I didn’t take it personally. If they wanted to pretend that their baby girl would never fill the jacuzzi tub in her private bathroom and then perform a strip tease for me, that was their prerogative. Good thing they’d been out to a lengthy dinner party the night before.
In my guest room, the sheets were made out of some kind of ridiculously soft cotton. I’d heard Stacia and her mom yammering about thread count once. Seeing as I was twenty-one years old and in possession of a dick, there was no way I paid attention to a conversation like that. But whenever I slept at chez Beacon, I had to admit that their obsession with European bed linens had its merits.
Since my boot cast had finally been removed the day after Christmas, I woke up truly naked, my morning wood brushing the sheets, my feet free to tangle in them.
Delicious.
My mind wandered. I was mostly healed from my injury now. The leg was always sore at the end of the day, and my range of motion wasn’t perfect yet. But it was progress. I’d just gotten a note from the Harkness College housing office informing me that they weren’t going to bother reassigning me to a room in Beaumont until next year. So I’d be keeping my oversized single, with the private bathroom and the double bed.
Thinking about McHerrin made me think about Corey. Which meant that I was suddenly thinking about her while lying buck-ass naked with a big boner. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time. For the past two weeks, I kept flashing back to that night in her bed, to the way she felt against my body. When I touched her, she’d made the most erotic sigh I’d heard in my life. It was hard to forget a detail like that.
Truthfully, it was just plain hard.
And when I really felt like torturing myself, I thought of that intense moment earlier on that night, when she bent over me and… Damn, I’d felt a jolt like never before. That’s for calling me chicken, she’d said. The fire in her eyes when she’d said it made me want to lose my mind.
Why couldn’t I stop thinking about it?
Seriously, we really hadn’t done all that much. It was just a little hook up. People did that all the time, right? Admittedly, it wasn’t just a drunk and horny flailing. I cared a lot for Corey, but that was only partly why I started it. The things she’d told me about her troubles had really weighed on my mind. More than anything, I wanted her to know that she was one hundred percent sexy. I thought I could prove it to her, and then I did.
The trouble was, I proved it to both of us.
So now I was lying in my girlfriend’s house, hard as a freaking board, and thinking about another girl touching me. And then — because I have never gotten away with anything in my life — the bedroom door opened, and Stacia waltzed in. She was already dressed in tight black pants and a soft, expensive-looking sweater.
I cleared my throat. “Hi, hottie.”
“Hi.” She closed the door behind her and turned to me with a silky smile. And there it was. Whenever I was here, in the lap of sick luxury, and the princess from Greenwich looked at me like I was the tastiest thing she’d ever seen, it just made my year. She was feasting those hazel eyes on me, the punk from the ass end of the state, with no father on my birth certificate, and a bank balance that would barely fund the next five months of pizza and beer.
Stacia’s attention meant something to me that I didn’t like to talk about.
So it was just as well that talking wasn’t what Stacia wanted from me. She flung herself onto the bed, and then looked right down at the tent I was raising in the sheet. “Well, hello there,” she whispered, her eyes flashing with mischief. “I didn’t know you’d already be…up.” She pressed a kiss onto my shoulder, and then immediately began working her way downward, dragging the sheet with her.
My body did not fail to notice.
About ten seconds later, after sweeping her long hair down my bare chest and abs, she reached the goods. With no preamble, she opened her mouth and sucked me deep inside. Whoa. All I could do was take a gasp of oxygen and sink into the mattress.
I closed my eyes, but that was a mistake. Because my brain went right back to where it had been before Stacia opened the bedroom door. And so I found myself picturing someone else’s face even as my girlfriend worked me over.
Fuck! That was no good. I wasn’t that big of an asshole. I opened my eyes again and sat up on my elbows. It was quite the visual, my girlfriend bent over me; her hair splayed everywhere, her mouth busy. Or rather, it should have been. But from this angle it was easy to see that Stacia would soon be making another trip to her colorist. The roots of her hair were a shade she’d never cop to. And then Stacia began to moan, which should have got me back into the groove. But the sound of it was exaggerated, like a porn film.