She reaches around, then rubs her palm along the length of my hard-on. My dick throbs for release. I need this, and I’ll take it. The universe trotted Marissa out on a silver platter.
The minute the door’s closed, she peels her shirt off, then her sports bra. She stops right in front of me. She’s breathing fast. I take one of her breasts in my hand, dragging my fingertips over her mounds, circling her light pink nipples. They harden instantly.
She arches against me. “I’ve waited for this for so long.”
Me, too, Whitney. What happened to us?
I crush her lips beneath my own, exploring her mouth with my tongue. The sensation hits me. Marissa is spicy. Different than Whitney. I shouldn’t be doing this. I turn away from her and take a step. Marissa’s arms wrap around me.
She moans against me and unbuttons my pants, tugging them down my thighs. When she straightens, her nipples graze my back, and her arms snake under my shirt, and she drags her nails down my back.
When I turn to face her, to tell her never mind, fire erupts in my belly, and I want to chase the explosion until I come.
Marissa thrusts against me, and our hips meet. I clamp my arms around her and lift her high enough that I can kiss her neck. She wraps her legs around my middle and hooks her hands behind me neck. She bounces up and down. The heat from her warms the tip of my cock. A minute later, she double taps my shoulder.
I set her on the ground. I grab Marissa’s hand and lead her to the bedrooms. When I reach for the knob, she freezes. Her mouth turns down in a frown.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She points to Adam’s bedroom. “I thought this one was yours.”
Well. Shit.
She looks as though she’s reconsidering her offer. Then she shrugs and throws open Adam’s door. She yanks me along with her. Once inside, she kicks off her shoes and pulls her jeans down. Then she’s as naked as Whitney in art class. She hops onto Adam’s king-sized bed. She doesn’t bother to pull the cover down.
My shirt’s on the floor within two seconds. Then I position her on the edge of the bed like Whitney on the settee. Marissa’s breasts aren’t the same as Whitney’s, and Marissa’s curves are flatter. Whitney is perfect for my hands... Marissa... isn’t. Sinking my hand in Marissa’s hair, I hate the way it feels between my fingers.
But I don’t care. I have to get Whitney out of my head.
“Oh, Adam,” Marissa whimpers. She bites her bottom lip. “Fuck me.” The words burst out of her, and she shudders.
Voices come from outside the room, and the reality of what’s happening hits me. Whitney has me so twisted up inside. Fuck balls. Somebody’s here. With my luck, it’s Adam. Yet, relief surges through me. It’s the perfect excuse to put an end to the charade. I turn away, but Marissa drags me back to the side of the bed.
“You can’t leave me like this,” she says.
“I have to check on...” I start.
But she twists around until her mouth hovers over my dick, and I lose every single legible word I know. I can’t remember what I should be saying.
Marissa’s tongue darts out. My dick pulses. She blows on me, setting all the nerves on edge. The anticipation has my every inch of me humming.
“Oh, Whitney. Yeah. Just like that,” I groan.
In front of me, Marissa freezes. Every movement stops. She trembles.
Did I say it out loud?
She pulls back. “What did you call me?” she asks, her voice bordering on shrill.
I clear my throat. I can’t string two coherent thoughts together. So, I ask the only thing that comes to me. “What do you mean?”
Her gaze narrows. “You called me Whitney. Who is that?” Her voice is low and menacing. Her mouth twists as she catapults off the bed. “Which freshman whore is Whitney? I’ll end her.”
5
By Any Other Name
On the Quad
I trade my coffee cup from one hand to the other, using the heat to keep my fingers warm in the winter chill. Adam and I hurry from the student union to the house he shares with his two brothers. As nice as he’s been, I’m not sure I want to use him to get back at Andrew or not.
“I’ve been thinking about auditing Figure Drawing I.” He pauses, and it’s loaded with about a million words he’s not saying. “Do you have any thoughts about that?”
I cringe. He’s heard something. I’d bet money on it. “Oh?” My response sounds so damned breathy, like a porno queen playing coy. “What would I know about Figure Drawing?”
He shrugs, but his eyes twinkle. Dammit all to hell. He knows.
But I don’t know how he knows. How would he know? Did somebody besides Andrew recognize me? I didn’t see him in there. Andrew was in there. Did Andrew brag to the other two about the mess he caught me in? My mind spins around the puzzle.
“You beat him at his own game,” he said.
“I’m sorry. Who?”
“Andrew.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He nudges my arm. “I think you do. He tried to break you down, but you didn’t give in. Good job.”
That’s when the floodgates open, and I let all the fury come flying. “How could Andrew do that to me?” I ask, frustrated that my ex has me sounding like a needy woman. I’m the ruler of my world. “After all we’d been to one another, how does that happen? We were like best friends.” We were more than that, but nobody knows.
Adam shrugs. “He’s an asshole.”
“You’re not,” I say. “Why is he?”
He chuckles. “I come from a long line of assholes. Believe me, I’m as good at it as the other two are.”
“I haven’t had that from either of you.” I take a sip of my coffee.
“We don’t have it bad for you like he does.”
“Did,” I correct him.
“Does,” he states again. “We’re the biggest assholes to the women we can’t get out of our heads.” He strokes his chin. “Maybe it’s time to get him back a little.”
“What do you mean?”
Adam shrugs. “We’ll see. I’m sure something will come up. Just go with it when it does.”
I don’t say anything to that. How can I? Andrew is my fucking ex, and I still don’t know what Adam knows about our relationship back then and what he doesn’t. I’d rather not give him fresh fodder for family gossip.
What would his mother do if she knew we had sex on every piece of furniture in her house? Some of them twice. She’d lose her mind over it. That’s what. I’d wind up on her shit list or she’d try to talk us into getting back together. Neither sounded good.
We stop in front of a mid-sized ranch-style house. The manicured yard has yellowed for winter. The front flower beds need a gardener. I hide my shock. It’s nothing like the mansions we’re used to back home.
I wave toward
the house. “You live here?” Maybe it’s a joke or there’s a fancier place behind this one.
“Yep.”
My eyes widen. “But why?”
“It’s here, and it’s free.”
“But your mom’s house is much nicer.”
“Bigger and better in all the ways that don’t matter,” Adam said. “We decided to try living on our own.”
“How’s that going?”
He fiddles with the lock and rams his key into it. “We haven’t killed each other yet.”
I scrunch my nose. “That bad?”
He chuckles as he opens the door and waves me ahead of him. “Atticus has a string of lovers. Andrew and I remain lonely bachelors.”
I snort. “I don’t buy that for a hot minute.”
He closes the door, and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the change in light.
“Welcome to the living room,” he says.
A ratty couch rests along the far wall. There’s almost no other furniture besides a crate, standing on its end and riddled with moisture rings. The room itself is a decently sized, but it looks like a rental. Everything is beige. Except the mottled carpet. It’s tan and brown and probably hiding a g-zillion stains.
A noise comes from the other side of the wall.
Adam frowns at me. “You okay?”
“Wasn’t me.”
He tips his head to the side and moves down the hall. I peer after him. One of the doors is closed. A Star Wars necktie dangles from the knob. By Adam’s expression, I can tell the situation is odder than that.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Is that your room?”
He nods. “Sounds like somebody’s in there.”
“Atticus?”
“Probably.”
“Oh, Adam,” comes from the interior. “Fuck me.”
His frown deepens.
I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from gasping out loud. Adam’s beside me. Isn’t he? I glance at my compatriot. Yeah. It’s definitely Adam with the trio of freckles. Somebody inside thinks they’re having sex with Adam. That means it could be Atticus or it could be...
Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection Page 106
