by Teagan Kade
“You don’t look so bad yourself.”
I extend my arm. “Shall we walk?”
“We shall. By the way…” She holds up her cell. On it I’m singing my heart out. “And he can sing.”
I snatch away the phone, shaking my head at the video. “But this was, like, an hour ago.”
“I suppose you having heard of a little something called social media. We have that up here too, you know.”
I pause the video and pass the phone back. “Please tell me that’s not a public profile.”
She can hardly contain her laughter. “Uploaded anonymously for the world to enjoy, I’m afraid, but don’t worry. Only every single student at Branton will see it.”
Now she laughs, far too manically for my liking.
It occurs to me. Shit, I’m dating a supervillain.
“Can we talk about something else other than my Voice audition?” I suggest, taking her hand.
It’s small talk to begin with, but it soon becomes clear Harper wants to get deep and meaningful, clarify her emotions, so to speak.
She pulls around in front of me, the river flowing to our left, a band of trees to our right. “What are we, Colton, honestly? What am I to you?”
I stroke her cheek. “What do you want to be?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that alpha mumbo jumbo. Tell me what you’re feeling. You do have feelings, don’t you?”
“What I’m feeling?” I laugh. “I’m feeling horny.”
She shoves me, smiling. “I’m not talking about your dick.” She taps the side of my head. “What are you feeling up here, about us?”
This isn’t the time for it. I can’t unpack my so-called feelings right now. I don’t even know if it’s possible after the emotional scarring my father inflicted. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, yes, but actual nourishment—emotional nourishment—was in seriously short supply. I always thought it was for the best, a way to harden an individual, to shield them from the big wide world and its many troubles, but I’ve come to realize it’s left a void in me so large and expansive I’m not sure it will ever be filled.
Instead, I take Harper with both hands and crush her mouth with a kiss, let my tongue slip into the soft warmth beyond.
I expect her to push me away, but as the kiss deepens and her hands snake around my back, I know any further ‘talk’ is lost.
I reach down to her ass and lift her up, our lips still locked together. I walk us over to a sugar maple, pressing her up against it as the snow crunches and compacts below, only moonlight our witness.
Our tongues press together, one of my hands slipping down the front of her jeans to cup her pussy. Her need is clear, the urgency we both feel. I explore the tight space between her legs, my hand hot, her sex wet and yearning.
I move my mouth to her ear, gently pulling it with my teeth until she’s moaning for more, hips jerking forward as I apply pressure to her clit.
“Is this what you want?” I whisper.
She nods in reply, her breathing deep and steady.
She continues to moan in my ear while I tease her clit, slowly awakening her need. Her hands slip under my shirt, open out against my chest.
There’s something different about the way we’re moving this time. Everything is amplified and urgent, like a farewell of sorts.
But I don’t want it to be. I want more.
Whatever happens, it must be unforgettable.
Her arousal pools around my wrist. She begs me to take her, pleads for it.
“Whatever you say, baby, but it’s not going to be Mills and Boon… not tonight.”
She gasps as I turn her around and thrust her hard against the bark.
One hand holding her back, I use the other to roughly yank down her jeans and panties, dragging them down to her knees so her ass is exposed to the cold night air. Her hands press out against the trunk of the maple, her cheek flat against it, mouth wide. “What are you doing?”
My hand glides across her tight ass, my fingers following its sweet contours, occasionally drifting across her crack. Her glutes are firm before she relaxes.
I smack her ass firmly, driving her into the tree. She yelps, shocked, her backside soon relaxing for more.
I strike her harder, the imprint of my hand left on the delicate white of her skin. “Is that what you want?”
I don’t wait for her reply before whipping my hand against her again, the hollow thwack of it echoing away into the night, lifting her onto her toes.
When I run my hand between her legs again, I’m pleased to find she’s even slicker, the insides of her thighs wet with want. My fingers disappear into her easily, sawing there in her heat.
She’s so hot, her once steady breathing has turned heady and haggard. I press my pants down and take hold of my cock, guiding it between the pale globes of her ass until I find her wet hole, driving into her hard from the first stroke.
She pants once, a punctuation mark, her body drawn against the tree as I crush her from behind, my head against hers, my breath hot on the side of her neck.
I’m relentless, using my full weight and power to thrust into her tiny frame, to fill her with the full length of my thick cock.
She groans, gripping the bark of the tree, tongue lolling in her mouth and eyes closed against the assault.
I love the sound she makes as I stroke into her, harder and faster, building up into a solid, unstoppable rhythm, her soft ass riding up against my chest and pelvis, her wetness coating the root of my cock every time it’s birthed from her searing passage.
I hold her hip with one hand, tug her hair back with the other so I can better see her expression, her complete and utter submission.
She whimpers as I fuck her, crying out with every thrust.
“I’m going to come,” she drones.
“No,” I warn her. “Not yet.”
“Please,” she begs as I drive into her body again, crashing hard against her, a sudden breeze rushing through the branches above.
My hand shifts to her throat. I apply light pressure. “Do you want to? Do you want to come all over my big, hard cock?”
“Yes,” she pleads. “Yes.”
Her body convulses, her pussy contracting violently around my pulsing cock.
I can’t help it. Her orgasm brings on my own. I tense before allowing my own release. She milks me from the inside as I fill her, continuing to press back against me until we can’t possibly soar any higher.
With one final spurt, I grind her into the tree, my still-jerking cock slipping free from her dripping hole.
I look down with a hand beside her head, try to regain my breath.
She turns around, pulling up her jeans and panties with shaky hands. “That was…”
I’m shaking myself as I tuck my cock away. “That was… something, yes. I wasn’t too…”
“Rough?” she laughs. “No. I… liked it.”
I’m glad. It wouldn’t be the first time my enthusiasm has sent a woman running for the hills. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard,” I confess, neglecting to tell her exactly how many girls I’ve been with, how many times I’ve come but felt nothing at all except emptiness and loss.
But not now, not with Harper.
I pull her into me as the pleasure subsides and our breathing returns to normal. I take her hands, white and cool, and press them against my cheeks, smiling, but there’s a seriousness to her expression that’s concerning.
She takes her hands away, stuffing them into her pockets. “I’ve still got tomorrow’s class to prepare for. I should go.”
“Do you want company?”
She looks away, shaking her head. “Colton… That was… great, incredible, but what we’re doing can’t last. You do know that, right?”
I force the irritation that rises up away. “Sure. Of course.”
“Good,” she says, reaching up to kiss my cheek before starting to walk back to campus.
I stand in the snow watch
ing her go.
She’s right. As much as I want it to, this can’t last… just like everything in my fucked-up excuse of a life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HARPER
If I was confused about my relationship with Colton before, I’m near cationic as I walk across campus trying to process it all.
I barely slept, forced instead to get up and watch crappy rom-coms, which only makes things ten times worse.
You put your foot down. You did the right thing.
I don’t know. Did I? Because what happened by the river, that was intense.
The sun is out today, a rarity, the snow having turned to a slurry underfoot. I head past the admin building and left, about to turn the corner when James steps out.
I stop. Here we go. “Were you waiting for me?”
He clenches his teeth, shaking his head and approaching me with his hands in the pockets of his designer trench coat, the one I bought for him with a week’s worth of salary. “You know, Harper, you really should be careful who you share the more… intimate details of your life with.”
But I won’t be intimidated. Not this time. “And you should mind your own business.”
I make to walk around him, but he side-steps, blocking the narrow path. “You do realize I was basically assaulted the other night by someone who I must say looked awfully like a student here, someone a little too hasty to defend your so-called honor.”
So-called? I take a step towards him. “Really?”
“A student,” James continues, “who seemed to know a few things about your little problem.”
“My… problem?” I snap. I hate the accusation my ability to come had anything to do with me, with my body. “You’ll be pleased to know it’s no longer a problem then.”
I’m playing a dangerous game here, but I’m fed up. James needs to know the part he played, or didn’t, rather. But he’s wearing a smug, slippery smile I don’t like at all. I recognize it immediately, from the many times he talked down to me, like he was superior, like he was a freakin’ intellectual marvel lining himself up for the next Nobel Prize. That condescending tone… I never want to hear it again.
“Harper, Harper, Harper…” he says, the crocodile smile remaining. “Let’s see what happens, shall we?” He walks forward, pausing beside me. “I have a feeling the ice you’re standing on is thinner than you think.”
I let him walk on, my fists clenched and head beating, but he won’t get the better of me—not now, not ever. Still, I’m spooked, because as predictable as James is, he’s right about one thing: I’m a step away from going under.
*
I’m distracted during class. I make simple errors, much to the amusement of the students. Apparently, the great Khaleesi is not one of the great cultural influencers of the twentieth century.
Colton makes his way down to the front after class. “Everything good?” he asks, the concern clear.
I pretend to gather my notes, file them away even though I don’t have an actual folder. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“After that train wreck? You’re not fine. Tell me what’s wrong. I can help.”
I stuff things into my handbag and switch off the lights, heading out the door. Colton walks beside me, easily matching my pace. “I’m not going to let this go until you tell me what’s wrong.”
I don’t want to cause a scene. I detour into a side hall and stop, facing him. “We shouldn’t be seen together, Colton. We shouldn’t even be near one another.”
“So you’re giving me the cold shoulder then?”
“No, I’m telling you to keep your distance.”
“Like this?” He reaches forward and takes me by the back of my neck, bringing his lips to my own in a firm kiss.
I can’t help it. I drop my handbag, hands idle by my side, and fall into it, my tongue pressing against his, my eyes closing to savor the sweet, exotic taste of his mouth and the forbidden riches it holds.
Forbidden.
His free hand is against my thigh, steadily heading north, when he breaks away, simply shaking his head as he walks back down the hall.
“W—, wait…” but he’s already turning around the corner, disappearing from sight.
My lips tingle, my hands trembling by my sides.
I’m gasping for air, frantically looking around to make sure we haven’t been seen, but this hall is in a disused part of the campus. Hardly anyone comes down here.
It’s only then, with the lingering taste of his lips, I realize precisely the depth of the danger I’m in.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
COLTON
Coach drilled us good tonight. No candlelit dinner; just straight to the fucking.
I say goodbye to the guys as they file out of the showers one by one. I stay longer, let the hot water beat down on my body before I have to face the refrigerator outside.
Dressed, I step out onto a light packing of snow.
Coach locks the door behind us, slapping me on the back. “Boy, am I glad I found you. I mean, I was ready to kick your ass day one, but woowee… America hasn’t given us much, but I’ll happily take another Beckett if you’ve got any more brothers spare.”
I think of Mason and Cayden, already with tiny Becketts of their own, can’t possibly imagine in my likeness. Burping, diapers, toys strewn across the tabletop—I doubt I could handle it. “We’re multiplying, so you just might get your wish.”
Coach rubs his hands together, blowing into them. “Good to know. See you tomorrow, Bruce.”
After Bruce Springsteen, that is, my current nickname amongst the boys thanks to the now infamous karaoke video. I’d rather it was dick pics.
I watch Coach head towards the parking lot, smiling to myself, still not entirely sure how I ended up in this parallel, albeit frosty, universe to begin with.
It’s not all frosty, though. That hot pocket between Harper’s thighs, always so wet for my cock, my fingers, my tongue… I’d happily live out here in the sticks if it meant I’d have that on tap.
I’m enjoying her company out of the sheets, too. I’ve learned she’s reads horror movie synopses for fun… but refuses to watch any. She’s a Libra, had her first drink when she was twenty-one-and-a-half, has never been to the US or on a plane. Apparently she’s kickass at Settlers of Catan, and has a huge crush on Jaime Lannister, though I told her he has nothing on me, including a full set of hands.
I come around the corner when I’m shoved from the snow, almost tripping into the ice but managing to stay standing.
It’s Harper’s fucking ex, that James guy from the bar. “What the fuck do you want?” I bellow.
He gets straight to the point. “You think you can get away with sleeping with her?”
I play coy, spanning my arms out. “Fucking who, hotshot?”
“Harper,” he seethes. “She’s too good for some Ivy League family fuck-up like you.”
So he’s done his research and he’s found his balls.
“That’s right,” he nods slowly, “I know all about your time at Abbotsleigh, about incident at The L—”
“Ancient history,” I cut in, trying to decide whether I should lay this guy out and get on with my night.
“So you deny you’re sleeping with her?”
“Like I said, I don’t know who or what you’re on about. I’ve got pussy coming out the fucking ears, man.”
He simmers down, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Okay. I mean, that’s good. Take it from me, Harper’s a dud fuck anyway.”
I drop my bag and raise my fist, but he looks around me.
I turn. A group of students is heading across the hill, a couple looking quizzically in our direction. “Ah, ah, now, Colton. If you’d read your Branton welcome pack you’d know assaulting anyone on campus is a one-strike offence, a bit like Abbotsleigh now I think about it. If that someone turned out to be a tenured professor… well, I doubt you’d ever see the inside of an educational institution ever again. No, a different kind of institu
tion is more befitting of your family, don’t you think?”
As much as I want to take his head off, he’s right. There are witnesses around. The last thing I want is a re-run of Abbotsleigh, not when I’m finally finding my feet here. I’m on my last leg. I can’t have it swept out from under me by a lowlife like this. No, this is a fight I can’t win by brute force.
James smiles, clapping his hands together. “Good talk.”
I let him go, throw mental daggers into his back, because this is getting fucking real. Sooner or later someone’s going to get hurt, and the last person I want it to be is Harper.
*
“Where have you been, superstar?” Ricky’s already signaling for another round when I enter the college bar.
I salute the poster of the Bieber. It’s weird, but every time I step into this place I seem to hate it less and like it more. “One-on-one time with Coach. You know how it is.”
Andy hangs over the table. “I hear that. Looks like Coach has a new pet.”
I’m trying to forget the run-in with James, but it’s gnawing away at me. “Hey, you guys know much about one of the professors here, James-something?” I ask.
“Professor Marks, Women’s Studies. Kind of looks like a street hawker fell into a hipster clothing pile,” fills Ricky.
“Yeah,” I nod knowingly, “that’s the one.”
“Dude’s a real keener,” adds Andy.
“A what?” I query.
“You know, someone who tries too hard, brown-nosing the Powers That Be, a show-off. Think a Canadian Hermione Granger.”
I raise my finger. “Don’t go disrespecting Hermione now.”
Andy’s hands fly up. “Hey, she can happily take my wand for a spin, but your ‘professor,’” he airquotes, “dude’s antics are well known.”
“What do you mean?”
“He means,” Ricky butts in, clearly drunk on the house swill, “there was a rumor he was fucking the cultural studies chick.”
“Really?” I try to hide my disappointment this is information I already knew.