Me too. I need a distraction from the incredibly fuckable but very off-limits undergrad giving me the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had.
I grasp Hannah’s hips and pull her right to the edge of the desk, then drive into her over and over. My thumb searches out her clit and I work it with our rhythm.
“Fuck, yes,” she groans, closing her eyes.
For the next several minutes, there’s grunting and gasping and the slapping of skin. When she arches up and opens her mouth in a silent prayer, I let myself go, knowing she’s got what she needed.
“You know, most men aren’t as attentive as you to a woman’s needs,” she says as I’m tugging off the condom. “You’re the only guy I’ve ever been with who waits to be sure I have mine first.”
“It’s only fair,” I say, wrapping it in tissue and burying it under papers in Dr. Garret’s trash.
She blows out a derisive laugh. “I wish they all saw it that way.”
I tug up my boxers. “I’ve never seen it any other way.”
I was a late bloomer, I suppose. I lost my virginity first semester of my freshman year in college. Veronica was a twenty-one-year-old senior sociology major. And she was a nymphomaniac.
We met on the track at the student fitness center on a Tuesday afternoon. By Tuesday night, I was in her bed and never got out until the following Monday morning. Unbeknownst to my parents, I moved into her apartment the following week and my dorm roommate never saw me again until the day I came to collect the rest of my crap at the end of the school year.
I’m convinced I had more sex that year than most guys do in a lifetime. We fucked like rabbits—five or six times a day. Every day. But Veronica had one rule—sex etiquette, she called it: The guy isn’t done until the girl comes. She taught me more about female anatomy than I ever learned in human sexuality freshman year. She taught me exactly what to do with my tongue and my fingers and my cock to make it good for the girl.
I think I might have fallen a little in love with Veronica that year. I was certainly infatuated with her. We kept in touch for a few months after she graduated, but she moved to Manhattan for bigger and better things and that was that.
I’ve had enough opportunity since Veronica to keep my skills sharp, but I’ve never had a serious relationship since. Not that I’m not looking for The One. I think deep down, everyone is. But so far, no one’s hit the mark. I think it’s just one of those things. I’ll know her when I see her. Not like love at first sight. I don’t really believe in that. But I keep telling myself that when I find her, there’ll be something about her that’s different. Something that I can’t get anywhere else. Something about her will speak to me in a way no one else ever has.
Hannah and I finish dressing and slip out of Dr. Garret’s office. I watch her walk away with her heels dangling from her fingers, nearly six feet of instant relief.
We don’t do this very often—only four or five times in the two years we’ve been in the program together—but there are times a guy just needs a fuckbuddy.
∞
It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Blaire and I finally feel in control for the first time since she crashed into my life like a speeding comet. I just needed to work off some of the tension. I’m thinking with the right head now. I can maintain appropriate boundaries.
This is where my head is until Blaire appears at the top of the stairs. And that’s the instant I know I was dead wrong.
She’s in black leggings and a snug white long-sleeved top with a deep V neckline.
And no fucking bra. Christ, don’t they sell underwear in her town?
I’m momentarily breathless, and totally helpless to take my eyes off her.
She watches me watching her as she saunters toward me and leans on the counter. “I was hoping you’d have time to work through some Byron with me.”
My brain scrambles, synapses firing at random. “I’m pretty busy,” I stammer. “Got another chapter of my dissertation due to Dr. Duncan on Friday, so…”
“What’s it on?” she asks, leaning against the counter.
I’m finally able to breathe and I take a second to do that before answering. “It’s actually pretty dry. Don’t think you’d find it all that interesting.”
“Because I’m too stupid to grasp your lofty literary concepts?” she says, a scowl clouding her flawless features.
I lean onto the counter between us and shake my head. “I sincerely doubt there’s anything you’re too stupid to grasp, Blaire.”
“So?” she says with an inquisitive tip of her head. “Lay it on me.”
I take a deep breath. “It’s not a mistake Dr. Duncan sent you to me when you decided to do your project on Byron’s Don Juan. My dissertation is a comparative study of several different international translations in the era it was written and the social impact they had in those regions.”