Ritual: A New Adult College Romance (Palm South University Book 5)

by Kandi Steiner

  If I lost Kip, I’d lose my mind.

  And my heart.

  And my soul.

  And my grip on life.

  That much I know for sure.

  I try to school my breathing as I roll through the airport, following the signs for passenger pickup. My stomach is still in a fierce tangle of knots, though.

  Until the very moment I see him.

  My blond hair, blue-eyed boy is leaning up against his shiny new BMW Z4 — the one he’d bought for himself after winning it all in Vegas — with his hands in his pockets and a sexy smirk on his face. Dark Ray-Bans cover his eyes, and when he sees me, he kicks off from where he’s been leaning against the car, strutting toward me confidently in his dark blue jeans and casual, pistachio green long-sleeve, relaxed fit tee.

  To anyone else in this airport, he’s just another guy. He’s just muscles and tan skin and a smile that might make them look twice.

  But to me?

  He’s everything.

  I walk slowly at first, returning his smile until the butterflies in my stomach are too loud to ignore any longer. With a laugh, I take off in a jog, abandoning my bag behind me when I’m just a few feet away from him and launching myself into his arms.

  He catches me with an easy spin and an easy smile, our lips connecting like magnets, my arms threading around his neck while his hold fast to my waist.

  And the moment we touch, the moment I’m in his arms, every nerve and anxiety settles into absolute peace.

  In his arms, I’m home.

  “Hey there, Ella Mae,” he whispers against my lips before capturing them again. A deep and longing sigh leaves his chest when he finally puts me back on the ground, but he doesn’t let me go. “Was it just me, or did that flight seem to last years?”

  I scoff. “You weren’t the one who had to sit through the torture of being on it.”

  “Trust me, it was just as sucky here on the ground waiting for you to land.” He kisses my lips too briefly for my taste, squeezing my hand before grabbing the handle of my suitcase and wheeling it to his car. “You ready to see California?”

  “I’m ready to see your bedroom,” I murmur.

  Kip chuckles, opening the passenger side door for me and stealing one last kiss from me as I slide inside. Then, he joins me in the driver seat, laying one hand on the inside of my thigh and the other on the steering wheel and driving us across town to UCLA.

  Kip’s room in the small house he shares with nine of his brothers is almost exactly like his apartment he had when he was at PSU, except it’s much smaller, much darker, and has the faint scent of an old library.

  The area they refer to as A Sig Quad is a little collection of five houses and a cottage on the same block, each one housing Alpha Sigma brothers close enough to campus to be convenient and yet far enough away to host parties that don’t have to follow campus rules. Kip gave me a little tour of the courtyard and common living areas on our way upstairs, and now it’s just me and him in the room he shares with Rick.

  I smile, fingers gliding over the old wood paneling of the built-in shelves as I look around. “You know, as a millionaire, I’m a little surprised you didn’t want to live in some fancy condo on the bay.”

  “And miss out on this glory?” he asks, propping my suitcase in the corner before waving his hands over the room. “It wouldn’t be the same experience to live that far from campus. I mean, look at you. You could easily get your own place on the beach, but you stay at the sorority house.”

  “Fair. I guess we’re both weirdos.”

  “At least we can be weird together.” Kip points a thumb over his shoulder at the door. “You hungry? Want me to make us a couple sandwiches?”

  “Oh, I’m hungry, alright,” I say with a devious grin, stepping into him and winding my fingers into his hair. I kiss him deeply, inhaling his scent and reveling in the familiar feel of his lips against mine.

  He grins. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

  “When does Rick get home?”

  I’m already unfastening his belt, my fingers curling under the hem of his sweater so I can peel it up over his head.

  “He’s staying with his girlfriend tonight,” Kip answers, letting me tug his sweater off before his lips find mine again.

  “So it’s just us?”

  “In this room, yes,” Kip says, slowly unwrapping the scarf around my neck. He pauses when it’s unwrapped but still over my shoulders, tugging on it until my neck bends and my lips tip up toward his. “But as you saw, there are brothers all over this house.”

  “I’ll be quiet,” I promise.

  But Kip smirks, shaking his head before he whispers in my ear, “Liar.”

  I just grin, done talking and joking now that I’ve got my nails raking down the ridges and valleys of his insane abdomen. I remember watching Kip workout when he was at PSU, and he’s somehow bulked up even more here in California, which makes me jealous of all the girls who have been in the gym with him.

  That jealousy stings in my chest, fueling me to kiss him harder, drag my nails deeper as they trail over his shoulders and down his back. He hisses in through his teeth, grabbing me by the waist and backing me into the corner of his desk.

  A grunt leaves my chest when we hit it, but the next breath is stolen by Kip’s lips, and we’re a flurry of hands and mouths, undressing and kissing and sucking and biting. Any time I moan or whimper, Kip’s hand covers my mouth, and he clamps that hand hard over my panting.

  Even still, nothing could muzzle the pleasure coursing through me at feeling him touch me for the first time in months.

  When all that’s left is his boxer briefs and my panties, Kip flips me around, walking me over to his full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. I brace my hands on either side of it just in time to stop my face from hitting it, and Kip grins from behind me, our eyes connected in the mirror.

  It’s a sight that sends waves of chills over every inch of me, seeing Kip towering behind me, his bare, bulging muscles encompassing me. One arm wraps around my waist and up to palm my breast, and he groans in approval with the full weight of it in his grasp, squeezing and kneading as his lips find my neck and suck hard. His other hand is behind me, and I feel it slowly trail down and over my ass, his fingers slipping between my legs and roughly sliding my lace panties aside.

  “Goddamn, you’re wet, Sky,” he pants, his fingers easily sliding between my lips. He skates them deeper, centimeters at a time, but never enters me — not even a fingertip.

  I writhe against the touch, pushing my ass back and up so I can get those fingers inside me. But every time I try, Kip pulls them back just enough to keep me empty and begging.

  His hand retracts altogether on a shudder and a sigh from me, but before I can beg for more, I feel Kip shed his briefs and press his length against my ass. His long, thick, pulsing cock lines up in my crease, spreading me open as the hand that was on my breast slides up to grab my neck.

  “Open your eyes,” he commands, and when I do, the smile on his face is wicked and sexy as hell. “I want to see you when I fill you for the first time in months.”

  And that’s all the warning I get before he slides in, hard and punishing and all at once, filling me to the brim as I shake in his grasp.

  The moan that escapes me is impossible to quiet, and Kip squeezes my throat a little tighter in warning, withdrawing his hips just to slam back into me again.

  “Shhh, baby,” he says in my ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth.

  I bite my lip to keep from crying out again, focusing on keeping myself braced over the mirror, my eyes fluttering open and closed again and again, little glimpses of Kip’s hand around my throat, his other hand holding my hips as he plows into me from behind.

  The way his cock curves, the way he squats just enough to fill me up completely on each thrust, has me seeing stars within seconds. Every new thrust hits that magical spot deep inside me, and the slight pressure of his hand around my neck sends all
the blood rushing between my legs.

  Fuck, I’ve missed this.

  But I want more before I come.

  Peeling his fingers from around my neck, I twist away from him and press my hands into his chest, shoving him backward.

  He’s panting, chest heaving, cock hard and erect and glistening with my pleasure as I guide him back to the bed. I shove him again until he’s on his back, and then I climb up, taking time to slide my pussy over his cock before I continue my trek up, up.

  And then, I sit on my boyfriend’s god-like, too-handsome-for-his-own-good face.

  “Make me come, baby,” I whisper, and Kip answers with his hands gripping my ass and pulling my clit to his mouth.

  His tongue lashes me like a whip, making me shudder with the way it flicks over that sensitive bundle of nerves. I grab his headboard and hold on for dear life, and when he sucks me, gently, over and over between his teeth, I rock my hips against the pressure, needing more.

  “Fuck, I’m close,” I groan.

  Kip slips his finger inside me long enough to wet it, and then with his mouth still punishing my clit, he slips that same finger right into my ass.

  I barely have time to gasp, to let my mouth fall open and my eyes shoot wide and my fingers curl into the headboard before I’m flying off into an orgasm like none I’ve ever had before. It’s not the same as just having my clit rubbed or my g-spot hit. It’s shocking and forbidden and a little painful as it rocks through me.

  But I fucking love it.

  I sit back a little, taking his finger deeper in my ass as I ride out my climax. And I don’t give two flying fucks about the other brothers in the house. My screams are loud and wild and desperate, and I give in to every single one.

  I’ve been living on masturbation alone since August.

  I’m not being quiet during my first male-generated orgasm in months.

  I’m still seeing stars, shaking and pulsing around Kip’s finger when he gently removes it, kissing the inside of my thighs.

  But I don’t have time to rest.

  He flips me over, kissing me with lips and a tongue that taste like my pussy before he hikes both of my legs up. My ankles on his shoulders, he slides back inside me, both of us growling at the sensation of him filling me again.

  “Oh fuck, Sky,” he says, pulling out and pressing in all the way. My fingers curl in the sheets and I dig my heels into his ass, begging for more.

  He delivers with a harder thrust, a faster rhythm, and his hands reach out to palm both of my bouncing breasts as he fucks me like a man who’s been in prison for years.

  I see it the moment he crests, the moment that spark catches fire and his orgasm releases. His face screws up, a grunt escaping his lips, and he drops his grip on my tits, pulling his cock out just in time to spill hot cum all over my stomach, my chest, some even shooting up and hitting my chin.

  My lips curl into a smile as I watch him come undone, and when he shudders his last breath, holding his wet, still pulsing cock in his hands, his eyes flutter open to find mine.

  And I hold his gaze as I swipe a finger through the cum on my chin, sucking that finger into my mouth to taste him.

  “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his head, and then he’s on top of me — sated and limp — while I giggle and kiss all over his shoulders.

  We lie there for a long while, both of us coming down from our highs, our muscles already sore and aching for more.

  Then Kip leans up on one elbow, his eternal blue eyes searching mine, and he sweeps my hair out of my face, gaze full of adoration.

  “I love you,” he whispers.

  “I love you, too.”

  It’s the sweetest, most tender moment, sealed with a perfect, gentle kiss.

  And then a roar of applause breaks out downstairs, hoots and hollers and atta boys! so loud it sounds like we’re at a football game.

  Kip and I lock wide eyes, and then I blush furiously, burying my face in his chest as he laughs and kisses my hair.

  “I told you to be quiet.”

  Indeed, he did.

  Whoops.

  “AW, LOOK AT US,” BECCA teases, kissing my cheek while I carve the turkey. “We’re so domesticated.”

  “Totally. Cooking a half-ass Thanksgiving meal in a frat house kitchen. So adult.”

  She pats my ass, then gets back to whipping the mashed potatoes.

  “Yeah, as much as this is awesome for a college Thanksgiving dinner, I have to admit — it ain’t my mama’s cooking,” Amber says, eyeing the green bean casserole suspiciously.

  Amber is Becca’s best friend, a short little thing with curves for days, wild and beautiful curly black hair, warm brown skin, and a birth mark above her lip that makes her look like a glamorous Hollywood star from the twenties. She and Becca have been friends since they were toddlers, and the way they act together, the way they even mirror each other’s gestures makes them seem more like sisters than friends.

  Amber goes to school in Boston, but is visiting for the holiday, and watching her with Becca makes my chest warm and fuzzy in a new and unfamiliar way. It’s one thing to see her undressed, or to have her all to myself in bed, both of us in sweatpants and lazy smiles. But it’s another thing completely to see her with the ones she cares about, the ones she loves, joking and laughing and reminiscing on old stories.

  “My mom always makes this amazing sweet potato pie,” Becca says, still working on the mashed potatoes. “She’s given me the recipe, but I swear it never turns out the way hers does.”

  “That’s how my grandma is with her recipes,” Amber chimes in. “I think they leave out important ingredients or steps so that we keep coming home for holidays. My grandma’s homemade stuffing?” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “That shit is magical. But she’ll never give away her secret.”

  Becca smiles, giving me a wink when she catches me staring at her. But I just can’t help it. Seeing her in the kitchen like that — apron around her waist, natural curls bouncing with every laugh and turn of her head, smile wide and bright and full of love… it hits me hard in the chest, like a fist more than a feeling.

  Because I can see it.

  I can imagine us together, not just now but in the future, too. I can see her in our house, in our kitchen, with our family and friends gathered around us.

  “What?” Becca asks, hanging a hand on her hip the longer I stare.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I steal a kiss from her just as Amber makes a gagging noise. “Alright, that’s enough mush for me. I’m going to go watch Josh try to hit on Pamela.”

  Becca and I chuckle at that. Pamela is Becca’s roommate, a sweet, shy, petite little white girl with dark freckles and long, brunette hair she always lets hang a little in front of her face, like she’s trying to hide from any and everyone.

  Josh has been shooting his shot since the moment she showed up, and it’s been the entertainment of the day.

  I told everyone that we’d have dinner around four, but that they were welcome to come to the house ahead of time to watch football and hang out. Most of our brothers clear off campus for the break, visiting their families, so we have the entire place to ourselves today.

  Becca, Pamela, and Amber got here early, helping prep the food and cook and bake and set up the table. Josh stumbled out of bed around noon and plopped his ass down on the couch to watch football — and try his best to make Pamela uncomfortable, which was undoubtedly working.

  But Erin hasn’t showed yet, and I can’t help but wonder if she will at all.

  She’d been surprised to say the least when I called and invited her to Friendsgiving. But after asking if I was sure and if she could bring a friend, she’d agreed, and I’d be lying if I said my stomach hasn’t been in knots all day thinking about being around her tonight.

  When Becca finishes mashing the potatoes, she washes her hands and dries them on a towel, looking around at the feast we’ve prepared. “I’d say we make a pretty good team, Chef Pennington
.”

  “You’re the chef,” I correct her, taking her in my arms and planting a kiss on her nose. “I’m just the big-fisted dummy you boss around to help you.”

  She chuckles, threading her hands together behind my neck. “This was a good idea, Bear. The girls are having fun — even Pam, despite Josh being up her ass.”

  I laugh. “Are you having fun?”

  “I am.” She pauses, swallowing. “Is Erin still coming?”

  I take a deep breath. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  As if on cue, there’s commotion from the living room, and Becca and I round the corner to find Erin giving Josh a hug before immediately introducing herself to Pam and Amber.

  Herself, and then the tall, brooding guy she brought with her.

  “This is Gavin,” she explains, and he shakes everyone’s hands with an easy grin before tucking his hands back in his pockets. He listens as Josh and Erin chat, his eyes wandering the room.

  Until they land on me.

  Then, they don’t budge.

  He and Erin couldn’t be more opposite. Where Erin is sunshine embodied, from her shining blonde hair to the mustard yellow dress slimming her waist and cutting off below her knees, he’s like the dark side of the moon, dressed in black distressed jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt with the name of some metal band I don’t recognize sprawled across his chest.

  He nods his chin at me after a moment, and it’s as if that notion knocks me out of my spell.

  “You must be Bear,” he says, stepping around the couch to where Becca and I are. He extends his hand on a comfortable smile. “I’m Gavin, Erin’s boyfriend.”

  I hope I’m hiding it. I hope my jaw isn’t as tight as it feels, that my eyes didn’t just shoot open as wide as I think they did when I snapped my gaze to Erin’s.

  She’s still standing by the girls and Josh, holding a casserole dish in her hands, her wide brown eyes watching me.