by Karina Halle
I don’t even know what’s going on. My world is still shattered, spinning on its axis, and all that’s left is a warm glow inside me that shines greater than the sun.
He slowly lowers me to the ground and I have to hang on to the bookshelves to stay upright, stacks of books falling out and tumbling to my feet.
“What’s going on up there?”
A shrill voice breaks the spell.
I have to blink my eyes a few times to figure out what’s happening. The sex has melted my damn brain.
“Bloody hell, it’s Treebeard!” Blake exclaims, trying to pull up his jeans.
“You still have a condom on!” I whisper.
“There’s no time!”
And there isn’t.
Because his pants aren’t quite up yet and his sheathed cock is hanging out when Treebeard comes around the corner. It doesn’t help that my skirt is still hiked around my waist in bunches.
“What are you two doing?” she exclaims, frozen at the end of the hall as she stares at us.
“Run,” Blake whispers to me as he finishes buttoning his jeans.
He grabs my hand and we run down the aisle as Treebeard starts coming after us.
Then we dart up the next aisle, leading her around. “You grab the computers, I’ll lead her astray. Meet you outside,” he says, and then he’s taking off in one direction and I’m going in another.
I hope to god she doesn’t come after me because we’ve been working in a corner, but luckily it doesn’t take me long to gather up our stuff and start running down the aisle and to the stairs.
I don’t know where Blake is at first, but then I see his dark head disappearing behind the history section and a few seconds later Treebeard (good lord can that woman run). With both messenger bags slung on me like a pack mule, I make a run for the doors, bursting outside into the night just before Blake does.
“Keep going!” he yells, and all my days of running are finally paying off because I plow over to Mr. Mean. But Blake is even more fit, like a superhero, and catches up in seconds.
He runs around and gets in, unlocking my door just as I see Treebeard emerge from the library, shaking her fist at us like something from a cartoon.
I jump in the car but I don’t even have a chance to close the door before he drives away, squealing out of the parking lot.
“Do you think she’s going to report us?” I ask him breathlessly, watching in the side mirrors as the gleaming glass walls of the library disappear. My heart is racing so hard I can hear it.
“Well,” he says, letting out a little laugh. “Let’s just say you should avoid that library next year. Or wear a disguise.”
“That was my happy place, you know!”
He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “And yet somehow I just made it a hell of a lot happier.”
I can’t think about that right now. I’m not even over what we did. My skin is hot and flushed, not just from the escape but the damn sex. I’m still aching inside from where he just was.
“Holy shit,” I finally exclaim, leaning back into the seat. “I can’t believe we just did that.” My head lolls to the side and I stare at him, wide-eyed. “I’m not sure that was smart.”
“It was the smartest thing we’ve ever done,” he says, turning up “Fur-Lined” by How to Destroy Angels on his stereo.
The jury is still out on that.
“Shit,” I swear. “My car is there.”
“You can get it tomorrow,” he says.
I look out the window as we approach the downtown core. “Where are we going?”
“My place,” he says.
He gives me a sidelong glance, razing his teeth over his lower lip. “You know I’m not fucking done with you.”
“You’re definitely not done with yourself. I believe you have a condom somewhere in your underwear,” I point out.
He looks back to the road. “Okay, maybe not my finest moment. All the more reason to get it right the second time.”
Despite the muffled protests from my brain, like someone yelling behind a bank vault, my legs are still weak and my lips still remember the taste of myself on his tongue, and my body knows just what it’s like to come with him inside me.
There’s no going back.
I push my brain aside. My body rules tonight.
13
Blake
Holy fucking shit.
That’s the only phrase that keeps running through my head as I drive us through the streets of Victoria, heading to my apartment.
That, and bloody hell can Treebeard run fast!
One minute I was sitting in the library, reading over some of the filthiest shit my mind has ever had the pleasure of processing, the next minute I’m watching the creator of it disappear around the library stacks and it’s like every single nerd-boy fantasy I’ve ever had decided to come out to play.
The other day, with her body hot and soft under my hands, that loud, uninhibited moan, the way she pressed into my cock, I knew we were seconds from fucking. If we hadn’t been interrupted. I mean, I’m sure Amanda would have had a little freak out at some point because it’s taking all of her willpower and stubbornness to pretend she’s not attracted to me.
But I know she is. She just needs to shut off the part of her brain that thinks too much, and I refuse to believe that’s all that exists in her. I mean, her imagination so far has been as dirty as they come, and her real life fantasies can’t be that far behind.
So I followed her down the stacks. Dropped to my knees and gave her pleasure like she’s never had before, in a setting I’m sure is dear to her darkest fantasies.
I planned to stop it at that, but she was so wanton and needy and I was beyond turned on from tasting her like that, sinking into her from that angle, that I was ready to go.
And I still am. I’m not about to let her get away, to go back to her home and feel ashamed and pretend this didn’t happen. It happened. We both know it’s going to happen again.
I park the car in the garage and we ride up in the elevator, the tension between us shimmering and raw. I want to kiss her again, to taste her, hold her, bury myself so deep inside I don’t know where she ends and I begin. I know what she feels like now and you can’t let go of that too easily.
Once inside, I flick on the kitchen lights, giving the room just enough glow. I head to the bathroom quickly, getting rid of the condom and washing up.
She’s still standing in the kitchen, looking around like she’s never seen this place before.
We don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say with words.
I grab her hand and lead her to my bedroom, a place she’s only poked her head in before. It feels strangely sacred now, as if I haven’t had hundreds of lovers in this bed, as if it’s been pure and waiting for her—a blank slate.
She goes to the bed and sits on the edge of it, kicking off her sandals and staring up at me with big eyes while I slowly disrobe. I unbutton my shirt first before tossing it across the room, and I see her eyes drink me in, gazing hungrily at the hard ridges of my abs, the firm pecs on my chest. She even seems to appreciate the light dusting of chest hair and the treasure trail leading from my navel down along the sleek planes of my hips. I’ve always had good genes from my mother’s side, and my daily trips to the gym downstairs have paid off.
My pants go next but she’s seen this show before. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t drink me in though, thirsty for it as my cock juts out in front of me, hard as it’ll ever be. She’s practically breathless and wide-eyed as she stares, looking a trifle intimidated despite everything.
It’s exactly what my ego wants to see.
“Lie back,” I tell her gruffly as I get on the bed and crawl toward her, my thick shaft bobbing between us. I put my hands on her shoulders and nudge her back while I settle over top of her. I run my thumb over her lips, pushing gently until her lips wrap around the tip. She sucks softly and I feel the jolt right through me, all the way to my toes.
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��I don’t think you realize what you do to me,” I murmur to her, one hand moving her skirt up around her hips. I remove my thumb and pull her tank top over her head as she arches back to let me. I toss it beside the bed as she deftly undoes her bra.
I stare down at her full breasts, so perfect, spilling to the sides. They seem to glow in the room, pure and flawless, her dark pink nipples hardening before my eyes. I can’t help but grin and gently blow air across them. She arches her back again, and I watch her skin prickle as I trace the goosebumps across her chest with my tongue.
She makes this breathy, gaspy sound and I press my body down on top of her so she can feel how hard, long, and ready I am. Her eyes widen but they aren’t afraid. She knows now that she can handle it and handle it well.
I reach over to my bedside table for a condom packet, my pulse racing in my wrist, and I spread her legs apart with my knee. I breathe her in, the smell of our sex earlier hitting me like a fucking tonic.
I pause, even though my body is like a bomb ready to trigger, and take it all in. Amanda. Here in my bed. Not groping with our clothes on at her place, not fucking in the library, but here in my bed, naked and vulnerable below me. I know that few men have seen this view before, to have this trust from someone who holds her cards so close to her chest.
This means a lot more to me than I first thought it would. It means a lot more than she could possibly know.
I rip the condom open, sheathing the thin latex over my length. My eyes are drawn to Amanda’s as she watches freely in fascination, no rush here now. There’s nothing but time and the two of us as she slowly removes her skirt until it’s dangling from her foot.
Once the condom is on, I take a shaking breath and lower myself down to her, keeping all my weight on one arm as my free hand snakes between her legs. My eyes close at the feel of her warmth—she’s like a hot summer night and I could drown in her headiness.
I bury my head into the crook of her neck, making small, quick bites along her delicate skin until I find the soft, delicate lobe of her ear. I lightly tug on it between my teeth until she moans, her fingers digging into my shoulders, just like she was earlier.
Trying to steady my breath, I slide my hand up to her cunt and a low, guttural groan rises up from my chest. She feels like heaven—just as plump and silky as before, and absolutely wet.
“You’re so perfect,” I tell her as I push two fingers inside her tight little hole. The way she squeezes around them, holding me, makes my eyes momentarily roll back in my head. My cock swells to the breaking point and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold back. I’m practically panting, working her like this, and she squirms, her head rolling from side to side, that mouth of hers wet and open. Wanting more.
Her breath catches, and her round, pale breasts heave upwards. I run my tongue over her nipples, hard pebbles that respond to my every touch, every smooth lick, and she groans again, louder this time. I want to take her to the limit, I want her inhibitions stripped. I want to watch it all. I push my fingers in further and the groan deepens. Her hips jerk upward, again and again, nearly desperate. Watching her writhe and moan underneath me, from just my fingers feels better than any drug.
I can’t take much more. I make a fist around my rigid shaft and position it at her entrance. Her eyes flutter open as I slowly rub my swollen head up and down her silky cleft, taking my time to tease her, to tease myself.
Keep it together Crawford, I tell myself. Go slow.
It’s the hardest thing. Every nerve in my body is ready to slam into her sweet depths and fuck her until we’re off the bed. It takes all my strength to slowly ease my way inside her. She’s so hot and wet as I slowly push my way in that I begin to shake. I pause and take in a deep, wavering breath before I continue.
Her face contorts as I push. She’s so fucking tight, like a vise. Both of us are breathing hard, sweat building on my brow, our skin damp. When I’m in deep, I slowly pull out again, watching my cock as it withdraws, glistening with her juices.
Heaven. Simply put.
She lies beneath me, her legs hooked around the back of mine, looking too gorgeous for words. Seeing her on the verge of ecstasy like this is part of the problem. I can’t take my eyes away and the more I watch her, the more I want to explode.
I slowly pull out and then reach down and hook my arm under her.
“Up,” I whisper roughly as I flip her over so she’s on her stomach. “Hips up, peach.”
She moves back slightly so that her hips and stomach raise off the bed, and she grabs the edge of the blanket, curling her fingers around it.
The sight of her like this gets me even harder, that perfect arse that I’ve lusted over all year now bare and round in front of me. I can see a small freckle on the left cheek and I dip my head down to nip it.
“Ow,” she cries out softly.
“Sorry,” I say. “Couldn’t help myself there.”
I reach down, arcing over her stomach, and place my finger on her clit and rub it around, her juices spreading. I work at her until I feel her widen, her legs spreading more, and then I push in again from this angle. Here she’s even tighter. I can plunge deeper and I know I’m hitting all her sweet spots. She gasps and I grab her arse, holding on tight, my fingertips sinking into her soft skin.
She’s so wet and lush, I could lose myself in her forever.
But I don’t have forever.
My pace becomes quicker as my balls rise, tighten, threatening to let loose inside of her. They smack against her skin, the slapping noise filling the room as I pound her in and out, in and out, quick and relentless, bringing me to the edge.
I groan loudly, unable to keep quiet. The need in me to come is too sharp, too hard, too much. I slide out slowly and watch my thick shaft, shiny with everything she has, then I plunge back in. My whole body shudders.
“Come for me,” I growl at her, knowing I wrote a line like that earlier, but I don’t fucking care. I want her to come with me, again and again.
I work my fingers into a frenzy, her face sinking into the blanket and her muffled moans get louder and louder while I slam into her harder and harder.
“Oh my god!” she cries out, followed by a string of nonsense that sounds like poetry right now.
The bed is shaking.
She’s shaking.
I’m shaking.
Then I’m coming.
Hard.
I take in a deep breath and let out a low, guttural cry as my coiled muscles let loose and the orgasm rips down my spine, shooting out through every vein. I see the fucking stars. The moon. The light that lives in the back of your head.
Then there’s nothing of me left.
I’m empty. Sated.
Boneless.
I lean against her, trying to feel my limbs, my grip on her hips slick with sweat.
She’s collapsed into the bed, not moving but breathing hard, her back rising with each breath.
Carefully, I pull out and then through my haze, I tie the condom and toss it into the trash. I lie down on the bed next to her and pull her to me, rolling her over so we’re face to face.
“Hey,” I say to her, still breathless, propping my head up with my elbow.
She swallows, her face flush and damp, her pupils dark like stones. “Hi.”
“So how was round number two?” I ask lazily.
Her lips curve. “Better than round one.”
“How so?”
“No librarian running after us?”
“Really? I thought that made things special.”
“There are different kinds of special,” she says.
I bite my lip and then reach over, playfully dragging the tip of my finger over her nose. “You hungry?”
“For what?” she asks warily.
I roll over and get up, not caring that I’m hanging out in front of her partially erect. “Food,” I tell her. “That’s happening again by the way” —I gesture to the bed— “but I need my strength.”
I grab
her hand and pull her up to her feet.
She’s immediately bashful, standing there completely naked and awkward, trying to hide her body from me.
I walk over to my dresser and toss her a shirt.
“Here, put that on,” I tell her. “Unless you want to be naked. No complaints from me.”
She slips the shirt over her head. “This is good, thanks. What’s for dinner?”
“Cold pizza,” I tell her as we walk to the kitchen.
“Cold pizza? That is so college student circa nineteen eighty-nine,” she tells me, leaning against the island counter, as if we were alive then. “Do you have Pepsi too?”
“Well, tonight it’s college student two thousand sixteen,” I tell her, opening the fridge. “And Pepsi? What’s wrong with you?” I pause and peer around the fridge door at her. “You might want to avert your eyes. I have to bend over.”
She averts them by way of rolling them up to the ceiling. Good enough.
I get the pizza out and start divvying up slices onto plates. “Ever see that Seinfeld episode where Jerry has that girlfriend that’s always naked?”
“Yes,” she says. “Please don’t open any pickle jars around me.”
“No promises.” We sit down on the stools at the kitchen island and nibble on our slices. Amanda keeps blushing, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the good sex, the fact that we’re having sex at all, or the fact that I’m naked. I have a feeling her prat of an ex-boyfriend never walked around naked in front of her. She probably only saw his penis in the dark. Might have been a good thing.
I’m staring at her like a total dork, probably with a goofy look on my face, when she stops chewing, her mouth open, the pizza hanging limply from her hand. Her eyes widen, focused on a spot beyond me.
Then her hand starts shaking and the pizza is shaking, and it’s like I’m watching that scene with the Jell-O in Jurassic Park.
I stiffen. “What is it?” I’m already whispering, preparing for a raptor behind me.
Her eyes dart to mine. “Um,” she says, voice squeaking. “Just how dangerous is a tarantula?”