"How considerate of you, but I'm not a virgin. I know what I'm doing," she informed him. "I'm not asking you to be a gentleman."
"That's not what I meant," he replied. "I mean, I can't promise you anything after it's done. You're a good person, Chantel. I like having you around. I don't want to lose the barely minimal friendship we do have. I don't want to fuck this up."
"Ok, now you're getting boring. Maybe we should've stopped at the I respect you thing," Chantel replied.
"You're not listening to me anyway."
"No, I'm really not, so you might as well shhh." She put a finger to his lips. "Just be quiet and take what I'm offering, the way you're supposed to."
Pushing the door closed with her foot, she shoved her tongue into his mouth so he had no choice but to shut up. It felt like an eternity before she finally let him breathe again, and that was only because she couldn’t very well yank his shirt off while keeping his lips on lockdown.
“So I don’t get a say in this?” he asked, as his shirt was torn away from him.
“The only thing you get to say tonight is yes,” Chantel whispered onto his lips. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Eric grinned against her lips. “You really think you can just walk in here giving orders, and beat me into submission? That’s not how this works. This is my room, Ms. Pari. I make the rules here.”
“On the bed.”
“No.”
“Get on the bed now.”
“Make me.”
Chantel grabbed his shoulders and tried to drag him to the bed, but he spun her around and slammed her between him and the wall. “Make me,” he said again.
She shoved him back, but he pinned her onto the wall again, restraining her arms above her head. “Make me,” he dared.
Chantel forcefully pressed his lips again, but he continued to break away. “No,” he said, pinning her arms tighter above her. “If you want it, you got to take it. No surrendering.”
If Chantel couldn’t use her arms against him, she resorted to her legs. She threw her hips against him, wrapping her thighs around his waist and squeezing him between them. Through the firmness of his jeans, she felt him harden. She grinded her thighs against him, taking victory when each buck of her hips made him swell up and stiffen more. When he pushed back, she only pushed harder. Both were determined to make the other relent, but neither would give in. Their hearts raced, their breaths mingled, but it wasn’t until their hips had fallen into rhythm that it became less of a competition and more of a synchronized movement of passion.
Eric finally released her arms and Chantel’s shirt fell on the floor next to his. His hands slipped up her body and into her bra, cupping and massaging her breasts underneath. Chantel drew in a shuddered breath feeling as if she burned at his touch. He wasn’t taking the bra off fast enough for her, so she threw it on the floor herself. Her jeans followed shortly after. The way Eric squeezed her against his chest made her feel like dying if she couldn’t have him right then. She lured him to the bed with her lips and pulled him on top of her. “Eric, now. Please.”
He tore his zipper apart and pulled her panties aside. His hand slid up her inner thigh, searching for the places that agitated her. He found them quickly. Chantel gasped when she felt his cock replace his fingers. He filled her up with a fragile balance of pain and pleasure. He still hadn't even got his jeans all the way off to exert his full potential. It was perfect. It was exactly what she wanted.
After a moment of taking her slowly like that, Eric pulled out and dragged her panties down her legs, discarding them somewhere in the sheets. He pushed inside of her again, and Chantel felt his jeans slip down his firm thighs as he took her. Her legs wrestled around his hips, riding with the rhythm of his body. Gradually, his thrusts came harder, teetering closer to the painful side. Chantel cried out in rage against his aggression, and it sent him closer to ecstasy. He pinned her hands to the bed and fucked her harder. It was done so roughly that she almost slipped over the edge of the bed. He yanked her back and tore her legs open again. Chantel wasn’t sure if she could handle the pain any longer, and was scared he would rip her if he entered her again. She clinched her fists against his chest to stop him, but it was too late. He was already inside her, but this time he took it gently and slowly, taking time to look her in the eyes as he made love to her. The feeling was breathtaking. She moaned airily into his ear, and the sound of her voice only intensified his passion. He embraced her tightly. She could feel his heart beating faster than hers. His breath was her breath.
“Eric.”
“What, babe?” he whispered. “How does it make you feel? Say it. Say my name.”
Chantel moaned louder as he steadily worked it deeper. “Say my name,” he whispered again. “Louder.”
Chantel couldn't hold it back any longer. She was too close to the edge. She gripped the sheets tightly. Eric smiled victoriously and kissed her deeply. He came shortly after, having held back as long as he could.
He fell beside her and she cuddled up close to him. They laid like that for almost an hour in silence, communicating with each other through their eyes. They became fond of the small things, details about each other they’d never before taken into consideration. Eric fell in love with the softness of her hair and traced the locks that rested against her cheek. Chantel fell more deeply in love with his eyes, studying the specs of brown that she hadn’t recognized there before. Brown was entwined so harmoniously with the dominant green in his eyes, that she wondered how the two could coexist and be so different.
“You’re trying to read me again,” he whispered.
“There’s just something about you, something I can’t quite figure out. It’s kind of scary, but mesmerizing at the same time. You seem to have a way of making anyone believe what you want them to believe. If I didn't know any better, I could believe I felt something deeper for you,” she told him.
Eric kissed her forehead and fell onto his back to gaze at the ceiling. “I don't know how you're going to explain sneaking out of my dorm this time.”
“Same as I’ve always done,” she said. “I'll keep telling them it never happened.”
“Don't worry. I won't press any rape charges,” he teased. “It was kind of hot though. You’re a freak when no one’s looking. I always knew it.”
“Shut up.”
He turned on his side to face her again, searching her eyes intently. “It’s my turn to read you,” he said.
“And?”
“And you really do feel something deeper for me.”
“Please,” she dismissed. “Don't get ahead of yourself.”
“Then why do you look at me like that?” he asked sincerely. “You never look at anyone that way, least of all me.”
She closed her eyes tightly. “Is that better?”
Eric laughed and kissed her again, lightly biting her lip as a last token, before sitting up to scoot out of bed. She watched him search for their clothes, which were precariously entangled within the sheets and blankets.
“So should I walk you back?” he asked, pulling his boxers and jeans on.
“You're kicking me out already?”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind you staying the night, but there’s some things I got to take care of in the morning. I'll find you later when it's over. I promise,” he told her.
“Really? Like what kinds of things? What could possibly be more important than this right now?” she asked.
“That's something I'd tell my real girlfriend.”
“You're right. Don't tell me. I don’t want to know anyway,” Chantel said, beginning to dress. “Don’t worry about it though. You don’t have to walk me back. I can handle it.”
“You sure?” he asked. “I mean, it’s late. I really don’t mind doing it.”
“It’s cool. I got a few extra stops to make anyway,” Chantel assured him. “Besides, it’s less suspicious if I go alone.”
Guilty
"What's a slut?" Chantel asked suddenly.
"What's a slut?" Chantel asked again. "Is it a girl who has sex without attachments? A girl who can't control her emotions? A feminist who defies patriarchal society? Is it an independent woman who takes whatever she wants in the bedroom? Is a slut a slut because she's easy? Or is it more complicated than that? What if she's a girl who values and respects herself, but as a human, make mistakes? What if she's only another victim of temptation? Or perhaps, she isn't a victim, but rather a perpetrator? What if she has no feelings when she takes a stranger to bed? What if she does it for fun? What if it's about manipulation rather than intimacy? Would that make her a slut? Say she does do it for fun at first, but later her feelings get caught up in it? Is she no longer a slut? But did it mean anything? If she wishes that it did, does that no longer make her slut, but naive? And if it did have meaning, then what does that all mean for her?"
"Where the hell are you going with this?" Mia asked, surprised. "Is this about you-know-who?"
"No. I'm just speaking hypothetically," Chantel said. "Passing the time."
"You slept with him!" Mia accused, with a wildness in her eyes.
"It's small talk, Mia."
"That's too complicated for small talk. You’re sounding way too guilty when you say the word slut, girl?" Mia said suspiciously. "But in response to your philosophical rant, Plato, I say who cares what they call her as long as she's happy. A woman has just as much right to please herself as any other man. Take whoever you want to bed. If you feel it's right, then you shouldn't care what other people think, especially since it ain't their business anyway. It's not interfering with their lives, so don't worry. You should accept your feelings for what they are."
"I wasn't talking about me," Chantel reminded her. "I was talking about other girls."
"Chant, come on. You got that glow in your face. Something happened. Tell the truth," Mia said. "You don't even have to say it flat out. Just show me with your fingers. One finger, it didn't happen. Two fingers, it did."
Chantel blushed, and very bashfully rose two.
Mia gasped. "Oh my god. When did this happen?"
"About a week ago."
"Are you for real?" Mia cried excitedly. "How did it happen?"
"What do you mean how did it happen? I'm not going into graphic detail. We've been through sex ed."
"Well, I know that, but how was he?" Mia whispered, so others in the library wouldn't hear.
"Good," Chantel admitted. "Really good."
"Oh my god. Insane," Mia could hardly contain herself. "I always knew you guys would hook up. I knew it. How do you feel?"
"Confused," Chantel replied.
"But happy, right?"
"Happy, yes, but a little bit more confused."
"Uh oh. Did it end well?"
"He thinks I have deeper feelings for him."
"Well, do you?"
"I don't know," Chantel shrugged. "I really don't know him enough to love him, you know? But there is something there. I might be more open about it if I trusted him more."
"You should talk to him about it," Mia suggested. "I mean, if you guys have taken it to this level, it's really important to know exactly where you both stand."
"Well he hasn't talked to me since then," Chantel said, looking down and twisting her hair around her finger. "I haven't seen him around."
Gradually, Mia's smile faded and her expression melted into sympathy. "Oh, Chant. I'm sorry."
"Maybe he's just busy," Chantel suggested in optimism, finding the courage to look into Mia's face again. "Actually, I'm the one who's been busy. It's been a hectic week."
"Well, maybe he's waiting for you to call. You should check up on him," Mia suggested, cheerfully again. "Ask him to go the game with you tonight. Then you guys can talk without having to stare awkwardly at each other."
"Ya," Chantel nodded, thinking it wasn't that bad of an idea. "We'll see."
"Uh oh, what's wrong now?"
"I just hope that's it. That we've just been too busy," Chantel said with a look of doubt. "I was just starting to trust him. For a minute, he made me believe he could change."
"People change."
"Some people change."
"Well, ya, some things you can't change," Mia admitted. "But him? He can change. I think the only person who hasn't is you."
"So you're siding with him now?"
"Just saying, like I've always said before. Sometimes I wonder who really has the prejudices,” Mia said.
"I've changed too," Chantel said quietly. "I just don't know if that's a good or bad thing yet."
Mia hardly heard her. She was so engrossed in getting through the stack of receipts that she took very little notice of the distress her friend was disguising behind a weary smile. She picked up another stack of receipts and began writing in numbers. After recording three of them, she paused upon picking up a fourth and squinted her eyes at it.
"What?" Chantel asked.
"Wow," was all she said. "I'll be damned."
"Oh God, what did Tate do now?" Chantel asked. "Somebody's got to explain the concept of a budget to him."
"Tate's got nothing to do with it this time," Mia said. "What's Eric's last name?"
"I don't know. Chandler, I think."
"I know that, but is it hyphenated?"
"I think so, but I don't know what the other name is."
"Brandt? Eric Brandt-Chandler?" Mia handed her the receipt, which was stapled to a check. "Looks like we found our mystery sponsor."
"Quit," Chantel pushed the check away. "Don't play like that."
"No, I'm serious! Look at it. This one was dated last year, and here's another nice little stack of them," Mia showed her. "Eric's been one of the top contributing sponsors to our club for the past year."
Chantel stared at the check in disbelief. There it was right in front of her. Clear as day. Name, routing number, account number, everything. She recognized Eric's quick scrawl on the signature line. "Why didn't Robert tell us?"
"More importantly, why didn't you say anything?" Mia asked. "All this time I thought you were the most wholesome out of us two. You've been sleeping with our sponsor the entire time? Sex for money. That's definitely slut material."
"I didn't even know about it," Chantel defended. "I'm barely finding this out."
"He didn't tell you?"
"I wasn't exactly on speaking terms with him back then. How was I supposed to know?"
"Five gran up front," Mia said, sifting through the checks. "Five thousand again. Three thousand. Two thousand. Nobody gives that kind of a donation to a Fiction club. Who are we dealing with here?"
"Eric doesn't have a job. He's a bum."
"He must have one hell of a cardboard sign then," Mia replied. "Maybe it's drugs. It's always drugs. Maybe he's a crack dealer in disguise running from the cops, and that's why he doesn't talk about where he came from. Wouldn't that be exciting? Like one of those mafia romance novels?"
"No. No, it wouldn't. I've got to talk to him."
"You can't just barge in on a crack dealer like that. He'll kill you."
"I can't believe it," Chantel said, still dazed. "We need to find out where this money is coming from and if it's legit. We can't accept it if it's scandalous. If it is drug money, what if we get in trouble by association? Then our lives are screwed."
"Don't just drop it on him like that though. Ease your way into it. You don't want him shooting at you if he really is a drug lord," Mia told her.
"It sounds so absurd," Chantel said, shaking her head. "A drug lord? There's got to be a reasonable explanation for why he donated that much money."
"We'll both go talk to him," Mia offered.
"No, I'll do it," Chantel said. "He's more likely to tell me the truth...I think."
"So it's like that between you two now?"
"I just know how to get to him," Chantel said. "I'll get the truth out of him o
ne way or another."
Revelation
Chantel shuffled the checks through her hands as she reached the second floor of Eric's dorm hall.
She didn't know how to confront him, or how to bring up her concerns without sounding offensive. This wasn't the first thing she had expected to discuss after what happened a week ago, and in some ways, she felt like she was being nit-picky with him. It seemed like every time she turned around she was accusing him of some delinquency. She hadn't figured out yet if that was due to her own prejudices or the fact that Eric was just an elusive and shady character.
She wanted more than anything to make peace with him, but every time she tried, something else casts her mind into doubt. How could he not tell her about his sponsorship? It changed everything. It made her an idiot. It meant she owed her success to a guy she couldn't stand. Without that donation, she could have never built her literary reputation and put substance behind her resume. And now she owed that all to Eric Chandler, not to herself.
As that little detail sank in, she began to wish hadn't found those checks.
Nonetheless, she had to know the truth. She would ease into the conversation and not flat out reproach him. She would hear him out first before she made her judgments.
Deciding that would be the best plan, she walked up to his door and knocked firmly. The strong stench of weed crept from under the door, and Chantel swore she heard a female voice from inside say, "Somebody's at your door."
Chantel blinked in confusion.
Of course it was none of her business. What else could one expect when you're dating a fake boyfriend?
The idea of another woman in Eric's room had never had an effect on her before. Why should it matter now? Yet, as she stood there waiting for him to answer, she became less and less confident in her ability to face him. The thought of the other woman did sting, because for a moment she had allowed herself to believe she could be the only one. She was his fake girlfriend, after all. There had to be something she could take ownership of in the relationship. If not the typical public things that girlfriends and boyfriends do, then why not lay claim to his dorm room? That was her space. She didn't care how many girls he slept with, as long as he didn't sleep with them in her space.
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