by Amy Brent
Wynn’s fingers tightened around my knees. He grunted louder, his thrusts getting jerky.
“I’m… cumming… Jude… I’m… fuck…fuck…fuck…”
I opened my eyes in time to watch every muscle in Wynn’s torso bulge like he was lifting weights. Large veins popped out of his neck as he tossed his head back and gritted his teeth and howled at the ceiling.
I closed my eyes and cooed as I felt my belly getting warm as he pumped his load of milky goo inside my cunt.
He jerked and spasmed for a moment, then blew out a long breath and opened his eyes to look at me.
We both smiled, knowing it was going to be a wonderful weekend.
CHAPTER TEN: Holden
I had to leave the house before 8 A.M. on Saturday morning to get to Conner Hall, the large meeting hall on campus where the Psychology & Sexuality in The Modern Age weekend seminar was being held.
It was hard, dragging myself out of bed and leaving Jude lying there on her back, all naked and warm, her perfect breasts rising and falling as she snored softly with strands of hair across her face. Her lips were open, the warm breath sighing out of her made me long to press my lips to hers. God, I loved waking up with this woman. There was just something magical about it. I guess that was because there was something magical about Jude.
I resisted the urge to snuggle up next to her and slide my cock between her legs for a little good morning loving. We had really gone at it hot and heavy last night (what’s better than make-up sex???), not to mention finishing off the bottle of wine Wynn had brought before calling it a night.
She’d had a rough few weeks. She deserved a little rest and relaxation. Besides, unless I missed my guess, she’d be having a little morning delight with Wynn once they were both up and around. There was no need for me to wear her out completely, although the vision of her naked body in my bed remained on my mind’s eye all the way to Conner Hall.
The event didn’t formally start until noon with registration at eleven, but I had somehow been put in charge of logistics, so it was my job to make sure the tables and chairs were set up in the meeting hall, the sound system worked, the food was scheduled to arrive, the coffee was made, and the reception table was all ready for folks to check in as soon as they walked through the lobby doors.
All the attendees had RSVP’d in advance and their nametags were neatly spread out on the reception table, which was in the lobby just as attendees came in the door. The table would be manned by association members and student volunteers, who should start arriving within the hour.
It was not going to be a large event, maybe fifty people or so, but having a celebrity author and fellow psychiatric professional like Dr. Wynn Driver had the place buzzing. The local media had even requested permission to come out and interview Wynn; radio, television, bloggers, and the school paper.
The male members of the association all acted unimpressed at our celebrity keynoter. Most of the female members, on the other hand, were as giddy as teenage girls headed to a Justin Bieber concert. Many of the ladies had, shall we say, “experienced” Wynn intimately. And those who had not probably fantasized about doing so.
Going into the weekend there was an electricity in the air I had never felt at such an event, large or small. My friend Wynn was a star. A star with groupies of all ages. And I could not have been happier for him. And maybe just a tad jealous. Both perfectly normal, I assure you.
I had just finished talking to the catering company over the phone, confirming the lunch menu of rubber chicken and cold rice (a joke, I hoped) when I noticed the beautiful black girl coming through the front door. She had skin the color of chocolate and a head full of short dreadlocks that reached her shoulders and hung over her forehead. She was dressed in a black tank top under a short blue jacket and a pair of jeans that should have charged admission the way they showed off her ample rear end. She set her backpack next to the reception desk and gave me a sleepy nod. It was Izzy, Jude’s roommate and ardent protector.
“Professor Moss,” she said coldly, giving me the eye as she stood at the table staring down at the name tags. “I agreed to work the sign-in table.”
“Ah, that was nice of you,” I said, stepping aside to let her move around behind the table to take a seat in one of the two chairs. “Did Jude twist your arm?”
“No, Jude had nothing to do with it,” she said, crinkling her nose and looking at me as if I were giving off a bad odor. “Professor Atkinson made us draw straws and I lost.”
“Ah, forced to volunteer,” I said with a smile. “Either way, thanks for helping out. I appreciate it.”
“Whatever,” she grunted, narrowing her dark eyes at me. It was obvious that Izzy had not decided whether she liked me or not. She seemed to be leaning toward the dislike-side. She was super protective of Jude, but she had to realize how happy Jude was since we’d been together. Still, she looked me up and down with suspicious eyes and curled her lip at me.
“Where’s Jude?” she asked, her beautiful face twisting into a disapproving frown as she looked around the lobby, which was empty except for she and I. “Is she coming to help out?”
“She was asleep when I left the house,” I said. I shoved my hands into my pockets because I didn’t know what to do with them. Funny, Izzy had the ability to make me nervous with just a look, kind of like my mother used to. I shuffled my feet on the worn carpet and forced a smile. “She’ll be here later to help out. I thought I’d let her sleep in.”
“Uh huh,” she grunted, arching her eyebrows. She sat down in the chair and started alphabetizing and straightening the name tags. “Your friend get into town?”
“My friend?”
She kept her hands busy with the name tags and did not look up at me. “The thoughtful pussy guy,” she said. “What’s his name?”
“Dr. Wynn Driver,” I said with a smile. The thoughtful pussy guy. Classic. I’d have to suggest to Wynn that he put that on his business card. “He got in late last night.”
“He sleep in the bed with y’all?” she asked. The question came out of nowhere in a low growl, like a wolf issuing a warning to a lamb about to get slaughtered. It forced the smile from my face. I pulled over a chair to sit across the table from her.
“Why would you ask me that question?” I asked seriously.
“You know why I asked you that question,” she said, hands busy, eyes down. “Me and Jude talk, you know. I know what you have in mind for her and I don’t think I like it much.”
“Really? And what do you think I have in mind for her?”
“She’s told me all about you and your little gay pal, Wynn, and your little gangbang sessions y’all do,” she said. She glanced up long enough to make me swallow hard. “I know what you two mother fuckers are planning. And so does Jude. So, don’t act all sweet and innocent with me because I know all about you and your little friend.”
“My little friend?” I couldn’t help but smile, then I started to get angry. Obviously, this girl thought she knew me, but she didn’t have a clue who I really was. I rested my forearms on the table and resisted the urge to tell her what Jude and I did was none of her fucking business. Instead, I took a few slow breaths and let the words settle for a moment.
When I spoke, I tried to keep the anger out of my tone. I knew she wasn’t just being a bitch. She was just looking out for her best friend. I certainly could not blame her for that. I’d protect Jude from anything or anyone that I thought might be a threat.
I said, “Look, Izzy…”
She held up a hand to shush me. “Don’t you ‘look Izzy’ me,” she said in a tone that clearly said she would just as soon kick my ass as give me the time of day.
I held up my hands, patting the air with my palms. “Okay, fine. Let’s just cut straight through the bullshit and you can tell me what’s really bothering you.”
“What’s really bothering me,” she said, leaning forward to lower her voice. “Is you—like every other man who has ever come in and out of
Jude’s life—are just there to fuck her and forget her. That’s it. You don’t really give a shit about her. You just want to get your rocks off and move on.”
“Is that right?”
“Damn straight that’s right.”
I frowned at her words because I had never given Jude that impression—at least I hoped that I had not—and I wasn’t sure why Izzy saw me that way because she didn’t really know me at all.
Did she think that every man who showed an interest in Jude was doing so only because he wanted to fuck her?
Did she not think Jude was smart enough to gauge the sincerity of a man’s actions and act accordingly?
Or perhaps it was something deeper than that.
Perhaps it was because she had seen Jude put herself in these situations with bad guys for years and was just sick of watching her friend get hurt, even though it was her friend’s own doing.
How many girls had such low self-esteem that they hooked up with men who used and abused them rather than men who would treat them like goddesses?
It was the old bad boy syndrome.
Bad boys treat good girls badly.
That’s why they’re called bad boys.
And sadly, a lot of girls sought out these bad boys and were only happy when they were being used and abused.
I hated to quote Dr. Phil, but he was exactly right when he said something to the effect of, “You teach people how to treat you.”
Izzy was convinced that I was just another in a long line of assholes out to hurt her friend. I suddenly could not blame her for being angry and suspicious. All I could do was convince her that she had misjudged me and my intentions toward Jude.
I glanced around the lobby then glanced at my watch. It was still early. We were the only ones there. In fact, I started to wonder what Izzy was doing there so early because the doors didn’t open till ten and registration started at eleven. Then it hit me. She arrived early on purpose to talk to me. Or to threaten me. I was eager to see which one.
“I hope that I have never given Jude the impression that I’m involved with her to just fuck her and forget her, as you say.” I waited for her to respond, but the only response I got in return was the narrowing of her dark eyes. “Come on, Izzy. Clearly you have something to say, so talk to me. Say it. Because whether you choose to believe it or not, I really do have Jude’s best interests at heart.”
“Bullshit,” she snorted, rolling her eyes. “Guys like you only care about one thing and that’s sticking your filthy cock into as many hot young coeds as you possibly can before your looks and power start to go.”
“Wow,” I said, a smile itching my lips. “Is that what you really believe?”
She folded her arms over her breasts and cocked an eyebrow at me. “You gonna deny it? Please, do try.”
“Am I going to deny that I’m a lecherous piece of shit just fucking as many college girls as I can before my time runs out?” I asked, holding out my hands like a lawyer pleading his case to a hard-nosed judge. “Uh, you bet your ass I’m going to deny it. And for your information, my cock is not filthy. I keep it quite clean, thank you very much.”
“You’re a professor that fucks his students,” Izzy said without acknowledging my sad attempt at humor. Her demeanor didn’t flinch. Nor did her hard gaze ease. Her eyes went up and down my face. “So, how can you deny anything I say, Professor Moss?”
I blinked at the question, not because I didn’t know the answer, but because it was a good goddamn question. What was I? Really? If I wasn’t a professor fucking his way through the female student body? Holy shit… Was I that guy? Was that really me, only my high-headed ego was too pompous to admit it? I’ll say it again. Holy shit…
“Well?” she growled, cocking her eyebrows at me.
“I’m not… lecherous,” I said, trying to sound playful but failing miserably.
“You may be nicer than some of the men Jude’s been involved with, but it’s the same old song and dance,” Izzy said, wagging a finger at me. Her fingernails were long and sharp and painted the color of green apples. “The only difference between you and a piece of shit like Keith Calloway is, he’s in jail for the shit he’s done but you’re not.”
“Wow!” I said, huffing, shaking my head. “You can’t seriously believe that’s the only difference between me and Keith Calloway.”
She shrugged with her face. Her dark eyes cut into mine like lasers. “Seems to me y’all both used and abused my girl Jude. And you’ll keep doing it until she figures out what a sack of shit you are, then you’ll obsess over her and won’t leave her alone until a new victim comes along.”
“I’ve never obsessed over anyone to the point of stalking,” I said, feeling the heat of my temper flushing my cheeks. “And I’ve never used or abused anyone. Especially Jude.”
“You’ve never obsessed over Jude?” She was grinning at me now, which only made me madder because her grin was filled with ridicule and condescension.
“I’ve never obsessed or done anything remotely like Keith Calloway did. I would never do that. Ever.”
She tapped the finger to her chin and mocked a thoughtful face. “Did you or did you not show up on my doorstep a week ago begging me to plead your case to Jude?”
I frowned at the memory, which I saw very differently. “I came to your place hoping to speak to Jude because she wouldn’t return my calls and I had no idea why.”
“Please, Professor Moss…” She rolled her eyes and huffed at me, which just pissed me off all the more. “Do I look stupid to you?”
“You look confused,” I said without thinking. “And my name is Holden.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Professor Moss, you knew exactly why Jude didn’t want to speak to you. You knew how she was feeling after that bullshit in the parking lot with that cocksucker Keith Calloway. And yet there you were, knocking on my front door, looking all sad with your puppy dog eyes and droopy lip, asking me to let you see Jude. If that’s not obsession, I don’t know what it.”
“That was concern… And I don’t have puppy dog eyes,” I said, shaking my head. “And I was not there to take advantage of Jude. I was there to try and help her. I am a degreed psychologist, you know.”
She chuckled and rubbed a knuckle to the tip of her nose. “Do you know how many—” she made air quotes with her long fingers “—degreed psychologists have offered to help Jude?”
“No.”
“No? So, you do not know how many of those degreed psychologists who offered help ended up fucking her? Using and abusing her until they were done with her? Then just tossed her aside like a chewed-up piece of meat? Do you think any of them really helped Jude? Do you, Professor Moss?”
“No.”
“And do you think you’re helping Jude by fucking her every night?”
“Well, I…”
“And you’re not just fucking her body, Professor Moss,” she said, eyes shooting daggers into my face, the words spitting from her lips. She tapped the finger to her right temple. “You’re fucking with her mind. And the worst thing is, you know what you’re doing, but you reconcile it in your ‘degreed psychologist’ over-inflated ego. You’re fucking with her mind and you don’t even know it. What kind of fucking degreed psychologist are you? You’re in mother fucking denial, Professor. Mother… fucking… denial…”
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to control the angry tone of my voice now. “Exactly what the hell are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” she shot back, hitching her chin defiantly at me.
“No, honestly I don’t know what you’re talking about because I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” I said, hands in the air.
“Whatever,” she snarled, giving me the universal argument most kids her age used when they couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say.
Whatever… I was starting to hate that word.
I held out my hand with my fingers splayed to count off the ways I was
not like Keith Calloway. I said, “First of all, I never came onto Jude. I did not approach or proposition her. Never. She came on to me in my classroom and made me an offer that only a fool would refuse. We have seen each other practically every day since, except for the few days when she was sorting out that business with Keith. And yes, I showed up at your door not because I was obsessed, but because I was worried about Jude, and yes, whether you take me seriously or not, I am educated and equipped to help people deal with such problems.”
“Oh, you help her deal all right,” Izzy said, shaking her head.
I stopped talking and gawked at her for a moment. I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest to mirror her posture. I eased my voice to match her tone. I said, “Let me ask you a question.”
“I ain’t got nothing to say to you,” she said, looking away as if that was that.
“Just humor me for a moment,” I said. “Has Jude said anything that would lead you to believe that I have done anything that was less than honorable when it came to her wellbeing and happiness?”
“Jude keeps the bad shit to herself,” Izzy said. She was going to be a hard one to convince that I had no negative motives toward Jude. If anything, I would forego my own happiness for hers. Wow… did I just admit that to myself?
“Surely Jude doesn’t just share the good parts of her life with you,” I said, giving her a sideways smile. “You’ve been besties and roomies for years. You said it a minute ago, y’all talk about everything. If Jude was not happy about something—if something I did or did not do made her unhappy— I’m sure you would spot it right away and pry until you found out exactly what the problem was. Then you’d take it upon yourself to fix whatever was broken or solve the problem for her because that’s the kind of friend you are, Izzy. I can tell. You’re not going to let anyone run over your friend. Not me. And certainly not Keith Calloway.”