James: A College Girl Romance

by Sheila Grace

  Midway to the bedroom, she stopped in front of an excellent facsimile of John Martin’s Pandemonium, a depiction a demonic palace in Hell, as inspired by Milton’s Paradise Lost.

  “The fires of Hell? A pretty gruesome thing to hang on your wall, don’t you think? I thought you didn’t believe in all that.”

  “I’m not that literal—but I do believe in evil.”

  When we reached the bedroom, I went to the dresser and pulled out a T-shirt. I handed it to her, and she looked down at it and then back up at me, a brief moment of confusion washing over her features before she smirked.

  “Ivy League. Of course.”

  As she stared up at me, I debated. Then, with what last bit of restraint I had, I left her and walked into the bathroom. By the time I was finished splashing cold water on my face and brushing my teeth, I decided I was capable of managing my apparently unquenchable desire for this girl.

  The question that remained was: would my craving for her dissipate once I had fucked us both into a stupor?

  When I stepped out of bathroom, she gave me a small, guileless smile and then walked past me into the bathroom, still clutching the T-shirt I had given her. As she closed the door behind her, I walked over to the bed and reclined against the headboard as I ran through boring-as-fuck financials in my head.

  By the time I heard the shower turn on, I was like one of Pavlov’s drooling dogs. This girl had no fucking clue what she was doing to me. At thirty-two years old, I was a walking hard-on. I scrubbed my hand over my face and jumped out of bed, stripping out of my clothes as I walked.

  When I opened the door, she was standing under the rush of water, her red hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, her ass cheeks pink from the hot water. She turned, blinked, and then stood silently as my eyes devoured her.

  In that moment, I realized something had changed. I had never felt a hunger like I had felt with her. When had it happened? From the first moment she had stared down at me in the club?

  I was in unfamiliar territory—and I was breaking my own rules.

  As Cass’s eyes dropped and then widened, my craving drove me forward. I wanted her. I wanted to possess her. I wanted to be inside her, watching her face as she came—for me. I pulled open the glass door separating us and stepped into the steam.

  Chapter 11: Cass

  As I stared up at him, it drove home how much bigger he was. I felt downright tiny. I had realized he was big before, but right now, standing naked only inches from him, it was hard to ignore.

  I tried to focus on his tattoos, but my eyes kept slipping from the sculpted muscles of his chest, down his washboard abs, to the most impressive and intimidating aspect of his anatomy.

  He was huge. Granted, the only thing I had to compare to was one of the guys my freshman-year roommate had been hooking up with. I had walked into my dorm room at the wrong moment and gotten eyeful. Well, not really. At the time, I had thought, “Eh, no big deal.” Apparently that guy had been on the average end of the spectrum, judging from what I was staring at now.

  I took half a step back before curiosity—or insanity—took hold of me. I reached out tentatively with both hands, but I wasn’t brave enough to go straight for the object of my curiosity. I touched his chest first. His muscles flexed beneath my fingers as I explored his skin. His skin was smooth, but the muscles beneath were rigid.

  I glanced up at him as my fingers skated nervously across his pecs, down his chest. The farther down my hands traveled, the more the muscles narrowed, like an arrow pointing straight between his legs.

  The moment my fingers made contact with his erection, it jumped against my touch. Holy shit! I drew back automatically and shook my head. I was such a freak.

  Get it together, Cass! I ordered myself.

  When I looked up at him again, his expression was torn between amusement and outright pain. He reached and took my hand in his, guiding it back to the enormous shaft between his legs.

  I wrapped my hand around him, and he throbbed again. I didn’t let go this time. I had been right before, though—my fingers didn’t even reach all the way around. As I explored the head, it flared. I jumped when a stream of slick liquid—shampoo or body wash, maybe—covered my hand and him.

  The slickness made it easier to slide along his length. I let my grip travel down, exploring every rigid inch. It was different than I had expected. Smooth, but ridged with veins. Then again, I’d really had no idea what to expect. As I slid my hand all the way down, he groaned and every muscle in his body seemed to tense.

  “Cass …”

  My name was like a growl or a plea, and suddenly I liked the idea of being the one making him beg. I let my fingers slip back up to the head of his shaft before letting my thumb circle around the cap. Then I put my other hand on him and began to stroke him faster.

  When I looked up at him, his eyes were closed, and he was using one hand to brace himself against the shower wall. I slid my hands up and down, faster and faster, watching with fascination as his features tightened with what looked like real pain.

  I let my lower hand drop down to cup his balls as my other hand continued to stroke up and down. I kept going as I felt him shudder and tense. Part of me couldn’t believe I was doing this, but I was absolutely fascinated by the fact that I could cause this kind of reaction.

  Suddenly his hand covered mine and began moving it faster, squeezing him tighter. Then the hand he had been using to brace himself on the shower wall gripped the back of my neck as his mouth crashed down on mine. His tongue thrust roughly into my mouth, making me shiver. I broke free of his kiss as he throbbed in my hand. My eyes opened just as a stream of white liquid shot from the head, and he jerked in my hand again as I squeezed him all the way to the tip. When I looked up at James, his expression was amused.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked as he drew us both under the spray of hot water.

  After I rinsed off, he shut off the water and swung open the door. He took two massive white towels from the counter and draped one over me before toweling off and wrapping the terrycloth around his hips. He turned back to me as I dried my hair. When he raised an eyebrow, I realized he was actually waiting for an answer to his question. I shrugged, blushing as I wrapped the towel around my chest.

  “I don’t know. Curiosity?” I paused and winced. “Did I do something wrong?”

  He reached out and drew me toward him.

  “I’m just glad you never did that with any college boys. If I can barely control myself around you …”

  When he trailed off, I smirked.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. Guys barely looked at me in school, and I told you—the ones who did were always serial killers in training. Serious weirdos.” I shuddered. “Anyway, you’re the first guy I’ve wanted—I mean … I don’t know. I still don’t get it—why me?”

  I looked down. I knew it wasn’t safe to want this man in any way. Sure, we were both consenting adults—but that was about it as far as what we had in common. And I had to keep reminding myself of the truth: James McDevitt was paying me to see if he could fuck me before the summer ended.

  This was not the path to true romance.

  Granted, I couldn’t deny how attractive he was or how my body responded to him. Even now, I was throbbing with anticipation, and I could feel myself getting closer and closer to losing control and giving in to temptation. Suddenly his hand wrapped around my wrist, and I froze.

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

  I looked up at him as several emotions coursed through me. Shock. Indignation. Fear. … Temptation.

  Before I could pull free, James pulled me against him and then swept my feet out from under me. Cradled against his chest and wearing only a towel, I stared up at him, speechless. When he began walking toward the bedroom, I started to squirm.

  “You were joking,” I sputtered.

  “I was?”

  At the foot of the bed,
he set me down, and I looked up and smirked as relief—and disappointment—washed over me.

  “Yeah. I didn’t think so,” I gloated halfheartedly.

  He smiled down at me, but there was nothing friendly about it. He walked to the head of the bed and took two pillows, and I watched breathlessly as he crossed back to where I was standing. He set down one of the pillows at the edge of the bed and another at the foot of the bed.

  “Kneel down,” he said, nodding toward the pillow on the floor.

  The smile disappeared from my lips.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Ask me that again, and you’ll have to wait that much longer to come. I can keep you on edge for a very long time.”

  My cheeks heated. I hesitated, but only briefly, before walking over and kneeling on the pillow in front of the bed.

  “Good. Now bend over the mattress.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered as I leaned over with the pillow cushioning my abdomen.

  “Comfortable?” he asked conversationally.

  “Sure. I—”

  I sucked in a breath as his hands drew the towel higher until I was fully exposed. Then I felt him drop down next to me. I could have sworn I heard the slap before even feeling his hand come down on my ass cheek. The surprise caused a breathy shriek to escape from my lips.

  “Good?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Yes,” I gasped as I gulped for air.

  “Good.”

  I tensed as his fingers traced where he had just slapped me. The skin was sensitive and tingling, but it didn’t hurt. I waited, my muscles taut with anticipation, but nothing happened. The second I exhaled, I felt his hand come down on the other cheek. I yelped.

  “Are you going to ask me why again?” he asked in a strained voice.

  “Probably.”

  I bit my lip. Why the hell did I say that?

  “Does this turn you on?” he asked.

  Hell, yes! I thought. I was aching with need. But I didn’t answer. Suddenly his hand came down on the center of my ass, making me jerk in in surprise.

  “Answer me, Cass.”

  “Yes,” I panted.

  The throbbing pleasure between my legs ratcheted up about a hundred times when I felt his fingers caressing along the undersides of my ass cheeks. I tensed and whimpered as I felt him shift until his knees were on the outside of mine. He bent forward. Then his lips began to trace a line from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, before following the length of my spine.

  My breath was coming in jagged gasps by the time his hands gripped my hips, pulling me toward him. One hand slid under me, across my belly, his fingers burning a path straight between my legs to my clit.

  He leaned forward, and I felt his chest pressing into my back, his thick length pressing against me through the towel around his hips. When I moaned, his finger began to circle my clit until I was panting. Then he stopped.

  “That is for asking me why.”

  “Please,” I begged.

  I was desperate to feel the same incredible release from the night before. When I whimpered, he began kissing my shoulders as his finger teased around my most sensitive spot until I was moaning, pleading, and gripping the comforter.

  “Fuck, I want you, Cass.”

  His finger brushed straight across my clit. Then he didn’t stop. He stroked me, his touch perfect and feather-light before dragging his finger across me unrelentingly—until I exploded, burying my face against the bedding and sobbing his name as my muscles tightened painfully.

  “Give yourself to me. Let me be your first,” he groaned raggedly. “Please, Cass. I need to be the first.”

  His other hand slipped down, and I started to come even harder as I imagined him pushing inside of me. I cried out again when his fingers plunged into me from behind, and he growled as I came again. His fingers curled against me, stroking me until I was nearly insensate.

  When I collapsed, his arm tightened around my waist and he lifted me and drew me onto the bed. Then he pulled me against his chest as he sat back against the headboard. Looking down at his towel, I shook my head at the enormous erection straining at the cotton.

  “I’m sorry,” I laughed. “I thought I took care of that a few minutes ago.”

  “Ms. Flynn, I won’t apologize for my dick. Hard-ons have been a rather constant problem around you.”

  I smiled and then bit my lip as I began to trace the tattoos on his chest.

  “What does this one mean?”

  “Puris omnia pura. ‘To the pure, all things are pure’.”

  He said it without even looking down. When I rested my head against his chest, it felt perfect. I wanted to enjoy this moment, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t what I wanted. James McDevitt could never be what I wanted.

  “Why did you say that?” I asked quietly. “Why did you say you wanted to be my first?”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  I shook my head.

  “But why? Why not someone else who’s had sex already? Not to mention all the strippers—why not one of them?”

  I felt tears welling up in my eyes as he remained silent.

  “Because they’re not you.”

  He didn’t say anything after that, and soon I felt my eyelids drifting closed. It was really late, but I had no idea exactly how late. I breathed in the smell of him and enjoyed the feeling of his skin against my cheek.

  When I woke up, I blinked at the bright light filtering into the room. Rolling over in the absurdly soft sheets, I inhaled the addictive scent. James McDevitt smelled too good. If they made a cologne after him, they would have to name it Sex. I made a mental note to ask about his aftershave.

  With a sudden jolt, I realized I was getting way too used to waking up naked in someone else’s bed after multiple orgasms. It was official: I was a kept woman.

  The sound of the doorbell caused adrenaline to shoot through my veins. I was assuming, of course, that James didn’t need to ring his own doorbell. Looking around, I saw a white dress shirt draped over an accent chair in the corner. I threw it on and just finished buttoning it just before I made it to the door. Through the glass paneling at the top, I saw a guy dressed in a courier’s outfit, complete with a ball cap. I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

  “Cassia Flynn?” he asked as he stared down at one of those bulky digital signature devices.

  I was so stunned by his question that I didn’t answer for a second. I was still staring at him when he looked up at me.

  “Uh, yes.”

  “If you’ll sign here …”

  I saw a box as tall as I was sitting next to him. Beside it were several smaller boxes—and an enormous, ornate crystal vase holding an uncountable number of red roses. After I signed, he left me standing on James McDevitt’s front step.

  I hesitated and then picked up the vase and brought it inside. I left it on the entry table. Back outside, I began bringing in the smaller boxes. Finally, I tested the weight of the largest box. It was unwieldy, but lighter than I had expected. I lugged it inside too.

  Finally, I closed the door after me. Then I stood and stared at the packages, which had been addressed to me, including an envelope made of extremely heavy paper. Miss Cassia Flynn. I opened it and found an invitation written in golden script. I bit my lip. Why was James’s father inviting me to his big political money fest?

  Chewing my lip, I walked over to the entry table and took the small envelope from the flower arrangement. It had my name on the front. I opened it and then flicked open the card inside.

  Looking forward to meeting you. - JM

  I dropped the card on the table before rushing into the kitchen, where I found a slate bar affixed to the wall. Several extremely sharp knives were stuck to it—a magnet.

  “Here it goes,” I said as I pried off one of the knives.

  I took the knife back to the entryway and then started carrying the boxes into the living room. Taking a deep breath, I started with the biggest box
, slicing along the tape. There was another box inside the cardboard box. It was white with silver lettering of some kind. I unfastened the clasp on the white box, and it fell open, exposing a shimmering, deep emerald-colored floor-length formal gown.

  “This is one seriously twisted version of Cinderella,” I muttered to myself.

  Still staring at the dress, I picked up one of the other boxes and began cutting along the seam. Inside were several smaller boxes. The first contained a black clutch. Then jewelry boxes. I opened the smallest first and found a pair of round emerald earrings with stones the size of my thumbnail surrounded by diamonds.

  When I opened the larger box, I laughed and then fell silent. I had seen a necklace like this before … in Pretty Woman. Only that necklace Julia Roberts had worn had been made up of rubies and diamonds. The emerald necklace I was staring down at had stones ranging from the size of a dime to a quarter—with diamonds surrounding those emeralds.

  “Oh my god.”

  I was still staring down at the necklace when James walked in the front door wearing a sleeveless shirt and basketball shorts, sweat dripping from him. He looked at me and then at the various boxes littering his entryway. His face suddenly descended into a mask of rage that made me flinch.

  Before I could say a word, he picked up the vase and hurled it across the room. The glass crashed against the wall, leaving red roses and shattered crystal everywhere. I stood frozen, my breathing shallow as I watched him.

  “James?” I whispered.

  His gaze focused on me, and suddenly he was stalking in my direction. When he lifted me against his chest, I automatically wrapped my arms around his neck as my legs gripped his waist. His lips crashed down on mine, and he carried me toward his bedroom. His kiss was different than before. He nipped savagely at my lips before his tongue plunged into my mouth with a raw hunger.

  I was dizzy by the time he lowered me onto the unmade bed. He stared down at me as he stood between my legs, and I watched, hypnotized, as he reached back to tear the shirt over his head. I jumped when his hands gripped the front of the dress shirt I was wearing—his shirt.