By Ashley Claudy
South Eastern University: Where the football players are royalty and Andrew Fayden is king.
College was supposed to be Brook’s chance to escape the rumors and the harassment that plagued her at home, but she hadn’t planned on meeting Andrew Fayden.
Now, she’s finding it hard to think of anything else or anyone else. She’s determined to wipe him from her mind though because he is the definition of unavailable. He’s got an on and off again girlfriend always on the sidelines and a flood of girls willing to take over that position.
And his popularity makes it hard to keep a low profile, something she needs to do if she doesn’t want to be pulled back into the drama of her past.
Despite all the warnings, she’s finding it hard to resist– and he’s making it hard to say no.
I don't resist for some reason. I just stupidly follow. But my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts as I enter into the smaller den type room. A large bay window is opposite the door, a computer and desk are to one side, and a futon is along the other wall.
“What are we doing?” I stand in the center of it all, watching him.
He stops in front of the couch. “Whatever you want. If you want to smoke” —He reaches behind the couch and pulls out a bong— “I have this. But if you don't, then…” He shrugs. “We can do something else.”
“I guess I could try.” I step to the couch.
“Don't do it if you don't want to. I'm not pressuring you.” He sits on the couch, arms spread along the back, looking completely relaxed, and something in the casual stance with that confident smile has my stomach flipping. Or maybe it's those predator eyes, always scanning over me. They're focused on my legs and then slide up to meet my eyes. “Sit.”
I sit with a good space between us, but his reach is long enough to still be behind me.
“Do you live here?” I cringe at my own question. “Sometimes I just talk to hear myself.” I close my eyes and seal my lips to stop talking.
The tickle of fingers on my shoulder makes my heart speed up. “You don't need to talk.” That low, smoky, sexy as hell tone is back, and I'm about to pop out of my skin.
“But I want to. I want to talk. I think we should.” But my voice is strained and breathy as he slides closer, his fingers gliding up my neck and back down. “Where did you use to live? Before you lived here? Or I mean, here in college? I mean—” I gasp as his other hand slides to my knee.
His laugh is a deep vibration. “Do you really want to talk? I'm from Florida, Homestead.” His fingers inch up my inner thigh and a tingle runs up my leg, making me clench them together as I heat up. He dips his warm, soft lips to my neck, trailing them up.
I'm panting. I can hear myself, but I can't seem to stop. He's wreaking havoc on my senses, a delicious high from his touches, his scent, his closeness, his gritty voice. But I can't move. My hands are stuck to my side.
“Are we done talking?” He asks as his lips brush my chin. I turn towards him and his mouth crashes into mine, overtaking me.
My hands lift to his chest, curling the fabric of his shirt into my fists, the heat of him still on the cloth.
He's leaning over me, one hand gripping my hair, pulling it tight to angle my face as his tongue circles mine. His other hand though, oh, his other hand is grazing my inner thigh, and rising higher. I shift under his touch, my hips wanting to move towards him as his fingers make me crave more. His thumb skims the edge of my underwear and sweet heat builds there. It's thrilling, and I don't know whether I'm shaking from pleasure or nerves.
His fingers slip inside my panties, and he groans into my mouth. “You’re already wet, baby.”
He widens my legs with his body, pushing me back onto the couch as he hovers over me. His sweatpants are smooth against my thighs, but allow me to feel everything, including his hardness, all the way to my stomach. It shocks me.
“Stop.” I'm pushing on his chest. “I can't do this. I'm sorry. It's— I don't know what I'm doing. That was too fast”
He's off of me, sitting beside me, not touching me. “Too fast?”
I pull my skirt down, looking at my knees. “Yeah.”
“You're going to make me work for it?” He's laughing. At me.
I'm burning now, only made more embarrassed by the ache still between my legs. I rise to my feet. “I'm going to go.”
“No wait. Sit back down. I'll take it slow.”
For once I don't sit when he tells me to. “Okay. Good. But I still think I'm going to go.” I don't want to be only wanted for something physical.
“What if we talk?”
“I thought you didn't want to talk?”
He grabs my hand, pulling me down to sit next to him. “That's when I thought we could do something else. But if you won't let me fuck you, then I'll take talking to you over you leaving.”
“Really?” I don't know what to say to that. It probably wasn’t even a good thing, but I’m not sure of anything around him. Yet, I stay seated.
He doesn't respond to my question, just grins. And I know I'm in trouble because one glance at that smirk makes me dizzy.
Mother. Wife. Teacher. Proud UMD Terp. Perpetual learner. Wild imagination fueled by coffee. Occasional runner. Late night book junkie. Daytime dreamer.