by Mia Storm
She gives me a devious smile and arches a perfect black eyebrow. “I’m a very bad girl.”
Sparklers ignite under my skin and it’s everything I can do to force myself to back away. If I wasn’t sure before, there’s no doubt now. I was never in control. It was always her.
Chapter 7
Blaire
Zoey was right. About everything.
I laid in bed last night reliving every moment of what happened in the library with Caiden. Nate was definitely fucking me wrong, because I didn’t feel anything close to what Caiden made me feel. And Caiden and I didn’t even have actual sex.
She was also on target about guys’ packages coming in all shapes and sizes. I’m not stupid. I knew they weren’t all the same. What I didn’t know is they could be so big.
Caiden’s hard-on came right out the top of his pants. By inches. He’s long and thick. As in, I don’t know if he’s going to fit long and thick. But he’s also perfect—straight, smooth, and circumcised. He felt so hot and hard in my hand, like steel under silk.
I’d never tasted cum before, but I had to taste his.
School almost killed me today. I couldn’t concentrate so I don’t even want to see my calculus test score. And it’s Thursday, so I won’t see Caiden tonight.
But tomorrow is the fourth Friday in April, so I’m going to invite him to the poetry slam again.
When I finish my homework, I pull open my laptop and open YouTube. I’ve never given head before. I’ve never wanted to. But Caiden makes me want to do everything. I type in “blow job,” and watch clips of girls with dildos giving instructions.
I want to make Caiden feel good. I want to drive him crazy. I want him to want me.
And I don’t want him to think I’m inexperienced.
∞
My poem tonight is about phoning love in. Or, more specifically, about my parents. I’m the third of six poets tonight, and Caiden isn’t here when Craig starts to announce me.
When I stopped by the library before class to invite him, he was helping a pretty brunette with something. They sat with their heads together at the table next to mine as he explained something to do with Shakespeare and misplaced loyalty. I waited for a few minutes and I saw him shoot me furtive glances, but I guess he couldn’t break away. I left a note on his desk that just said poetry slam tonight, and hoped he’d get the message.
Either he didn’t or didn’t want to. Maybe he was just avoiding me in the library earlier. Maybe the brunette saw the note first and took it. Maybe he’s with her right now.
Disappointment and doubt eat a hole in my stomach as I take the stage.
Craig snags my arm at the top of the stairs. “Was thinking we could hang out after the slam,” he says in my ear, and I can smell the beer on his breath. He’s only eighteen. Tino would rip his balls off if he knew he was pinching beers from cold storage.
“I might have a date,” I tell him, pulling out of his grasp. “Sorry.”
He bobs a slow nod as his eyes make their way to my tits. “Maybe next time.”
I find my spot at the mic and take a deep breath as he backs toward the stairs, trying to center myself to read.
“There are people who we have to love, and others we choose to love, which begs the question: What, exactly, is love?”
The door of the bar opens. With the spotlight in my eyes, it’s all but impossible to see anyone’s face in the audience, but I pretend it’s Caiden as I recite the next few lines.
And then I know it is.
I keep going, but my focus isn’t on my words. It’s on him as he stalks slowly toward a table in the front, close enough to the stage that the lights glow in his stormy blue eyes. He lowers himself into a chair and his attention doesn’t stray, even when the waitress, Eva, comes to take his order.
Eva brings his drink just as I’m finishing. He gives her a nod as he starts to clap for me, a huge smile spreading across his strong face. The scores start to post as I make my way down the stairs to him. Mid to high nines. Pretty good scores for number three.
Caiden stands when I reach his table. “Sorry I was late. Got caught up at the library.”
I try not to care that my first thought is he was fucking the brunette. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. It has no bearing on whether he’s about to fuck me. I scrape my chair right up next to his, lift his drink, and down most of it in several large gulps. It burns going down and I can’t stop the grimace. “Let’s get out of here.”
He gives me a long look, then drains the last swallow in his glass and throws a twenty on the table as he stands, pulling my chair back for me. I take his hand and we weave through the tables to the door. Once we’re outside, I press up onto my tiptoes and kiss him. His arms wrap around my waist and he pulls me closer, deepening our kiss.
“That was about your family, wasn’t it?” he asks when our mouths part.
I nod. “My parents, really. My brother’s pretty amazing.”
“You were fucking incredible. How do you do that? Come up with that powerful shit and then just put it all out there for everyone to hear?”
I shrug. “It’s cheap therapy.”
A smile tugs at his mouth.
“So now you know all about my supremely dysfunctional family. What’s your deal?”
His smile is instantly gone. “Not much I really feel like talking about.”
I scowl at him. “You’re really going to shut down on me? After you just gave me props on putting all my shit out there for everyone to hear?”
“Not everyone has your courage,” he says, lowering his gaze.
I search his face. There’s more anger there than pain: the way the muscles of his jaw are bunched in his cheeks, the tightness around his eyes. “What if you turn it into a poem?” When he looks up with alarm in his eyes, I add, “Just for me.”
He takes a deep breath and holds it for a minute before blowing it out. “I think that’s harder than just telling you.”
I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his and pulling him closer. “So, just tell me.”
He sandwiches my hand between both of his and watches his fingers fidget with mine. “Keri Cunningham was my first real girlfriend. She was popular, a cheerleader, beautiful; the whole package. She broke up with me a month before we graduated high school. We’d only been together for maybe four months, so in hindsight, it wasn’t really that big of a thing, but she broke my heart.”
He splays my hand open and starts tracing the lines of my palm, sending shivers through me. But he still won’t meet my gaze.
“I’d had this grand scheme to win her back at the graduation party by fighting off all the guys who tried to hit on her, because guys were always hitting on her.” His eyes lift to mine and he rolls them a little. “Thought I’d look like some kind of knight in shining armor for protecting her. Stupid, I know, but I was eighteen.” His gaze lowers again. “Anyway, when she hadn’t shown at the party by midnight, I finally gave up on her and went home. My mom was on the couch when I walked in. The TV was turned up full blast with one of those late-night infomercials. I thought she was just waiting up for me until I saw the mounds of tissues on the cushions around her.”
He blows out a weary sigh and brings his eyes to mine, but doesn’t say anything for a long time. All I can think is this girl must have died or something. I squeeze his hand to coax him along.
He takes another deep breath. “When my parents got home from my graduation, my father announced to my mother that he was in love with someone else. He was already packed and gone by the time I got home.” He swallows. “Keri delivered her baby eight months later. Turns out, she broke up with me when she started fucking my forty-year-old father.” He blows out a bitter laugh. “This kicker is, I never touched her. Felt guilty for even wanting to. Thought she was this sweet, perfect thing.” He lets go of my hand and rubs a palm down his face. “I haven’t seen or spoken to either of them since, but I heard they got married, then divorced not long after. My
mother’s become a bitter man-hater. She’s nearly impossible to be around because—he flicks a wrist at himself—“I’ve got a Y chromosome, which makes me the enemy. She threw me out and my brother came with me, and that’s about it. Haven’t seen her in over a year.” He shrugs. “And that’s my fucked up family.”
“Well, fuck,” I say, not sure if that’s an appropriate response or not, but unable to think of anything else.
“Yep. That basically sums it up.”
I stretch onto my tiptoes and drop kisses along the line of his jaw. His fingers weave into the hair at the nape of my neck and he tips my mouth to meet his. His kiss is slow and his mouth grows hungrier, devouring deeper, the longer it goes.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are a little glazed. “I’m not ready to let you go home yet.”
I trace the lines of his damp lips with my finger. “Good.”
“Where can we go?” His voice is rough and deepens as he asks.
A shudder sweeps through me and my inner muscles contract hard. “Walk me back to my car.”
He looks around. “Where are you parked?”
“Just around the corner.”
He takes my hand and we walk in silence for a block before taking a right. With each step my heart races faster. When we come to the dark lot behind the old storefronts on Main Street, mine is the only car there. That’s on purpose. The stores have all been closed for hours and this lot is always empty this time of night.
He stops next to my car and I pull him to me, kissing him hard. He twists his fingers into the hair on the back of my head and starts to devour my mouth like a starving man. I shove him back against my fender near the windshield, wrapping myself around him, and we kiss each other as if our lives depended on it.
He lifts my tank top and leans down to suck my right tit into his mouth. He rolls it under his tongue and I find out my nipple is hardwired to my groin when sparks shoot through me and my belly tingles in the aftermath. I smooth a hand over his abs to the rock-hard bulge in his jeans, then start on the button and zipper. I tug them and the snug cotton boxer briefs underneath over his hips and lower myself to my knees.
“Blaire,” he warns, a throaty mix of protest and desire.
Before he can say anything else, I take him in both hands and suck him into my mouth.
An agonized groan rips out of him as he twists his fingers into my hair.
I’m afraid he’s going to pull me off him, but he doesn’t. I sheath my teeth behind my lips, because YouTube said that’s a good way to get more pressure. He’s so thick I have to open as wide as I can to suck him deep. He’s not even halfway in when I gag a little. I feel his fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me back an inch. He stands perfectly still and lets me decide what happens next. I start to move my mouth over him again and it takes me another minute to find a rhythm between my hands and mouth.
I feel him, coiled tight like a wild animal ready to pounce. He holds my head gently between his hands as I move my mouth on him, never forcing me deeper that I can go without gagging. I take my mouth off him and watch his face as I explore his erection with my fingers and tongue. A drop of fluid oozes from his head and I slick the tip of my tongue along the groove there. It tastes salty.
“Christ,” he groans, and his hands tighten in my hair.
An intense rush prickles under my skin at the power I have over him. I glide my tongue in a circle over the tip and he drops his head back, breaking eye contact. He pants out several breaths, then looks down at me and growls as he lifts me off the ground and throws me over the hood of the Mini. He yanks my thong to the side.
“Oh God!” I gasp when he dives under my skirt and his tongue slicks over my clit.
He sucks my clit and his tongue teases it until my whole body is a live wire. I twist my fingers into his honey waves as a long animal sound, like a cat in heat, claws its way out of me into the still night around us. I’m helpless to stop it. I roll my pelvis up to give him all of me and he eats deeper. His tongue dips inside me and I grind my hips with the rhythm of his mouth. When he sucks hard and grazes my clit with his teeth, lightning rips through my body and I arch up and scream out my orgasm.
He lifts his head from between my legs and lays his chest across my stomach, his ear against my chest. I can feel the pound of his heart, keeping time with the pulsing between my legs, where my heart seems to have lodged itself.
“I’m aching so hard to fuck you, but didn’t bring protection,” his breathes against my skin. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“You could just pull out,” I whisper. I want him inside me so bad that I’m pretty sure I’ll die if I don’t get it.
He lifts his head and looks at me, and I see the need in his storming gaze. But then he backs away and straightens my clothes. “Not here.” He looks around the abandon dirt parking lot. “Not like this.”
My whole body protests as he fastens his enormous erection back into his jeans.
“What if I want it here, like this?”
He steps between my knees and holds my face between his hands. “When I fuck you, it’s going to be someplace where I can savor it and make it last. It’s going to be somewhere I can make you come, over and over and over.” He presses a kiss to my mouth. “Because I love the way you come right out loud. Just hearing you that jacked up is almost enough to get me off without you even touching me.”
When he fucks me. It sounds like a promise, and it’s enough that my body finally agrees to unclench.
“I love the way you make me come.” I press my forehead against his and lower my eyes, embarrassed to confess this while I’m looking into them. “It’s only ever happened with you.”
He presses me back and searches my face. “You’re serious?”
“You’re incredible,” I tell him honestly.
He smiles and kisses me, slow and deep, then lowers me off the hood and steps back and opens my door. “You’re pretty fucking incredible yourself.”
I slide into the seat. He closes my door and I roll the window down.
“Drive carefully,” he says, kissing me through the window.
Zoey told me giving head was gross, but this time she’s wrong.
Caiden’s not a boy. He’s a man. To know I can make him feel that way is the most intensely powerful feeling. I totally get what he said about how hearing me come could make him feel like he was going to come too. It’s like I’m wired differently when we’re together. Switches flip inside me and somehow we’re totally connected, vibrating to the same harmonic. We amplify each other—make every sensation bigger and more intense. It’s the craziest, scariest, most incredible thing I’ve ever felt.
And I never want it to stop.
Something fizzy, like seltzer, erupts inside me. I start the car and pull away, trying to contain it. When I turn the corner, Craig is there, smoking. He sends me a wave. I can’t stop the goofy smile as I wave back.
I’m on the highway when the first kernels of my next poem start materializing in my head. Girl Unhinged is the title. But I’m not sure words will ever be able to capture this feeling.
Chapter 8
Caiden
My fingers fly over the keyboard. I’m more focused that I have been in months. Maybe it’s because the mass of nervous energy that had taken up residence in my chest is gone. I can finally breathe, which means more oxygen to my brain. My final interview for the adjunct position, with the dean and department chair, is next week. It’s between me and a woman from Orange County. They’re scheduled to make a final decision on the same day I defend my dissertation, in four weeks.
I’ve managed to finish the next chapter of my dissertation ahead of schedule and my conclusion is flowing freely, pouring out of my head like Niagara Falls. I almost can’t type fast enough to get one thought down before it’s being drowned by the next.
My eyes keep flicking to the clock in the lit department conference room as I type. I’ve only got half an hour before I have to go over and beat
the living shit out of Jones, then start my shift at the library.
I see Hannah in the sidelight next to the door just before it opens. She slips through and closes it behind her. “I was hoping I’d find you here.” She drops her messenger bag on the floor and pulls the shade to the sidelight, blocking the view from the hall, then locks the door. “Dr. Garret is making me redo most of my research. I’m going to stab him in the fucking heart with his mother of pearl letter opener if I don’t find another way to blow off this tension.” She pulls off her shirt as she turns back to me.
“Hannah…I’m totally on a roll here. This is a really bad time.”
“We can keep it short,” she says, unhooking her bra and tossing it to the floor. “I just really need to come hard, then I’ll be fine.”
Fuck. My gut pulls into a hard knot. I wouldn’t have made it through the last few months without her help, and she never refused it when I asked.
She shimmies out of her leggings and panties at the same time, and is lifting my shirt over my head before I can even think of what to say. The acid churning in the pit of my stomach is all the proof I need that I can’t follow through with this. And I know it’s because of Blaire. Just knowing the possibility of her exists is enough to ruin me for anyone else.
I grab her hand when she goes for the button of my jeans. “I really can’t, Hannah. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes narrow and she looks at me a long minute, then she straddles me, grinding her naked pussy against my jeans. “We’re just talking five minutes so I don’t fly into a murderous rampage.”
I drop my head back and blow out a breath.
“I’ll give you anything,” she begs. “I’ll type up your dissertation. Anything you want. Please, Caiden. I really need this.”
I pull my head up and look into her eyes. What’s looking back at me is something I know all too well: a combination of desperation and frustration. I skim my fingertips from her knee up her inner thigh.
“Yes,” she moans and lays back against the table in front of me as I sink my fingers into her. She props onto her elbows and lolls her head back.