by Nikky Kaye
It was a powerful kiss, but also possessive. He slanted his mouth over mine with confidence but also reverence, pouring passion into every lick and nip. But though dizzying, I knew it was just for show. It was a stupid macho display for Dylan, and it embarrassed the shit out of me.
I managed to right myself and shoved his hands off me. For someone who just lectured me on pride of self-ownership, he was pretty careless with his rental.
“Who do you think you are?”
His mouth tightened. “I think I’m the guy currently fucking you.”
“Well, you don’t have to be.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stepped back. “My choice, remember?”
The second his mouth fell open in shock, I knew we’d both said something we didn’t mean to. But after five torturous seconds of silence, I also knew we were both too proud to retract it.
Silently, he pivoted on one heel and left, his backpack slamming against the doorframe on his way out.
“Will…” It was too late. I watched him stalk down the hall through the little mesh window in the door. If I squinted hard, I thought I might see him take my heart with him.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Uh, you okay?” Dylan rocked up beside me and reached his hand out, but made the wise decision not to touch me.
“I’m—yeah, I’m fine.” I really, really wasn’t. But I couldn’t find a word for what I was right then.
“That looked… intense.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not really dating him, are you?”
The disbelief in his voice caught my attention. I took a good look at him, trying not to compare him to Will. Though Dylan’s hair was buzzed short at the back, a hank of lighter blond flopped in the front, just touching the top of his glasses. It was truly unfair how nice his eyes were, like sea glass—even if at that moment they were narrowed in derision. Girls would kill to have eyes like that.
I sighed. “Define dating.” I sure as hell couldn’t.
Cue the awkward silence.
“So, how about that fetal pig?” My smile was bright, wide, and fake.
“If you’re not up for it…”
I didn’t understand. “I have to do it today, don’t I?
Dylan’s mouth turned down. “Well, yeah. Churchill wants to get all the grades in by Wednesday, so I need this lab report tomorrow.”
Churchill was the prof, but it took me a second to recall that, since Dylan had supervised most of the course. It was his last semester of PhD candidacy before he had to do his comps. He’d confided in me the day before that he was anxious to be done with his work as a TA. He was destined for a lab job, not a teaching job.
It occurred to me suddenly how valuable his free time was. And now mine, if I needed to write the report tonight. I’d thought I might have until the end of the week. I bit back my annoyance and pasted on a smile—this time genuine.
“You know, I really appreciate all the extra help you’ve given me in the last few weeks, Dylan. I really owe you.”
“It’s not a problem, Cassie.” He busied himself with helping me finish the dissection prep, but the tips of his ears turned red.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew he had a little crush on me. If you got me drunk enough, I’d probably admit to leading him on a little. So sue me. I’d only just discovered that sex wasn’t the most boring, painful thing in the world, and I was getting my flirt on.
Despite Will telling me about how much power and control I had over my body and its responses, most of the time I felt pretty damn weak around him. Before, I knew my own mind but not my body. Now it was the other way around.
My body seemed to act with a Will of its own.
I began the dissection silently, but Dylan scuttled closer and closer until I could literally feel him breathing down my neck.
“You know, Cassie, we could just cut to the chase here.”
My scalpel skidded onto the tray, my palms sweating under my blue gloves.
“Will got a good grade on his report,” he noted, “even though he pretty much mutilated the pig.”
“So?” I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my hand. Big mistake. The smell of fixative curled up my nose, forcing me to breathe through my mouth.
Dylan leaned closer, his thumb sweeping over my parted lips. I froze.
“I could do you a favor and put your name on Will’s report, so you’d get the same grade. Churchill wouldn’t notice because all your other reports are tied together in the system anyhow.”
I lay the scalpel down, not sure I could continue without slicing off a fingertip.
“Why would you do that?” I asked quietly. I must have been too quiet, though, because he moved even closer, until the front of his body pressed against the side of mine, from thigh to shoulder.
“You’re busy. I’m busy...”
“We could be busy together?” I guessed. “You mean like dating?”
His relieved hum sent a wave of anxiety through me.
“Kind of like dating,” he said, his fingertip tracing the halter neck of the apron I was wearing.
If this was what flirting got me, I would think long and hard about going back to a life of chastity. Then that made me think about Will, long and hard, and I blushed despite my unease. Dylan brushed my hair back off my shoulder, exposing the heat in my face.
“You’re so pretty,” he murmured.
A month before, he would have had to spell it out for me. I was an innocent, naïve girl who didn’t know the power of her own allure. Now I was impressed and mortified at the same time. With great power came great responsibility.
Super Pussy, faster than a speeding bullet vibrator.
I stepped away from him. “I, uh, appreciate the offer, Dylan, but I can’t.”
“Because of Will?”
A knot loosened in my chest. I was no superhero. I barely even knew how to use my own vagina. “Because of me.”
His lip curled up in a sneer. “You know, Cassie, you’re kind of a cock tease. I almost feel sorry for Will.”
Asshole said what?
Maybe being single and celibate was a better idea. There would be less fear of embarrassment and fewer people to disappoint or reject.
And fewer people to stab with a scalpel.
Chapter Eleven
Will
I looked in the bathroom mirror at the ugly Christmas sweater I was wearing, trying to locate some holiday cheer. Apparently my GPS was broken. Even all the presents we’d unwrapped the day before hadn’t helped my mood. None of the boxes were Cassie-shaped.
“Yeah, elf you, too,” I muttered at the sentiment on my sweater as I started brushing my teeth.
My mom had a twenty-four hour holiday music satellite channel on—twenty-four hours a day. It penetrated my sleep and accompanied me in the shower. I felt like I was in Gitmo.
And me? Well, I was lonely for Cass. Plus, I was kicking myself for putting myself out there, just to get nailed in the jingle balls. Had I ruined everything?
She hadn’t contacted me since that day. I texted her a few times the day after she stomped on my balls in the lab, but she never responded. I didn’t try again, and I left for winter break two days later. I could blame my pride or my phone’s unpredictable battery life, but really there was no excuse.
Bah humbug. I spit out the toothpaste and rinsed out my mouth and the brush, then looked in the mirror again. The beginning of a song floated up the stairs, and I hummed along.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like fuck this…” I sang under my breath.
My feet felt heavy as I headed down to the kitchen. I didn’t need the calendar on the side of the fridge to remind me that it had been six days since I talked to Cass. Six long ass days of twiddling my thumbs and not wanting to go first. And for what? Even God got a lot of shit done in six days. He didn’t have woman problems, though.
“You need a ho,” my father announced, clapping me on the back. He wore a terrifying sweater featuring a BDSM Santa and a “Naughty
List”. This new fugly sweater trend was getting worse—or better, depending on your perspective.
“I need a what?”
“Three of them, actually.”
“What the hell would I do with three hookers, Dad?”
He shook his head mournfully. “Oh my boy, I have failed you in so many ways.”
“Leave him alone,” my mother called from where she was reading on the couch. Her sweater featured a gingerbread cookie suggesting everyone get baked.
I enjoyed my parents—really—kind of like you enjoy going to a late night screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. You knew what to expect, but the weirdness never failed to impress you.
“He means ho ho ho,” my mom translated with an added snort. “Really, Mike. What a stupid joke.”
“Says the woman wearing a stoner gingerbread man.”
I pointed at both of them. “Glass houses, people. Glass houses.”
When the secret to time travel was discovered, the first thing I was going to do was go back to three Christmases ago and get my parents safe, boring gift cards instead of goofy sweaters.
Actually, that would be the second thing I would do. I would need to fix things with Cass first. At that thought, my mood fell as fast as the price of candy canes on December twenty-sixth.
“Woman trouble?” my dad asked.
“Something like that.”
“Call her,” was my mother’s suggestion from behind her book.
Dad raised an eyebrow. “Is it the same girl you were moping about at Thanksgiving?”
“Maybe.” I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. I didn’t mope. I never moped.
“Call her,” repeated my mom.
“Is she important?”
Was Cassie important? Well, considering that my heart felt like it was ground into fucking dust right now, the answer was probably yes. My parents gave each other meaningful looks when I hesitated too long.
Dad sighed, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder on his way to the kitchen. “Another one bites the dust.”
What the fuck did that mean?
My mother cleared her throat until I looked at her. “Call her.” She raised her book back to her face, dismissing me.
She was right. I was being a complete tool. Now if I could only find my phone… I thought I’d left it charging on the kitchen counter, but it wasn’t there. I took the stairs two at a time up to my room, but a quick glance didn’t reveal it—until a muffled ringing came from my comforter.
After I unearthed my phone from the covers, I dropped it when I saw that Cassie was calling. Grabbing it, I willed it to ring again so I wouldn’t have to make the decision about what to do next. Did I call her back right away and let her wonder if I was playing games by not picking up? Did I call her later and pretend I just noticed that she’d called? Or I could text her. Should I—
“Pussy.” My mother’s accusing voice trailed past me as she walked down the hallway.
“Mother!” I gasped in mock shock. Let’s just say that I didn’t get my filthy mouth from my father. “Language!”
“Just call her,” she shouted.
I groaned, knowing she was right. But it didn’t stop my heartbeat from jumping when I pressed Call Back and waited for her to pick up.
“Will! I just called you!” Cass sounded happy and relaxed, which was more than I could say for myself. Maybe she wasn’t mad at me anymore?
“Yeah, I heard my phone but couldn’t find it.” I sat on the edge of my bed. “Uh, Merry Christmas.”
“You, too. Hang on just a second,” she said. I heard a mumble and a noise like a door closing before she returned. “When I’m at school, I miss home, but when I’m home, I miss the dorm. At least my bedroom has a lock on it there.”
I smiled at memories of us in her bedroom—and mine. Then my smile faded at the memory of our last meeting in that stupid lab.
“—report him?”
Wait, what was she saying?
“Whoa, Cass, what? Back the fuck up.”
“Jesus, Will,” she moaned. “It’s so embarrassing.” She paused, her silence heavy. “I got a B-plus in Bio.”
“That’s great!” The bubble of pride that welled up in me was quickly popped by my own confusion. “But why is that embarrassing?”
“Look, Will. I’m so sorry about, well, you know,” she blurted out. “And I know we don’t know what we are, right? I’d like to talk about it another time, if you still want to. But I’d really like to talk to my friend Will about this, not sexy Will. Not that you’re aren’t sexy all the time, but I called you as a friend, not as a naked person.”
She was babbling. Luckily, I spoke Cassie.
“Got it. Friend Will, reporting for duty.” I resisted the urge to salute, but I was grateful as fuck that she still considered me her friend after the way we’d left things.
“Don’t get mad, okay?”
Now I was getting worried. “Cass, you can’t open with that. You’re pretty much guaranteeing that I will get mad.”
The heavy breath she blew out sounded like static in my ear. “I had to ask Churchill to grade my exam and last lab report himself.”
“Okay?” That didn’t seem so bad.
“Because Dylan suggested I trade him for a good grade.”
I stilled. “Trade him what?” I grated out.
“I could be wrong. Maybe I was reading the situation wrong. I don’t know a lot about this stuff, right? Just because I can tell when you’re coming on to me doesn’t mean I—”
“Cass! What. Did. He. Want.”
“Um, sexual favors?” she said in a small voice. “But you can’t get mad. Friend Will, remember?”
“Fuck that!” I exploded, jumping to my feet. “As your friend, I’m just as pissed.”
And as her lover, I felt a raging possessiveness that made me want to remove his testicles with a pair of kindergarten craft scissors.
I needed to calm down before I said something else I shouldn’t. What had Yoga Rodney said? Breathe through my eyeballs? It would probably be a lot easier if I wasn’t seeing red.
“Will? Will! Shit, can you hear me?” Her voice faded, like she was holding out the phone to look at it.
“Wait, when did this happen?”
She paused. Oh hell. Please don’t tell me that motherfucking weasel…
“After you left that day.”
My legs felt numb. I dropped to the edge of the bed, almost shaking. I was furious—with that cocksucker, with myself for leaving her with him, even with her for not telling me right away. I had so much anger, I didn’t know what to do with it. I only knew that I couldn’t take it out on her. That would be… bad.
“Cass, I’m going to have to call you back,” I said tightly.
“Oh. Okay.” She sounded sad, her voice quiet and flat. Maybe she didn’t really expect me to call her back, or ever speak to her again. That would not fucking do.
“Baby, I’m not mad at you.”
She didn’t respond.
“I just need a few minutes to, uh, process. Okay?” And possibly beat the shit out of something.
More silence. Had the call dropped?
“Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
I promised her that I would, and I meant it. Now that I’d heard her voice again, I couldn’t imagine going another day without it. Goddamn, I missed her. Did she miss me?
After we hung up, I inhaled deeply then let out a long, shaky breath. First things first.
“Mom? I’m going to the gym.”
* * *
Two hours and copious amounts of sweat later, I was the proud owner of a fuckload of lactic acid buildup and tape residue on my knuckles from going at the heavy bag. And I may or may not have almost goaded some pushy asshole into a fight in the parking lot.
My workout revved me up more than it calmed me down. I should have just gone for a really long swim—like to Newfoundland. Or tried hot yoga again. Now I was tired, hungry, dry-mouthe
d, and still livid. But I had a plan.
It was dark outside when I got home, and so was the house. My parents had texted me that they were going out for dinner with some friends, so I was on my own. I stood under a hot shower for a long time. The water relaxed me, but I was still unsettled by thoughts of Cass. As I turned my back to the showerhead, my thoughts went to the last—and only—time we showered together, and my hand went to my hardening cock.
It wasn’t the memory of the water sluicing over her pert, totally-not-lopsided breasts that turned me on. Even so, the pretty hot memory of how the water got in my eyes when I got down on my knees before her flitted through my mind. I’d taken her clit between my teeth, flicking it with my tongue until she shrieked.
I’d held her up with one hand and pressed my other fingers together to enter her. She shook as my hand stretched her and the tip of my thumb brushed against her g-spot. So slippery was she that I couldn’t tell the difference between the juices of her arousal and the steaming water bouncing around us.
“More,” she’d moaned, closing her eyes against the spray.
“More this?” I nudged my hand in more, twisting slightly.
“Oh god!”
“Are you afraid to look?” I’d asked her in a low voice. “Afraid of how you’ll feel seeing my hand inside you?”
She shivered, her walls clamping over my knuckles. I was pretty fucking close to fisting her, and she still begged for more. More what, I wasn’t sure. I was discovering that my blushing friend Cass was a bit of a closet kinkster, and it was beyond hot.
With a few gentle movements and gasps, her pussy sucked me in further.
“Holy shit,” I groaned. “I wish you could see how unbelievably hot you are, baby, taking me inside.” My dick was so hard it could double as the goddamn tub faucet, and surely envious of my hand’s position deep inside her hot channel.
“Will, oh Jesus. I feel so full…”
It was no wonder. The soft skin above her mound was slightly swollen. “As much as I loved being in your ass, this is pretty fucking amazing, too. Does it feel good?”
“It feels so… much,” she managed to utter, whimpering softly as I rotated my hand by only a few degrees.