Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)

by Charlotte Stein

  All to no avail. He made one circle around her clit.

  Just one tiny, insignificant circle, and that was it.

  Her orgasm rolled up from that stiff little bud, in one all-consuming and all-powerful wave. It took away her control over her body—her toes curled tight and her back arched. But most important, it took away her control over her mouth. It let one little word slip out.

  Though one little word was more than enough.

  “Tate,” she said, and after that the game was pretty much up. That was gratitude in her voice and pleasure in the sigh behind it, and all wrapped in the neat little bow of his name. There was no more pretending that it wasn’t him who had made her feel this way, or suggesting that all of this was just a game.

  And he knew it immediately.

  “Holy shit, holy shit,” he said, as though she’d cried out the filthiest thing on the face of the earth. And he didn’t stop there. She could hear him fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants already—though she tried to turn it into something else in her head. He was just pulling them up, she thought. They had slid down as he serviced her, that was all.

  Only it wasn’t all.

  When she made the mistake of glancing his way, she saw so much more than she was ready for. It was supposed to be over now, completely over, but he’d shoved everything down to midthigh and his cock was in his hand again and god god god why was it so arousing? She’d had one orgasm already. He’d had one orgasm already, and now he was being so fucking filthy.

  Yet somehow the filthiness only made it worse.

  She came searingly close to telling him yes.

  And go on.

  And come all over me—just like she’d imagined.

  For one wild second, it even seemed like he might. He was groaning and panting and he kept saying things, incredible things like do you see what you do to me do you get how fucking horny you make me oh fuck just hearing you moan my name. His hand was heavy on her shoulder, and she knew he was close. He was going to yank her top down any second now.

  Any second, she thought.

  Though she didn’t realize how much she wanted it until the first thick burst slid over his fist.

  Didn’t know how little control she had over herself until he grunted her name and shuddered violently, that slick fluid easing over his still-pumping fist. After all, if she’d had any she would have stayed right where she was, content to just watch.

  Instead of leaning forward to take that heavy, swollen, slippery head in her mouth, to catch the last ribbons of his salt-sweet come all over her eager tongue.

  Chapter 14

  The first she thing she wanted to do when she saw Lydia the next morning in the cafeteria was confess. But that was the whole problem: it felt like confessing, rather than just plain old telling. As if she had committed a terrible crime, and once it was out her beautiful, bright, funny, awesome friend would have to demote her to casual acquaintance or even mortal enemy. At the very least, Lydia was going to find her insufferably stupid. There was nothing clever about letting your high school bully come in your mouth.

  Or rub you between your legs.

  Or make you feel so good you still had an echo of that pleasure thrumming through your body the next day. She took her seat at the cafeteria table and got a sudden flash of it all behind her eyes. The way he had looked when he came; the feel of him all slick and hard in her mouth. And though her first response was to squeeze her eyes shut and wince, her second was more like a sort of melting.

  It was intolerable. Her body was actively defying her good sense.

  And there was just no way of explaining that to Lydia. Lydia made wise choices when it came to men. In fact, the first thing she said once they were settled was about Brad Gunderson. Tall, kind, clever Brad Gunderson, who got his picture in the college newspaper after organizing a soup kitchen for the homeless.

  “He did a twenty-mile run to raise money for cancer awareness you know,” Lydia said.

  And all Letty could do was nod weakly in reply.

  Then let Lydia take the lead in what was surely going to be a conversation from hell.

  “The real question I have to ask myself though is: is he hot?”

  Not as hot as Tate Sullivan.

  “He does wear those awesome V-necked sweaters.”

  “You mean the ones that show off his pecs.”

  “The very same. And you can always see his chest hair.”

  “I love that it’s a different color from his head hair. Kind of makes me think of Vikings.”

  “That makes no sense at all and yet completely makes sense to me on every level.”

  Lydia grinned, those black eyes full of mischief.

  “Think I should let him plunder my village?”

  “And by village you mean vagina, right?”

  “You know me so well.”

  And you don’t know me at all. No one knows me. Not even my brain, who should have known me enough to stop all of that before it even started.

  “You should go for it.”

  “I don’t know.” Lydia sighed, stirring her bowl of oatmeal. “Sometimes I think…”

  “You think what?”

  “That maybe there should be something more there. That there’s supposed to be that electric spark, you know? That thing that makes you go crazy for someone. Lose your mind and get all horny just at the idea of him. Every second you’re alone with him all you can think about is…”

  “Jumping his bones. Fucking his brains out. Fucking your brains out.”

  “Exactly. Exactly.”

  “Maybe you don’t even know why.”

  “Mmmm yes, perfect.”

  “It just comes over you in a big wave that you can’t stop or get away from, and then next thing you know you’re doing insane things that you honestly never thought you could.”

  After she’d said it she realized Lydia wasn’t stirring her oatmeal anymore. She wasn’t looking down at her bowl. She was staring right at her with this piercing sheen to those inky eyes, in a way Letty had come to know well. Usually it thrilled her, to know someone was so interested.

  Now she felt her stomach drop.

  “Do you have something you want to share, Juliet?”

  “What? No. No.”

  She tried to sound casual and calm.

  But hearing her given name was enough to send her into a tailspin.

  “Are you sure? I’m detecting a hint of bullshit. It has a faintly man-shaped aroma.”

  “I’ve told you before—I’m an extremely boring person. I might be able to imagine thrilling shit like wanting to maul a guy the minute you’re with him, but it’s never likely to happen to me. And if it ever did happen…if by some miracle…”

  “Yes?”

  “It would probably…just be a mistake. An accident, almost. Brought on by…exterior influences.”

  Lydia raised one eyebrow, but Letty felt better after that. Like she’d cracked the code. She could escape friend jail. She was still smart and good. It was just the movie that had done it, and the weird pool situation, and her hot, claustrophobic little dorm room. Anyone would have done the same given those circumstances; she was completely certain of it. Next time she saw him, everything would be back to normal.

  And it kind of was.

  He was so casual with her and warm, despite everything. Part of her had expected him to be standoffish, to never call, but he just came right up to their table. He laughed and joked around, like nothing had even happened. No one would know that he had offered to get her off, then orgasmed in her mouth. Even she was convinced, for the first five minutes. She was just about to write the whole thing off as a hallucination when two things happened at once.

  Lydia turned to see who was calling to her—some girl from her Intro to Pysch course, maybe.

  And when she did, Letty happened to glance up at Tate. Just for a second, but a second was enough time to see that everything about his face had abruptly changed. That easy smile was gone. H
is sultry, heavy-lidded gaze was back. It was back, and it had brought reinforcements. Now he was pretty much drilling great burning holes through her body. She wanted to throw up her arms and protect herself, or maybe use her tray to deflect his laser stare onto someone else.

  That blond girl Sam, maybe, who was currently watching them curiously.

  Yet before she could do either, he decided to increase the intensity. He damn near turned the dial up to eleven thousand, then snapped it off—and he knew it. She could tell he understood exactly what he was doing when he started moving his hand toward her. He definitely saw her eyes following its progress, with a kind of dawning horror. It even seemed like he provided the slow motion himself.

  Though she was willing to accept she was just losing it.

  That everything inside her was so mixed up she couldn’t tell an affectionate hand being placed on her shoulder from a kitchen knife in a slasher movie. It made contact and she reacted like someone stabbed her, standing up too fast and knocking things over as she went. One hand already slapping his away so she could get to the wound. She was bleeding, couldn’t he see that she was bleeding?

  Judging by his expression: no, he could not.

  He looked like a little kid who just put his hand in a fire because the fire seemed nice. He jolted all over, hand snapping back almost as fast as she had stood up. And the confusion on his face…it was so raw and honest. The image she had of him—that sure and confident image—dissolved almost instantly in the face of it. This was the real him, she realized. This baffled, affectionate creature who didn’t understand why his tender gesture was being rebuffed.

  But she couldn’t help him.

  She didn’t understand, either.

  And nor did Lydia.

  “You okay, sis?”

  Her watchful gaze flicked between the two of them—searching for some sign of his transgression, Letty knew. That one wonderful little word, sis, told her that much. It was a bubble of protectiveness briefly surrounding her, before she answered the only way she could.

  “Yeah. I just…thought I saw a spider.”

  “You positive about that?”

  “I promise,” she said.

  Even though she knew what would happen next.

  “So, Letty,” he said. “You coming?”

  Chapter 15

  He suggested they go back to his place after class, which seemed like a good idea. Nothing had happened there, after all. And his bed was definitely bigger than her bed. It meant she could sit by the headboard with her feet pointing down, leaving no space for him to sit beside her. If he wanted to share, he would have to take the opposite end. The only thing that could possibly touch was their toes.

  Or so she thought.

  Until he went to shut the window behind her.

  He put one knee on the mattress to get to it—and that was fine. But what seemed less fine was the way he leaned over her, those T-shirt-skimmed abs nearly brushing her face. Thighs almost straddling hers briefly, followed by a great wash of that almondy, her-perfume smell.

  And then he decided to sit right next to her.

  She had no idea how he did it. He shouldn’t have been able to fit. There was a space the size of a thimble beside her, and she was sure she didn’t move to accommodate him. Yet he wedged his way in here anyway. Suddenly his chest was her pillow and his arm was nearly around her shoulders, like they’d somehow become a cute couple who cuddled in bed while watching movies.

  Without anyone actually agreeing to this.

  She definitely hadn’t. She wasn’t even sure how she would broach such a topic. “Hey, I know you found me really gross in high school, but could we possibly date now?” And the possibility of him broaching it was just beyond the back of insanity. He would never want to. He found her repulsive.

  No, this was all just a misunderstanding, brought on by the movie.

  The movie that was nowhere near as sexy as the one he then suggested.

  “What do you think about Nine and a Half Weeks?”

  I think I would sooner eat a dead rat than watch it while lying in your arms.

  “That sounds okay, I guess. Though you know we should really probably focus on more mainstream movies. I mean, Nine and a Half Weeks is a little soft porn, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe we should try Y Tu Mamá Tambié—”

  “No!”

  She cut him off so sharply and so loudly that he did that little jolt thing again, like in the cafeteria. But she just couldn’t help it. She had seen that movie. She knew what happened in it. The two main characters masturbated together, in the most graphic way she could ever have imagined.

  Prior to her sitting next to a masturbating Tate Sullivan. Watching it would be intolerable, with that lodged between them like a psychic splinter.

  “I’m not…really in the mood for subtitles. Nine and a Half Weeks will do.”

  “You sure? You sound a little…”

  “Not at all. I’m fine,” she said.

  And she was. It was easy to be when watching most of the movie with her eyes closed. Whenever something super sexy happened she simply shut them, angling her head so he would never see.

  Not that he was paying any attention. Whenever she spied him in the darkened laptop screen, he looked 100 percent focused on the movie. His eyelids were heavy and his lips were parted, but then anyone’s would be watching total hotties writhe around the screen. And if his breathing was a little unsteady, so what? Hers probably would be, if she didn’t keep covering her eyes with one hand.

  It was bad enough just hearing Mickey Rourke saying things like give it up.

  And he apparently agreed.

  “Jesus, this is fucking hot.”

  “Yeah, Kim Basinger is really sexy.”

  “Is that really what you think I mean?”

  She paused before answering. Tried to catch a glimpse of him in the screen again, so she could judge his expression, too. Was he trying to trap her somehow?

  It felt that way. It felt weird again, like everything was sliding sideways.

  “I don’t know what else you could be referring to.”

  “I guess it must be that, then. Just her, getting herself off.”

  “It’s kind of…interesting to see. Not something you get…often.”

  “Fuck, no. And especially when she’s kind of a nervous person.”

  “She is? I thought she seemed pretty confident.”

  “Maybe he just brings it out in her.”

  He spoke lightly, casually.

  Too lightly though, in her opinion. The words seemed so insubstantial one tap could probably turn them to dust. The silence that followed almost destroyed them completely.

  And her reply probably did the rest.

  At the very least it made it clear: neither of them were talking about the movie.

  “Maybe. Or maybe she just can’t stop herself.”

  “So you think she’s out of control.”

  “I think you could definitely make that argument.”

  “That she just gets so horny she goes against all her better judgment?”

  “She probably doesn’t want to. But then he does something and she just…”

  “Gets all wet, and flushed, and ready to fuck.”

  “Yeah that sounds pretty close,” she said, but only as a kind of compromise.

  Her body wanted her to moan on hearing him say ready to fuck.

  Her clit seemed to jump just at the sound of it.

  “All she can think about is having his hard cock inside her.”

  “I see. And does he think about that?”

  “Oh fuck yeah. Yeah, all the time.”

  “It makes him horny then.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, so gruff and broken sounding she could hardly stand it.

  And then he went ahead and added this:

  “Jesus, Letty. Keep doing that. Just like that, honey, don’t stop.”

  At first, she had no idea what he was talking about. Nothing ha
d been made explicit. It still could have been a simple chat about the film they were watching, instead of a thinly veiled seduction filled with innuendo and implication. There was no real hint of impropriety.

  Then she realized, in a hot rush of embarrassment, that her hips were moving. Somehow, in the middle of the conversation, she had started rolling them. More than that, really: she was almost rocking back against him. She was squirming in his arms, to the point where he had actually gotten worked up. So much so, in fact, that after he spoke he put a hand on her hip—as though he wanted to hold her there, and maybe make her push back against him more firmly.

  Or maybe he could just push against her more firmly.

  It seemed that way, at least. Suddenly she could feel something thick and solid, pressing into the split between the cheeks of her ass. Literally the only thing stopping his cock from going to some really rude places was her jeans, though they didn’t seem like jeans in that moment. They seemed as thin as gossamer, ready to give any second under the pressure. Once or twice she even felt the head of that fat thing rubbing over the entrance to her pussy, like one good push would do the trick.

  But scarier still was her reaction to that.

  She moaned, loud and long. Too loud and long to explain away. It sounded like someone wavering on the edge of orgasm, full of desire strained to the breaking point and desperate pleas for more. In fact, at one point she actually did plead for more—so she could hardly blame him for acting on it. His hand went to the buttons on her jeans the moment she let the sound out, so eager about it that she almost let him. She thought of him shoving them down roughly, those clever fingers finding her wet and wanting pussy.

  And then he could just push in with that big, fat cock.

  Fuck her like this, to the strains of people having sex onscreen and his own harsh breathing. Rut over her until she was all but crushed into the mattress, her face pressed deep in the pillow to hide her cries of pleasure. And they would be cries of pleasure, too. She knew he would make it good.

  It was just that he had to do something first in order to get there:

  Expose her. Bare her ass to the air, in a way that did not seem flattering. All he would see was the thing he had once hurled insults at, and the second that thought occurred her hand went over his. Hard enough to sting him, quick enough to startle. He made a little sound of surprise, as though he’d been operating under the same sexual autopilot she had for the last five minutes.