He’s aroused again.
His sultry eyes track every move I make. By the time the song ends, I’m burning up. Not from sweat or exertion, but from Dean’s gaze raking over me like flames licking through a hayfield.
Once Meg and I return to the booth, I chug the rest of my water, then lift my hair up to fan my hot neck with one hand. My phone sits on the tabletop, and I instinctively tense when the screen lights up. A quick glance at Dean reveals he’s got his hand under the table again.
I bite my lip and stare at my phone.
Don’t read it, I order myself.
I read it.
Him: Next time u put on a show like that for me, u better fucking be naked.
12
Allie
Megan and I get back to campus a little after midnight. My two-bedroom suite is shrouded in shadows when I creep inside. There’s no light spilling out from Hannah’s door, which tells me she’s already gone to bed.
Making an effort to be quiet, I gather up my toiletries and duck out to use the bathroom we share with the six other girls on this floor. Ten minutes later, I tiptoe around my bedroom and change into my PJs, then shut off the light and crawl under the covers.
I’ve never had any trouble falling asleep—I’m usually out cold the moment my head hits the pillow.
Tonight, sleep eludes me. Dean’s sexts left me hot and bothered, and I spend the next hour tossing and turning in an attempt to get comfortable. But I’m not comfortable. My boobs are achy and my pussy is throbbing. Every time I roll over, my nipples scrape the mattress and the innocent friction makes them ache even harder.
This is Dean’s fault. Why did he have to text me all those dirty, dirty things?
A groan slides out. I roll over again, this time onto my side. Normally I like to sleep with a part of the blanket tucked between my thighs. Right now, having something jammed down there is an excruciating tease, and my hips involuntarily start rocking against the comforter.
“Goddamn it.” My tortured voice echoes in the darkness. I roll onto my back and prop one knee up, because obviously I won’t be getting any sleep until I take care of business.
“U and UR Hand” is proving to be a prophetic song choice.
I grit my teeth and stick my hand down my plaid pajama bottoms. Unfortunately, I’m not one of those women who can rub her clit a few times and presto! Orgasm! Nope, I need a story, a delicious fantasy to take me over the edge. In recent days, my fantasies have featured my go-to celebrity crush: the perfection that is Ryan Gosling. So it’s Ryan I turn to now, in my grave hour of need.
The fantasy always starts differently. I’m at a bar and we get our flirt on. I’m in a hotel room and there’s a mix-up that forces us to share a bed. I’m jogging on the beach in Malibu and look who I run into!
But it always ends the same—with the Gos screwing me silly.
I opt for the hotel room, since it allows for a plethora of Choose-Your-Own-Sexual-Adventure scenarios. Tonight, I’m sleeping naked because the air conditioning is on the fritz. I suppose I could just sleep naked without giving myself an excuse to do it, but I like my fantasies to be somewhat consistent with my real life, and since I’m not a naked sleeper in real life, broken air conditioner it is.
Okay, where was I? I rub my index finger over my clit as I picture myself lying on a king-sized bed. I’m drifting off to sleep when I hear a beep. Someone swiped a key card in the door. I’m outraged! Did the concierge decide to send the housekeeper up in the middle of the night? Who could possibly be walking into my—well, look at that. It’s Ryan Gosling. He saunters into the room, bare-chested for some reason. His jeans ride so low I can see the glorious man-vee of his naked hips.
He’s surprised to find me there, and we quickly determine there’s been a double-booking error. Then we have a five-minute conversation about our lives, in which he reveals that Eva Mendes broke up with him.
Yes, there’s both dialogue and small talk in my sexual fantasies.
Eventually I climb out of bed and—oh no! The sheet covering my naked body falls to the carpet. Ryan’s blue eyes widen with appreciation. His cock visibly hardens beneath his zipper.
He licks his lips and steps closer.
I teasingly glide my fingers down the valley of my breasts. His eyes burn like liquid sapphires.
No, like emeralds. Because his eyes are green now. Why are they green?
In the darkness of my dorm room, I release a low, irritated curse. For fuck’s sake.
Why is Dean crashing my fantasy?
My finger stills over my clit. Okay, well this is just rude. Ryan and I were about to jiggle down. Dean is not allowed to ruin that for me.