James: A College Girl Romance

by Sheila Grace

  Jealousy? Possessiveness? What the fuck? I was old enough to know better. What was it about her? Sure, I wanted to fuck her. In undergrad, my motto had been, “No pussy left behind.” Maybe I was getting old. Hell, in the past three years, I had seen half the guys I knew get married—happily or not. I was that guy they all said they envied.

  Mayhem McDevitt, the eternal bachelor.

  The type of man Cass Flynn looked at with scorn, mild amusement, lust, and trepidation. Sure, her willpower would break down, and I would fuck her into a stupor. Then she would look back and see what? The best fuck of her life? An empty moment of weakness? I shook my head as the elevator stopped. Fuck this introspection shit. I opened the door to the suite and gestured for her to go ahead of me.

  “Dinner is at eight,” I said as I took off my tie and began unbuttoning my shirt. Her eyes widened, and it didn’t escape my notice when she nervously licked her upper lip. “I’m going for a run. Then I’ll be in the gym.”

  She stood frozen as I stripped off my shirt. The moment my hand dropped to my pants, she bolted for the bathroom. A few minutes later, I left the suite feeling like a goddamned hard-up teenager. I needed to burn off some of this energy.

  Logic dictated that I should have been rethinking this entire arrangement and having Irving run a background check on the first stripper who came into view. But if I was anything at all, I was a stubborn son of a bitch.

  Perhaps if I’d had a fully functioning conscience, I would have backed off by now, but morally compromised was pretty much a perpetual state of being, which made me more like my father than I wanted to admit. It was only my general disgust for him that kept me from truly becoming someone I couldn’t face in the mirror.

  Cass Flynn had said it herself: I wasn’t coercing her; I was simply waiting for her to give in.

  In reading the lives of great men, I found that the first victory they won was over themselves ... self-discipline with all of them came first. Harry S. Truman said that.

  Victory belongs to the most persevering. Napoleon.

  If anything, I was unrelenting.

  I started jogging at the Ferry Building and then ran along the Embarcadero, pushing hard until my lungs were on fire. Good enough. I jogged back, and when I reached the lobby, the woman behind the desk—blonde, five-nine—smiled at me. I recognized the look, but that was definitely a breach of rule number five: never mix business with pleasure. If I indulged in the habit of fucking the staff at a hotel I frequented on a regular basis, it would complicate things.

  Strip clubs were another matter entirely. In hooking up with a stripper, there was an understanding. No desperate “Call me!” the morning after. No needy “When will I see you again?” as my pants were being zipped. If I were to fuck a front desk staff member? It would come with the expectation for more, which was something I didn’t want or need.

  Cass didn’t fit into either category. She was, in point of fact, the exact opposite of any woman I had pursued. Innocent, but not naïve. Strong-willed, but shy. Sharp-tongued, but easily shocked.

  I smiled blandly at the woman as I made my way to the elevator. The workout facility was modest, but empty. I didn’t need most of the equipment, though a pull-up bar would have been nice. Push-ups. Rows. Deadlifts. More push-ups to keep myself from thinking of how long it had been since I had enjoyed a good fuck.

  When I got back to the suite, I opened the door, pulled off my shirt, and crossed the room just in time to see Cass holding up a black corset in front of the full-length mirror in the second bedroom. She was clad only in a pair of lacy black boy shorts that left a delicious portion of her ass visible. Unaware of my entrance, she was studying the corset with a look of consternation, bordering on anger.

  “Need help with that?”

  She spun around, clutching the black fabric to her chest. I smiled and gestured to her chest. She looked down at the garment in her grip.

  “Weren’t these things torture devices in the sixteenth century?”

  Hot as hell, though, I thought.

  “I’m going to clean up. Then I’ll give you a hand. Unless you’d like to join me?”

  She shook her head and scowled at me. A cold shower, then. When I reached the bathroom, I turned on the shower to scalding and discarded the remainder of my clothing. Then I stepped under the water and jacked off before turning the water to a frigid temperature.

  By the time I walked into the living room, Cass was leaning toward the mirror, applying her makeup. She had managed to wriggle into her corset, but the ribbon at the back was loose. Wearing only the corset, garters, and stockings, she looked ready for a night in. She straightened up and turned toward me, her green eyes narrowing.

  “Seriously? Do you always look like you just stepped out of a cologne ad?”

  I looked down at my suit, and my lips twitched in amusement.

  “I’ve never had any complaints.”

  Her cheeks turned pink.

  “I’m sure you haven’t,” she muttered. “I wasn’t complaining. I mean, who am I to turn down free eye candy?”

  Indeed. I walked over to where she was and locked eyes with her in the mirror’s reflection.

  “Are you still in need of assistance?”

  “I just need you to—I just need help tightening the back.”

  I started at the top, going slowly as I cinched the ribbon tighter. The soft skin of her back was radiating heat, and it took everything I had not to bend down and kiss along the border of the corset. Her breathing quickened as I my fingers skimmed her sides.

  She had avoided the bag full of the more risqué items I had ordered. No crotchless panties for this girl—not yet at least. When I caught her eye in the mirror again, I thought about how good it would feel to fuck her while she watched herself coming. And it was becoming readily apparent to me that if I didn’t indulge in one of these fantasies soon, I was going to lose my goddamn mind.

  Finally, I tied the bow at the bottom of the corset. Standing behind her, I had a rather awe-inspiring view of both her delectable little ass and the firm little tits that were now popping out of the corset. I brought my hands up and let my fingers slide under the curve of her ass cheeks, watching in the mirror as her eyes drifted closed. Then I walked to the door while I still had the willpower.

  “I’ll be waiting outside.”

  I shut the door behind me and readjusted my dick, which was apparently set to permanent hard-on. Then I took a deep breath before walking over to the sofa and checking my messages. Irving had sent me photos of her rundown little “apartment.” My lip curled in disgust. The slumlord running this college-town tenement housing should have been shut down long ago. Mold, peeling paint, appliances from the 1960s, burn marks in the carpet. It was a dump, and that was being generous.

  I called down for the car, and when Cass emerged from the bedroom, I stopped and stared at her. She glanced self-consciously at her dress, completely unaware of her beauty. Maybe that was what had drawn me to her—she had no fucking clue how magnificent she was.

  I stood and walked over to where she was. When I offered her my hand, she took it and blushed.

  “You know, I’m probably going to kill myself in these things,” she said, pointing at the sky-high silver stiletto heels.

  I flashed her a blinding smile.

  “I won’t let you fall.”

  That’s right, McDevitt. Play the fucking hero when you know that’s the last thing you are.

  I led her to the door and gestured for her to go ahead of me. Then I hung back, appreciating the view as she walked toward the elevator. By the time we made it to the lobby, the car was at the curb waiting. Cass looked up at me and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. When the kid running the cars went to open Cass’s door for her, I shook my head. I opened the door and took her hand, carefully lowering her into the seat before shutting the door and tipping the kid. His look said it all: you lucky bastard.

  I wasn’t going to deny it; I was one lucky son-of-a-bitch.
>
  The driver took Pine Street toward Masonic. The ride tonight would be just under twenty-five minutes. Enough time to fixate on Cass’s creamy white thighs as she nervously tugged on the hem of her dress where it rode up, exposing her garters.

  When the car stopped in front of the restaurant, I got out and again offered my hand to Cass. She discreetly pivoted, keeping her knees together as she swung her legs from the car. I tried not to smile too much at the symbolism behind her action. As we began walking to the restaurant on the corner, I pointed up and down the street.

  “Parking in Inner Richmond could have taken all night.”

  “What? No in with the parking gods?”

  “Sadly, no. That is beyond my power.”

  The corner restaurant was small and unassuming. White lettering on the black awning bore the restaurant’s name. I opened the door and gestured for Cass to go ahead of me. The interior wasn’t glamorous; laidback would be a more appropriate description. Peach-colored walls, mirrored paneling, landscapes and still art, white tablecloths and wooden chairs. Old school, not flashy.

  “We’re the only ones here,” Cass murmured as the young server met us at the door.

  I smiled and gestured to the corner table, seeing as I had booked the restaurant for the night. I offered Cass the bench seat and then sat across from her. As the server handed us menus, I wondered if she remembered me. I had come here a number of times—best Russian food in the city. The staff was exceedingly discreet; however, prior to this occasion, I had never rented out the restaurant for a night. I watched as Cass studied the menu.

  “I’ve never had Russian food before,” she said quietly.

  “If you don’t have any objections, I’ll order for both of us.”

  She looked up and appeared to debate. Then she nodded.

  “Everything here is excellent, but certain dishes are truly phenomenal,” I reassured her.

  “Then what are we having, Mr. McDevitt?” she smiled.

  “For you? The cutlets. We’ll start with dill pickles, the beet borsch, and the mushroom barley soup. I’m having the stroganoff, and you can certainly try mine, but I don’t think you’ll be inclined to share the cutlets.”

  She bit her lip as she studied the menu. Then she looked up.

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “Is that a first?” I asked.

  “Is what—oh.” She smirked. “Ha, ha. I’m so argumentative, right? Well, you get what you pay for, I guess.”

  “Are you saying you would have been more obliging for more money?”

  Her cheeks flushed.

  “No. I guess I’m saying I am what I am, and that’s what you paid for, even if I don’t understand why.”

  “And I told you that if you asked me why again, I would bend you over and spank you.”

  She looked truly fearful for a brief moment. Then she pursed her lips and gave me a look that said she had outwitted me.

  “I didn’t ask you anything,” she smiled. “I just said I don’t understand it.”

  “Splitting hairs, lovely. You’ll make quite the lawyer.”

  When the server returned, I ordered, including a glass of red wine for myself and white for her. As soon as we were alone again, Cass shook her head.

  “This is surreal. I feel like I’m in one of those books.”

  “And what sort of books might those be?” I asked.

  The server deposited the glasses of wine in front of us, and Cass paused until the woman departed.

  “The kind of books you read when you’re old enough to have graduated from college by now, and you still haven’t had sex.”

  Innocent, but certainly not naïve.

  “I’m curious, then. Why wait so long?”

  “Honestly? Because all I’ve been doing is working the past two years. I haven’t had time to meet anyone or do much besides work.”

  “What about while you were in school? You must have had opportunities.”

  She laughed bitterly.

  “Opportunities? Is that what you call them? Well, I have a tendency to attract weirdoes, or guys I’m not attracted to—or both. Given those options, I’d rather opt out.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Which category do I belong to?”

  “Oh, definitely the first category,” she said with a smile.

  “I’m a weirdo?” I asked in amusement.

  She nodded.

  “Smokin’ hot guy who”—She lowered her voice—“pays women for company? Yeah, you’re totally a weirdo.”

  “But you’re attracted to me?”

  I smiled when her expression turned prim.

  “I never said I wasn’t.”

  Extracting small concessions from her was endlessly amusing. I lifted my glass and waited for her to do the same.

  “To mutual attraction, then,” I toasted.

  “To a battle of wills,” she added.

  I nodded and touched my glass to hers. Dinner was, as expected, excellent, but I certainly found more enjoyment in watching her eat than anything else. She didn’t pick at her food like most women. Instead she seemed to reap an almost sexual pleasure from each bite, which meant that I spent the entirety of dinner with an excruciating hard-on.

  “Dessert?” I asked when she had polished off the last of her cutlets.

  She stared at me with a horrified expression.

  “You did see how much I ate, didn’t you?”

  “You can’t skip the torte.”

  When the server returned to the table, I ordered the torte and two cappuccinos.

  “This place is really amazing,” Cass said. “I could eat here every night and probably never get sick of it. How did you find it? It’s not exactly centrally located.”

  “Sometimes the most worthwhile pursuits, gastronomic or otherwise, are where you would least expect them.”

  She reached for her glass and took another sip of wine.

  “Another glass?” I asked.

  She shook her head. It didn’t take long for the server to reappear with dessert, followed by the cappuccinos. I watched as Cass picked up her fork and sliced off a piece of the torte. She lifted it to her lips, and when she moaned and closed her eyes, the thought of fucking her on the table didn’t seem as socially disagreeable as it should have.

  “I told you it was worth it.”

  She smiled broadly.

  “This is incredible. Aren’t you going to have any? You really should, or I’m going to eat it all, and I really shouldn’t.”

  “I was enjoying watching you.”

  She blushed and looked down.

  “You really are the charming bastard, aren’t you?”

  Suddenly I wanted her to forget that I was attempting to seduce her—because realistically, it was the only way she would yield. Most women I pursued knew what they were walking into. They didn’t care that what I wanted was skin-deep and short-term.

  Now I felt compelled to change my tactics, and it was a difficult thing to reconcile. No one knew me well; yet I prided myself on transparency in my sexual dealings—what you see is what you get. Now I wanted Cassia Flynn to see something else. I wanted her to believe the mirage. What had drawn me to her, I was finding more and more, was that she was an inversion of me. With one exception.

  We both knew not to trust other people.

  On the ride back to the hotel, Cass kept her attention trained on the passing city nightscape, and during the ride up the elevator, she watched me from across the space like I was a predator she needed to be wary of, which was fair enough. She was right. I could be patient when it served me, but my self-control was wearing thin. Opening the door to the suite, I smiled. The concierge staff at this hotel really was excellent. Cass stepped past me and shook her head.

  “Oh my god.”

  The bed was turned down, and the entire space was filled, quite artistically, with white roses. I watched as she walked around, staring at the arrangements.

  “This is—why did you do thi
s?” she demanded as she spun around to face me, her eyes blazing.

  Of all the emotions I might have expected, anger hadn’t been one of them. She stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Intrigued, I took off my jacket, walked over to the bar, and uncorked a fresh bottle of champagne. When she reappeared a few minutes later, she stared around in dismay, like she had been expecting the flowers to disappear.

  “God, you’re a fucking bastard!” she hissed.

  “Personally, I prefer scoundrel, but would you care to clarify?” I asked as I poured champagne into a flute.

  When I turned to wash my hands at the wet bar, she walked up to me, snatched the glass from the bar, and proceeded to down the entire beverage. Amused, I poured the other glass and went to sit on the couch as she paced back and forth in her lofty stiletto heels.

  “I’m not an idiot, but I don’t want to get confused about what this is to either of us,” she said in an unsteady tone. “You don’t have to seduce me—you already bought me, right?”

  I let her statement linger in the air for a moment. Then I set down the champagne and rose from the sofa.

  “You’re right.”

  She lurched to a stop and stared blankly at me. Her cheeks were flushed pink—perhaps equal parts indignation and alcohol. She took an unsteady step back as I walked toward her. She continued to retreat until the back of her knees hit the bed. I watched her breathing quicken as I stopped in front of her. Then my hands slipped into her hair, holding her perfectly still as I bent to take her lips. The moment my tongue pushed into her mouth, I felt the tiny whimper of shock that reverberated through her.

  I bit her lower lip and drew it into my mouth before releasing her only long enough to spin her until her back was pressed against my chest. I held her around the waist and drew her down until she was sitting in my lap on the bed.

  Chapter 7: Cass

  Holy fucking shit!

  What was I doing provoking him? I was out of my goddamned mind. Prodding this guy was like sticking my hand in a tiger’s cage and hoping not to get bitten. It was stupid, reckless, dangerous. And suddenly I was afraid.