Backlash

by Geneva Lee

  “I want you to see what I see when I love you,” he says, fixing me with a relentless gaze.

  I watch, now completely unable to close my eyes, as he coaxes my seam back and forth along his shaft, the head of his cock bumping against my clit only to slide back away. My legs tremble under me from the effort of holding out for more.

  “You’re fucking perfect, Lucky. Christ, just look at you.” His eyes are possessive, but there’s something selfless in his attention to my body. He could take me any moment, but he seems obsessed with making this linger.

  He spreads me open, wide enough that I can see where his cock is stroking against me. I want to see what he does, but my eyes stray to the dimples on my thighs, the thickness of my hips. It’s too much and I turn my head from the reflection.

  “No,” he says. The hand wrapped around my torso reaches up to point my chin back toward the mirror. “You need to understand.”

  I train my eyes on our reflection, finding his own gaze burning into me. Sterling slides his arm down and around my waist, lifting me off my feet, just high enough that his cock springs upward, banging against the open target his other hand created and sending convulsions throughout my body.

  “I will never stop giving to you,” he says. “Because you won’t let me.”

  He takes his cock in his hand and centers against me. My breath catches when he begins his slow, excruciating slide inside.

  “Are you watching, Lucky?”

  When I don’t respond he begins to slide out of me, and I sputter my reply, “Yes.”

  He allows my weight to slide down along his chest, his cock disappearing inside me as I fight to focus on how he makes me feel and not my body. It gets easier with every glorious inch. He holds me like that, his cock half-buried inside me, so that I can see it all.

  “This is what I need to show you.” He only mouths the words, but I hear it like a booming command.

  I watch, absent any conscious direction on my part, as my body takes over. My hips roll back and forth. Somehow, another inch of him slides into me. I feel the pressure increase, but also the ache for more of him.

  I’ve stopped breathing. My lungs burn, but my body seems to think his cock is more important than air. My hips begin to wiggle, then to spasm, jerking down onto his shaft.

  When his shaft is fully engulfed, the clenched knot in my throat disappears, sending sweet air back into my lungs. I shudder and gasp, my eyes finding his in the reflection.

  “Do you see?” he asks. “You don't need to be saved. You never have. You need to be found, so understand what I'm saying now—I see you. I want you. I always have. I always will.”

  Strange, shimmering lights float in my vision. Thoughts are fuzzy, words getting lost between my brain and my lips.

  Sensing my confusion, he leans to kiss me, then nips my ear. “I noticed it the first time we made love.”

  I nuzzle into the hollow of his neck, beneath his jaw. The spice of his cologne is warm and calming. Relief floods me, my body shivering at the release of so much tension. I’ve found the place I need to be, and I want to stay there forever.

  “You need me more than air, Lucky.” He isn’t bragging or teasing.

  I don’t bother trying to correct or object. They are foreign concepts, held by a version of me who only exists in a different place than the one we’ve just created. I don’t care what she thinks. I only want this me—the one he’s showing me. The Adair he sees. I want to exist in his eyes alone.

  So, I allow my body to go limp in his arms.

  His stroke is long and slow, hitting against my g-spot and releasing waves of warmth and drawing hollow moans from my lips. Our tempo increases steadily, building alongside the pressure of taking all of him.

  I spy flashes of us in the mirror, a rapture of limbs and flushed-red skin. My shame is gone, back with the other parts of me that don’t belong here. I feel only light and heat, air and flame, the spark of us.

  “Come for me, Lucky,” he orders, his fingertips finding my clit and stroking furiously until all I see is a blur and all I feel is pleasure. It builds, grabbing holding of me, until he frees me, my body surging with wave after wave of release. My eyes close, lost to it.

  “Fuck. Fuck.” I repeat the word so many times I lose track.

  Sterling’s voice adds to my chorus of fucks, and I can feel his cock jolt as he comes inside me. After a few moments, the waves fade in frequency, then die, but I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. I know what comes next.

  “Look at me, Lucky.”

  I do. I can’t resist him.

  He stares back at me, worshipping me with eyes, even as he turns on the faucet, still holding me up. He slides out of me, and I replace his absence with a whimper. He washes me off, carefully and gently, like he knows how tender I am now.

  Why can’t it be like this back in the real world? I wonder.

  When he finishes, he shoots me a deeply satisfied grin before releasing me to my own feet.

  My legs behave like a newborn foal’s, and he puts a steadying hand on my hip. After a couple moments I nod at him, still a little short of breath.

  He finally lets go of me, turning towards the shower and flipping the faucet handle to hot. “I’m glad you came over, Lucky,” Sterling says, flashing me one of his patented I know exactly how irresistible I am looks over his shoulder. “I’m glad it’s not over.”

  He’s in danger of getting the wrong idea. Of course he would think more sex would fix things. I shoot eye daggers at him as I yank my jeans on and button them. There’s no time to find my panties. That’s another pair lost to him.

  “I came over for Zeus,” I say, edging toward the bathroom door. I need him to be completely clear on this point. “And it can’t be over, because it never really started.”

  “I love you.”

  This stops me for a minute, but it’s not enough. “Saying I love you is meaningless. Show me! Prove it!”

  “I will every damn day,” he growls, lunging for me.

  I dodge him, shaking my head. “It’s too late.”

  “Lucky,” he splutters, but I’m already out the door. I swipe my sandals from the floor outside his bedroom and grab my purse from the counter. I don’t turn even as he keeps calling my name. I practically run into the elevator.

  “Lobby, please!” I tell the bellhop, reaching past him to jam the door close button just as the door to Sterling’s penthouse flies open.

  The door slides closed, giving me one flash of a very naked and very angry Sterling stepping into the hallway. The bellhop turns away, a smile ghosting across his lips.

  “Sorry about that,” I mutter before falling into an awkward silence. I take a deep breath and allow myself to relax. Sterling knows what I need when we manage to shut out the real world—that much he made absolutely clear. But it doesn’t change what I need from him in the real world or my determination to get it.

  By the time the elevator reaches the lobby, it’s being called back to the penthouse. I turn pleading eyes on the bellhop. “Do me a favor—” I read the name on his badge “— Percy? Stop on a few floors before you take him to the parking garage?”

  He winks at me. “Yes, Ms. MacLaine.”

  “How do… never mind.” I realize my tempestuous encounters with Sterling have probably drawn a fair bit of attention to both of us among the building staff. “Thank you.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” he says as he holds open the doors for me, “are you sure you’re running for the right reasons?”

  My eyes flicker upward, as though drawn towards where Sterling is. Every inch of me wants to go back up there. That’s how I know. “I am.”

  Percy nods and steps into the elevator. “Going up!”

  The panel above the elevator begins to light up, climbing back to him without me. That’s my cue to get away before I find myself falling right back into Sterling’s arms. It doesn’t matter if that’s what I want, because I can’t risk having him now if ignoring our pro
blems tears us apart forever.

  14

  Sterling

  The Past

  Econ 101 has 220 students and seven teaching assistants. As soon as Professor Jones releases us all to our Thanksgiving break, I find myself struggling through a hoard of bodies toward the front of the class, where my eight sub-instructors are arranged like courtiers attending their king.

  “See you Sunday,” Cyrus calls over his shoulder, off to some island with his family for the holiday. He left the keys to his family’s suite with me, as promised, but unlike for him, the arrival of Thanksgiving only means we’re getting close to finals.

  I’ve been back on the straight and narrow for a week, thanks to Adair’s gentle, if fierce, dedication to my reform. She’s even going to help me study over break. Now, I need to find out exactly how far I managed to fall during my two-week bender. Surely, it can’t have been enough to jeopardize my grades seriously.

  My assigned teaching assistant, Shannon, a short, fierce grad student from Boston, left through the faculty exit almost immediately. Probably on her way back to the Northeast for the holidays. Apparently, I’m not the only one worried about my grade because two dozen others stop for an audience. By the time I reach the front, there is only one T.A. left to bother. His pinched face is adorned with black, wire-rimmed glasses that reflect his laptop screen so perfectly I could probably read Cyrus’s grade as well as mine.

  “Hey.” I shoulder my bag higher. “I was wondering if you could let me know where I’m at.”

  He sighs, his eyes flickering to the long line of students, waiting to ask the same question, behind me.

  “Name.”

  “Sterling Ford,” I say. “Thanks. I have to maintain a certain GPA for my scholarship. I have to get a B.”

  This goes a considerable way toward softening his attitude. I’m guessing someone stuck grading papers and tests for a professor is in the same boat I am. He’s got to earn his keep here, too.

  “Well, bad news, Sterling. To get a B, you’ll need to score an A on both your final essay and your final exam,” he says with a grim, but sympathetic smile.

  I do a quick calculation and realize the situation is worse than I expected. “So right now I have a…?”

  “You would receive a C minus,” he takes a moment to gauge my reaction before continuing. “I’ve seen you in class. You’re bright, so you probably don’t need me to tell you this, but—”

  “Taking zeroes has ruined my grade.”

  “You only have A’s and zeros on our grade sheet. But look,” he punches in two numbers on his laptop, swivels it around towards me, and I can see how the weighting of our last two assignments might turn my C- into an A-.

  “Thanks. Have a nice break.”

  He nods and waves the next student forward, preparing to deliver the next bit of bad news.

  Suddenly, I’m not so sure I should have taken Adair up on her offer to help me study. Between that and Francie arriving in a couple hours for her visit, I doubt I’ll get the time I need to do it properly. I spend the whole trip back to my dorm considering ways to tell Adair it’s probably not a good idea.

  “Don’t you know it’s bad form to keep a lady waiting?” She’s leaning against the doorjamb of my room as I come off the elevator.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful,” I say, suddenly forgetting my plan to reject her help.

  And it’s true. She’s wearing tight-fitting black leather pants and a lacy top that allows glimpses of a black bra. Her bun is set with lacquered black chopsticks, and her lips are full and glossy. A well-worn jean jacket completes the ensemble. She looks like one of her magnolias, just waiting for the world to come along and admire her.

  “Not a bad apology. What took you so long?”

  “I was considering our study arrangement and whether you’d be helpful or distracting.” I fumble with the keys for a moment as she gives me a slight frown.

  “What did you decide?”

  “You’re definitely going to be distracting. Leather pants? Really?”

  She sweeps into the room as soon as I open the door, taking Cyrus’s chair by the window. “They are remarkably difficult to get off and on, actually.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “Already forgotten about studying, have we? That won’t do.” Adair does her best impression of a schoolmarm, pursing her lips and tutting softly. “Which grade is most in need of rescue?”

  “Econ.”

  “Let me see your notes.”

  I slide them out of my bag and open to where the final exam notes begin, then I hand it over.

  “This looks more like Latin. Ceteris Paribus?”

  “It’s a fancy way of saying that all variables not under consideration will remain constant.”

  “When you say it like that, I wonder how you’re not getting an A.”

  “Well, I actually went to that class, but I missed a few assignments when…” I don’t need to finish that statement. She knows exactly why my grade is tanking. “I can’t believe it only took two weeks to fuck everything up.”

  Adair tilts her head. “What do you mean? You’re behind, but I bet everyone is their first semester.”

  “Everyone doesn’t have to earn a 3.0 GPA to keep their scholarship. I’m at a steady B in my other classes, but Econ?” I sigh. “It’s a C minus. That’s just low enough to lose my scholarship. So maybe…”

  “Are you telling me to leave?” she asks.

  “I’m not sure I can risk it.” Not if I want to stick around Valmont, and the last week with Adair has proven to me that I do.

  “Listen, I’m not going to let you lose your scholarship, but I think I can actually help.” She pauses, her lips twisting into a wicked smile. “And to make it worth your while, I’m not sleeping with you until finals are over and you’ve aced them all.”

  “I, um, what?” I find myself looking everywhere but her face, which is unfortunate because my eyes land on her breasts.

  “I’ve given this a lot of consideration,” she says, re-assuming the air of a teacher. She snaps her fingers and I tear my eyes away from her chest. “Please make yourself comfortable before we begin.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I sit cross-legged on my bed, leaving just enough room for Adair to join me.

  Instead, she wheels a chair a few feet from my bed and flips through my notes until she reaches a section I photocopied from Cyrus. Obviously, they’re from a class I missed. “Let’s begin. Markets increase overall welfare via the concepts of consumer and producer blank.”

  “Surplus.”

  “Well done.” Adair kicks off her shoes and fires off another question, which I also get correct. She pulls off her socks.

  My dick twitches in my pants at the sight of her bare skin, even if it is only her feet. “Do you have warm feet or something?”

  She ignores my question in favor of another quiz. “With every purchase they make, a consumer experiences what measure of satisfaction?”

  “Utility.”

  “Very good.” Adair fixes me with an impish smile and takes a good 20 seconds slowly removing her jacket.

  Now I can make out the entire outline of her bra beneath her top, and suddenly my jeans feel extra tight. “Are you—are we doing what I think?”

  “What two functions limit the production of businesses?”

  Shit. I can’t think. “Uh, cost, and…” I trail off sheepishly.

  “Diminishing returns,” she says with another tut. She shifts in her chair as she puts the jacket back on.

  “No.” The word escapes my mouth reflexively. If every class involved a striptease, I’m sure I’d never miss one.

  “The antithesis of the unregulated market is what other model?” she asks.

  “The monopoly model?” I say, trying to sound casual.

  Adair pauses a moment, clearly enjoying herself. She begins to re-remove her jacket, but pauses at the last second. “Is that your final answer?”

  “Yes.” I am absolutely su
re I’m right. I lick my lower lip.

  “Good boy.” The jacket comes off quickly this time, pulling against the satin fabric of her top and revealing part of her breast.

  I can actually feel the amount of blood reaching my brain decrease. I uncross my legs in order to make more room in my jeans. Adair notices the growing bulge and gives her glossy bottom lip a coquettish nip.

  “I took psych my last year of prep. I got an A,” she brags.

  “This is what they teach in psych?”

  “Not exactly. But we did cover techniques for the reinforcement of desirable behaviors. This is just a practical application.”

  “And all of the blood leaving my brain for other places?”

  “A regrettable side effect, unfortunately. Let’s continue.” She flips over a page of notes and now the impish side is back. “Oh! A tough one. The Nash Equilibrium is considered the ideal solution to what thought problem?”

  “The prisoner’s dilemma!” I say, embarrassed by my own enthusiasm.

  Adair places the notes on the edge of the bed, crosses her left arm over her right, and slowly pulls up the hem of her top.

  I lean forward, slack-jawed, as Adair pretends to struggle with getting it to slide up and over her breasts. Her timing is impeccable.

  At last, she puts me out of my misery, her top popping off suddenly and sending her breasts colliding into each other. I scoot forward on the bed, manually readjusting my jeans yet again. I really think it would be better to just get the fooling around out of the way.

  It takes me a moment to realize Adair said something.

  “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” I say in response.

  “I’m afraid that answer won’t work on your professor.” Adair grabs her top as if to put it back on.

  “Double or nothing?”

  Something about the smile she gives reminds me of a large cat playing with its dinner. “Very well.”

  I get the next question right, and Adair throws the top behind her without looking. By luck it catches the lever door knob and hangs there, which reminds me of something. I hop off the bed, and Adair, who evidently thinks I am moving in to jump her, rolls her chair away from me. I stoop to retrieve one of her socks. I pop my head out the door, careful to block the view inside, and stuff the sock on the outside door knob. This way, if Cyrus comes back unexpectedly, he will know to fuck off for a bit.