Crossing over to her in two strides, I swung her up in my arms. She gave a squeak and patted my chest. “Nice,” she smiled.
“That’s not the only thing you’ll be saying about me tonight.” I told her with a cocky smile.
“Do you prefer the religious exclamations like ‘oh God,’ or do you have a bedroom nickname?” she sassed. I liked her when she was teasing me. Placing her on the bed, I knelt down next to her.
“I think you’ll be too incoherent to form full words,” I taunted.
“Big talk, no action,” she countered.
“I’ll give you action.” I leaned over, kissing her neck and stroking my hand on either side of her throat, down her chest and over the plump rise of her breasts.
I felt the thrum of her heart speed up against the press of my lips against her throat. I opened my mouth and sucked gently at the pulse point. I pushed her shirt upward but instead of encountering bare flesh, I felt the uneven pattern, like the lace of the panties she wore last night.
I pushed up on one arm and raised the shirt higher. “What’s this?” It looked like a very sexy undergarment made of lace, a shiny fabric and a ribbon that held the two together. Her fairly demure outfit of T-shirt and white denim skirt hid a very naughty secret.
I urged her to sit up, and I swept the shirt off her body. I barely restrained myself tearing the entire thing off. Surely that was what they were made for. I took a moment to admire the picture she made. The red lace cupped her breasts and the dark of her nipples could be seen through the fabric.
I bent down and drew one nipple into my mouth. Her hands crept into my hair. Encouraged, I brought one hand up to cup the neglected nipple. I rolled one nipple with my tongue and lips, and plucked and tugged the other with my fingers.
The other hand I placed on her bare, silky thigh. No signs of resistance met me; instead, her legs opened slightly. I accepted the silent invitation to move upward, pushing the denim skirt as I moved to expose more of her tender flesh. The lace fabric between her thighs was wet and the metal snaps gave way to my questing fingers. I rubbed her gently, petting her until she raised up to meet my hand to force a harder pressure. I slipped one finger inside of her.
So very tight. I groaned against her breast. Carefully, I pushed the other finger inside of her. I kissed her then, my tongue invading her mouth with the same rhythm my fingers pumped into her. I curled my fingers upward, feeling for that soft spongy flesh of her G spot.
I knew I found it when her body tensed against mine. When she made to move away from the unfamiliar sensation, I blocked her with my thighs, settling my cock against the back of my hand, rubbing against myself as I stroked her. I teased and caressed her with every skill I had ever possessed. I kissed her with every ounce of energy inside me. I felt her body tense; her thighs closed hard around my hand. Her fingernails dug into my shoulders, and I reveled in the pain.
I could come this way, but I didn’t want to. I thought of marching in the desert. Of my finance exam. Of cleaning up after the rager downstairs. I kept stroking her until I felt her release rush down my fingers onto my palm and heard the sweet, soft cries of her orgasm ring in the night air.
“I promise to admire this later, but this thing has to come off,” I told her. She nodded mutely at me but didn’t move. Her eyes were filled with wonder. Not just a virgin, I thought with fierce pleasure, but no one had ever made her come. Or at least not that hard.
I wrestled her skirt off and tried to remove the laces. Eventually she helped me push the lace and ribbon concoction off. Her body was flushed from passion. I stroked my hands all over, touching her throat, molding her breasts into peaks for my voracious mouth. I tongued, sucked, and licked one and then the other.
Moving lower until my head rested between her legs, I kissed her and then spread her wide. She made a weak sound of protest that I ignored. I had to taste her. Her lower lips were plump and wet. Remnants of her orgasm glinted in the faint bathroom light. I laid the broad flat of my tongue against her and gave one long, languorous lick. Delicious. I could eat her all night, and some day I would. But tonight I wanted to make her come, just one more time. My hard cock was so ready for her that I feared I would break in two before I could sink it inside of her.
I held her thighs apart and ate at her. Her musky scent filled my nose and her taste on my tongue made me want to spill. I slipped two fingers inside her again, working her with my fingers and tongue until I felt her convulse again. Now she was ready.
Grace
I felt like my mind had splintered into a thousand pieces, like I had become a collection dust mites, just a hundred particles floating in the air.
Noah shifted, and I heard the crinkle of a wrapper. His fingers slid back down between my legs, circling and pressing until my breath hitched, and I cried out softly in desire. His gaze was wicked now, and he made no effort to quiet me even though there were nearly a hundred people downstairs. As he slid one and then two fingers inside me, I turned my head to the side and bit into the fleshy part of my hand. He laughed and crouched over me. “Afraid someone might hear you?” he whispered in my ear. The hot wash of his breath made me shiver. His fingers kept stroking me and in the quiet I could hear how wet he was making me. He was learning me with each stroke. What turned me on, what made me weak with want.
He pulled my fist away from my face and laced our fingers together, holding them flat against the bed. His other hand was still thrusting and rubbing between my legs. I began to sob softly, wanting so desperately another release. “I don’t care who fucking hears you when I make you come,” he said. With his words, I did, and a cry escaped me. Noah’s lips were sucking on my earlobe, then my neck, biting into my shoulder as I came again. He cupped me until my breath evened out.
He slid his fingers from me, and I could see they were wet, slick with my desire. He rubbed his sheathed cock with his fingers and then dipped inside for more lubrication. His long fingers curved around his girth, pulling hard at his length.
In the dim light, I could see the skin of Noah’s cheeks pulled taut. I pleaded with him, not sure if I wanted to be the one stroking him or just wanted him inside me. “Please, Noah, please,” I moaned. He was out of reach for me, sitting almost perpendicular to my body in repose.
“Just getting ready for you,” he said and then scooted back to position himself between my legs. I opened my legs wider to accommodate Noah’s frame. He pushed in slowly, slicked by my release. He placed both hands at my inner thighs, widening me even farther, opening and exposing me to his gaze and to the push of his cock inside me.
“You feel so big,” I said, gasping at the sensation. He groaned out loud at this.
“You okay?” he panted, bracing himself above me.
I pulled him toward me and said, “Yes.”
Slowly he pumped shallowly against me, waiting for me to fully accept him. With each movement, I became slicker and wetter until he had slid home completely. He rested there, allowing me to accustom myself to his thickness, and then, when I lifted my hips, he began thrusting faster. His moans and grunts mingled with my cries and the noise we were making, the wet slapping sounds as he pushed into me echoed loud in the room, mixed with the deep bass the reverberated from the party downstairs.
Right then, there was only Noah and me and a pinpoint sensation at my center that was flooding outward into every extremity until I was one mass of feeling, shaking from the inside out. My toes curled and my head flung back, I allowed that wave of feeling to overtake me like the warm tide and I felt Noah push hard into me twice and then shudder and collapse. I raised my arms and felt the sweat like a fine mist all over Noah’s back. I licked at the saltiness of his skin and he buried his face into the side of my neck.
Noah
I laid on top of her, breathing heavily. This was what I had fought for. Like Odysseus I had strung my bow and carried my love to the bed that I made her, the living olive tree at its base.
I slipped out of bed to dispose of t
he condom and pulled down the covers. I slid us both underneath, and she curled around me.
I ran my finger down her back, tracing the slight slope of the valley formed around her spine. I felt the sharp shape of her shoulder blades and marked the spot mentally. I would want to travel the path with my tongue.
Maybe other guys could give her nicer cars or more money, but no one would ever want her like I would. And no one would work to give her the same pleasure.
Chapter Fifteen
Grace
At Noah’s urging, I showed some of my pictures to the guys at the house, pictures that Lana and I had chosen for my portfolio, although I didn’t tell Noah that. The lavish praise from Noah and the guys infused me with new energy and confidence. Suddenly I wanted to take pictures everywhere and show them to everyone.
“Lana, who would I talk to in admissions to take pictures from Old Main’s bell tower?” Lana did her ten hours of service in the admissions office, which was housed in the oldest building on campus. It was a traditional brick building with two wings, but the original structure had a bell tower that would be the perfect place to take pictures of the students moving around on campus.
“Not sure, maybe the Provost?”
“Could you ask for me?”
“Sure. Gonna take some pictures up there?”
“Yeah, I think it would be a great setting.”
My phone beeped. Call me. Josh had texted. I rolled my eyes. Like he couldn’t call me. I dialed him anyway.
“What’s up, buttercup?” I chirped at him.
“Do you want to make some money?”
“Um sure, do I have to take off my clothes?” I asked to torture him.
“Ha ha. Very funny. Not,” Josh replied. “Look, the University PR folks were in here the other day and saw your photo, and they want to use it on some promotional material. They said that they would pay for it.”
“Wow, that’s cool,” No matter what Noah had said before, no one had offered me any money for my photos. “How much?”
“They said if you sold it to them outright, five Gs.”
I almost dropped the phone, “What? Did I hear you?”
“For real. I almost swallowed my gum when they told me, but apparently full-color prints like this easily could run in excess of five grand because you could charge a set fee and then only sell them usage licenses.”
“I didn’t know any of this.”
“No worries,” Josh said, utterly cheerful. “Nate and I talked with some girls over in the art department. We’ll handle it all for a cut of fifteen percent.”
“No way! You didn’t do anything.”
“I got you access to the press box for the game and free tickets.”
“Five percent,” I countered.
“Ten.”
“Five.”
“Fine, five percent, but next time we go out, you’re paying,” Josh conceded.
“Deal,” I hung up and gave a squeal.
“What is it?” Lana was standing over me, impatiently tapping her hand on the table.
“State is buying my photo and paying me a lot of money for it,” I felt dazed. “I think I need to go lie down.” I stumbled to my feet and lurched over to the sofa.
“Wow you must really feel faint if you’re lying on my sofa,” Lana snarked. She came over and sat on the chair. “Why are you so surprised? Your pictures have always been awesome.”
“I guess I thought when people said it could be a career, it was a joke.”
“Good thing you’re going to meet with Dr. Rossum.”
“No, I think I need to be a finance major. Josh was talking about licenses and set fees and stuff I had zero understanding of.” I felt dazed by it all.
“Nah, you’re the artist. You create. Someone else sells.” Lana looked at her fingers and nonchalantly added, “And you’ve got the perfect person to be able to do that.”
I already knew a finance major. A surge of adrenaline spiked through me. “I have to go take more photos. I’ve always wanted to take a picture of the State capital. I wonder how much it would cost to rent a crane.”
“A crane?” Lana laughed.
“So I can get some height,” I said. “No wait. I need to learn to take ground level tilt shifts. And maybe do some freeze motion photography.” I got up and ran to my camera. “Can I borrow your car? I want to go over to the Botanical Gardens and take some shots.”
“Sure. I’ll come with you. Remember, I’m your assistant,” Lana teased.
As we were walking through the Gardens, admiring the late fall foliage, I told Lana that I had received a response from the head of the program. “I’m going to talk to Dr. Rossum tomorrow about a major in the Fine Arts program.”
Lana jumped up and down and clapped her hands in glee. “Yay!”
“I’m excited,” I admitted, trying to suppress my pleasure both at my decision and Lana’s reaction. “I’m supposed to bring in a portfolio of my work, and he said that he would assess my suitability.”
“He’ll love it.”
“I hope so. I never thought my work was any good, you know? So I told everyone that I wasn’t interested in making money off it,” I admitted.
“I know,” Lana took my free hand and swung it, walking like we were five-year-olds on our first jaunt in the park.
“How so?”
“You were scared and deflecting, diminishing expectations in hopes of avoiding disappointment.”
“Do you really think talking like that to your patients is going to be helpful?”
“Too much?” She stopped and turned to me.
“Definitely,” I reached over and gave her a hug. “I still love you best.”
“Nah,” she said, hugging me back. “I think you love someone else best now, but I’m okay with that.”
I blushed a little and goosed her in retaliation.
“Speaking of true loves, you telling Noah about your plans?”
“No, not until after I talk to Dr. Rossum. I want to surprise him with the good news.”
***
I fingered my prepared portfolio. I had pored over my photos, but there were only I felt comfortable showing a few of them to Dr. Rossum. One of Lana’s sorority sisters was an art major and said that he was notoriously difficult and picky. I wished I had taken Lana up on her offer to come or told Noah about it. They would both be here, holding my hand if I had asked them.
But I had relied on Lana for so long. I wouldn’t even be here at Central if she hadn’t surreptitiously sent in my application. Noah could go fight a war, come back, and build an empire. I could face down one college professor.
“Don’t hover, Ms. Sullivan. Either come in or leave,” I jumped at the slightly nasal command. The door had been ajar, but I hadn’t realized he had spotted me.
I rubbed a finger across my nose, took a deep breath, and pushed the door fully open to walk through. Dr. Rossum’s office was a disaster. There were two wooden chairs set in front of his desk, but they were overflowing with magazines and papers. A small path from the door to the desk was cleared, but there was nowhere to sit. I inched in, careful not to tumble any of the piles to the ground. I stood awkwardly while he inspected me.
His gaze was so penetrating I felt like he could see all my flaws. That I didn’t know how to draw. That I hadn’t taken one art class, ever. That I spent most of my time walking in Lana’s shadow and my best friend was a boy I wrote to for four years and had never met, until recently. The organs in my throat seemed to swell, and I swallowed rapidly to try to keep my airway open. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I ordered myself silently.
Dr. Rossum held out his hand and I laid the portfolio in his hand. For several minutes, I stood as Dr. Rossum silently paged through my pictures. He reached the end, flipped through rapidly again, and tossed it toward me like a Frisbee. I fumbled it and the photos spilled out onto the piles and the floor like refuse. My cheeks were burning as I bent to pick up the trash. Tears sat at the base of my throat, threateni
ng to spill out if I so much as opened my mouth. I mutely tucked all the photos into my portfolio and stood up.
“Your photos look like you are trying out for the high school yearbook. Pretty pictures of flowers and trick photography? I hardly think you’d cut it as an art student here at Central. We are not here to train people to win Cosmo contests, but to capture the heart and soul of people through the lens,” he sneered the words as if just looking at my photos had begun to contaminate the department. I said nothing in my own defense because what could I say? That I liked pretty flowers and trick photography?
“Art is not about the acquisition of money. It is the portrayal of human suffering and triumph. Your photographs are as plastic as the images you are trying to digitally alter. Go back to your humanities studies.” He waved to shoo me out. I fled as if rabid dogs were chasing at my heels. My tears began to fall before I had even crossed the threshold of his office into the hallway.
It was my cursed luck that the FAC building was on the south end of campus, down by the theater and the diner that Noah had taken me to that first time. I ran home, straight down the middle of campus, tears streaming down my face. I heard ugly moaning sounds and, after a minute, came to the horrible realization that I was making them.
I had allowed myself to be convinced by my friends that I had talent, but deep down I must have known the truth. I hadn’t tried to enter the Art program here because I knew I wasn’t good enough. A little money and a lot of friendly encouragement had puffed me up, and Dr. Rossum brought me right back down to earth.
I ran up the stairs ready to bury myself in my bedroom, only when I opened the door I was greeted with the smiling faces of Lana, Noah, several sorority girls, and all of Noah’s roommates. It looked like a party was in progress. I wanted to die.
Noah
Grace stood at the doorway, her mouth slightly open, tear tracks running down her face. She was breathing heavily like she had run a mile to get here. We all froze in our tracks. And then Lana and I shook off our surprise and moved toward her at the same time. Grace rushed past us into the bedroom. I followed, but found the door locked. I didn’t even know these doors had locks. I jiggled the doorknob and then knocked. “Grace.” When she didn’t respond, I knocked louder. “Grace!”
Undeclared (The Woodlands) Page 21