Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  I haven’t had trouble falling asleep in months. It’s been the easiest thing for me to do since Duncan left, but tonight is different. Tonight, my brain won’t pull itself away from the image it conjured up of Bryson’s face and what it looks like when he’s about to orgasm. Do his teeth scrape over his lips as he tries to hold back a moan, or does a soundless gasp escape his perfect mouth? Does he lean in, kissing her as they mutually fall over the edge?

  The room goes silent, leaving only the music in my ears, and minutes later, the front door opens and closes. I can’t help but feel sorry for the girl, but at the same time, I smile as my mind calms and weariness takes over. Contemplation of why I’m giddy about Bryson being a premature ejaculator is still bouncing around in my head as I succumb to sleep.

  10

  Bryson

  “Shhh,” I tell Simone as I unlock the apartment door. “You’ll wake my roommate.”

  Expecting Olivia to be in her room, I freeze at the outline of her back on the couch. The television is turned down low and an episode of what I assume is Criminal Minds flickers on the screen. The way her hair is fanned out on the throw pillow makes my finger itch to touch it.

  Simone follows my eyes, noticing Olivia for the first time. Her eyes light up with a spark of excitement. “Think she’d want to join us?”

  Generous offer, and normally I’d be all over a threesome, but the thought of it tonight doesn’t appeal. It’s not Olivia. In fact, it’s Simone who would ruin that situation for me. If I ever had any type of chance with Olivia, I sure as hell wouldn’t share her with anyone.

  I shake my head and urge her down the hallway to my room. “I wish,” I mutter as I give her one last look before following Simone.

  I remind myself that Olivia is spoken for. She’s not even an option for me, and that pisses me off. What kind of man thinks a long-distance relationship is a good idea when it’s Olivia he’s walking away from?

  Can he not see her pain? Does he have no idea how she spends her days, holed up in this apartment, sleeping all the time. Her depression is blatant. There’s nothing normal about a twenty-year-old woman being so socially withdrawn, she doesn’t go to the grocery store to buy her own food.

  “What are you thinking about, handsome?” The scrape of Simone’s nails down my t-shirt covered chest brings my attention back to the moment.

  “You, baby,” I lie.

  I allow her to pull off my shirt and refrain from rolling my eyes when she swirls it around her finger before throwing it to the floor.

  Licking the tip of her finger, she drags it down her body until it disappears under her skirt.

  “Want a taste?” she coos, and I try not to cringe as my stomach turns.

  Normally, I’m a very generous lover, leaning more toward giving than receiving, but knowing she’s fucked every guy at school who wears cleats makes the idea of putting my mouth on her pussy less than pleasant.

  Before I can say not gonna happen, sweetheart, she’s reaching for the buckle of my belt. I stop her hands before she can pull the leather through, suddenly not in the mood. I can turn the question I just asked about Olivia back on myself right now. What kind of almost twenty-one-year-old man has a flaccid cock when a sexy sure thing of a fuck is purring right in front of him? Me, apparently.

  “You seem distant. Something bothering you?” I hear her words, but the look on her face forces me to realize she doesn’t really care. I’m as nonessential to her as she is to me. Match made in heaven, right?

  I sit on the bed and allow her to straddle my lap.

  Hot, willing chick grinding on my lap and I’m thinking about the noises Olivia made when she was eating her burrito this afternoon. Her simple moan caused the erection that wouldn’t go away until I jacked off in the shower. I picture Olivia, just as I did this morning, on her knees, greedily sucking my cock. I stir in my jeans, realizing she’s gotten under my skin if all it takes is a conjuring of her image to get me hard.

  I let the thoughts of Olivia drift away when Simone’s lips meet mine. On instinct, my hands reach up and grasp her breasts. She moans into my mouth at the attention and begins to shift her center against my thickening cock.

  The action of her hips makes the headboard hit the wall, and I cringe knowing Olivia can hear everything going on in this room right now. Most days, that wouldn’t bother me, but Olivia is different.

  “Slow down, baby.” I grab her hips in an attempt to calm her thrusting and look over at my door.

  I hear Olivia’s door open and close with a soft click, as if she doesn’t want to disturb us. If she sits on her bed, her head is literally less than a foot from mine. The thought douses my libido, but Simone doesn’t seem to take notice as she continues to grind against me.

  “Let me take care of you,” I whisper against her lips, reaching under her skirt.

  I find her wet and ready. With deft fingers and the palm of my hand, I bring her to orgasm quickly. Well, at least I think I did. Since we hit the bed, her actions have been so over-the-top, I can’t really tell, and I question whether or not it’s intentional since she knows Olivia is here.

  I brush her hand away when she reaches for my belt again. “What’s wrong, handsome?”

  At this point, I’m wondering if she remembers my actual name. “Nothing. These walls are just super thin.”

  “I know,” she says with a wink. “I used to fuck a guy on the third floor. Anyone in the apartment can hear what’s going on. Are we trying to make her jealous?”

  She tosses her head back and moans like a whore getting fucked for the first time in months. If I had any doubt about her intentions, they’re clear now.

  “No,” I whisper-hiss. “I’m trying to be considerate.”

  She bites her lip and looks down at my crotch. “I can be quiet.”

  I laugh, an honest to God hard laugh, and grab her by her bare ass. “You couldn’t be quiet if you tried.”

  My lips meet hers again, and she whimpers when I stand with her in my arms. I shift her weight so she knows I’m going to let go, forcing her to lower her legs to the ground.

  “We can go back to your place,” I offer. Stroking it in the shower is never as satisfying as it seems in your head. Olivia is spoken for, so fucking this girl isn’t completely a turnoff for me, I just don’t want to do it here and force her to listen to every single gasp and moan.

  “Can’t,” she says, sticking that lip out again. “My parents are home. They won’t let me fuck in the house. The last guy stole some jewelry. It was a big mess.”

  “A real winner,” I mutter as I reach down for my t-shirt.

  She shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “I try not to judge.”

  “Very generous of you.”

  “I’m a nice girl,” she says with a smile as she pulls her dress down barely enough to cover her ass. “But I can suck you off in your truck.”

  Grabbing my hand, she all but drags me out of the apartment, seeming more eager about giving me head than I am—and that’s saying something.

  “Park there,” Simone says, pointing to the driveway of an empty house. “They moved out last week, so we won’t be bothered.”

  By the time the truck is in park, she has the top button of my jeans open and my zipper down. Even with her warm breath on my neck and her talented hands on my released cock, I’m having trouble keeping my head in the game.

  “What’s wrong, handsome?” Simone asks when my dick can’t seem to get up more than half-mast.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting my mind wander to that untouchable blonde down the street. The image of Olivia in my head, along with Simone’s hot mouth, gets me where I need to be—thick, hard, and ready to blow within minutes. My teeth grind as I resist the urge to say the wrong name when my orgasm strikes.

  Say what you want about slutty girls who spread their legs for everyone, but Simone has the most expert mouth I’ve ever had the privilege of deep throating. No gag reflex on a college campus is a difficult thin
g to find. That girl has dick sucking skills for days.

  “See you around,” Simone whispers in my ear before climbing out of the truck and walking half a block to her house.

  Picturing Olivia while another chick is sucking me off should be shameful. I should probably be disgusted with myself, but I can’t seem to fathom an ounce of it. My only regret is that now the thoughts of Olivia have been joined with the sounds and pleasure of an amazing orgasm, which make me want her even more, as unobtainable as she is.

  The second I get home from dropping Simone off, I shower and change my sheets. Even with as tired as I am, the last thing I want to smell all night is Simone’s perfume.

  I settle on the couch and begin an episode of American Dad while the sheets are in the washer. Laying my head on the pillow Olivia was using earlier, I let my eyes flutter closed. If Simone’s scent is all bad girl and sex, Olivia’s is everything soft and pure. I can easily admit the latter does more for me than the former.

  11

  Olivia

  “I love you,” Duncan says from the computer as Bryson walks into the living room.

  “Chat soon.” Smiling, Duncan ends the call, and I look down at the time on my screen before closing my laptop. It’s early afternoon, and the apartment has been empty since I got up this morning.

  Looking up, my gaze meets gorgeous brown eyes and a chiseled, bare chest. Sweat glistens on Bryson’s tan skin, reflecting the light from the window.

  “Duncan?” he asks, plopping down beside me on the couch.

  I nod and turn my focus back to the television, though it’s only on for noise. I hadn’t been paying attention to what’s playing, and even now, my focus is distracted at best with Bryson sitting next to me.

  From the corner of my eye, I watch him wipe sweat off his face and chest with his t-shirt. He smells divine, like hardworking man and clean sweat. I resist the urge to close my eyes and breathe him in.

  “Hot out there?” I ask with a smile. He works out more than most guys, but I guess if he’s looking at a pro or semi-pro baseball contract, it’s required.

  Why I’m engaging him in conversation, I have no idea. I can only chalk it up to the really good mood I’ve been in all day. Despite the way the evening ended, I woke up feeling rested and happier than I have in a long time. Even the pain I normally feel after my time with Duncan isn’t hitting me as hard today. I’ll take all the blessings I can get.

  “Humid as hell,” he answers. “What are you watching?”

  I have to look back at the television before I can answer him. I had been staring at him, my gaze glued on the drops of perspiration clinging to his skin.

  “Um, Gilmore Girls.” When he makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat, I hand him the remote. “You can watch something else.”

  I start to stand, but he places a hand on my bare thigh, and I immediately regret not putting sweats on when I got up this morning. My skin tingles under his touch as my mind flashes back to the last time he caught me out here in shorts.

  “Don’t go.” I look over at him but can’t read the look in his eyes. “Stay. We can watch anything.”

  I swallow against the dryness in my throat and look down at his hand. Following my gaze, he snaps it back as if he hadn’t realized he was still touching me.

  “I’ve seen all the Gilmore Girls episodes,” he confesses.

  I can’t help the laugh that slips from my lips. “Seriously?”

  “Emerson,” he mutters. “Chick shows were all she ever wanted to watch. Sitting and watching them with her was easier than listening to her bitch.”

  “Poor thing,” I tease. “Watch what you want. I’ll stay, so long as it’s not Field of Dreams or Moneyball.”

  “Problem with baseball movies?” He cocks an eyebrow at me, probably thinking I have some issue with baseball players, but it’s far from the truth.

  “No,” I grin over at him. “I’ve just seen them all a million times.”

  Tears start to build behind my eyes against my will, and I clear my throat, trying to push down the emotion clogging it. I frown, my mood beginning to sour, and I wonder if my mom knew he was a ball player when she rented him the room.

  He notices the shift in atmosphere, but the doorbell rings before he can ask me anything. The questions were there on the tip of his tongue. This interruption has only postponed his curiosity for another time. He’s not going to let it go.

  Bryson peers at me a moment longer, his eyes skeptic, before shaking his head and standing. I watch him walk to the door, focusing on how the muscles in his back shift with his motion. Considering I haven’t had anyone ringing the bell looking for me in a long time, whoever the visitor is has to be for him. I just pray it’s not the girl from last night. As much as I want to avoid his inquiries, I let myself invest in the idea of spending time with him this afternoon.

  My fears are washed away when he returns holding several bags from the Chinese food place down the street. The tangy smell of Asian seasoning hits my nose and my stomach growls.

  “Come on,” he says, angling his head toward the kitchen. “Grab some food before we start our Potter marathon.”

  “I never took you for a Potterhead,” I tell him as I get off the couch and follow him into the kitchen.

  “The Weasleys are my boys,” he says, grabbing plates out of the cabinet.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Seriously? I would think you’d be more of a Harry follower, or even Draco.”

  “Obviously, but those twins are epic,” he says, winking at me.

  How does the small bat of an eye make my heart race, and why do I pray he does it more often?

  “I would have given their pranks a run for their money. My life goal has always been to catch my sister off guard.” Discontent fills his voice as he reminisces.

  “I take it you weren’t always successful?”

  His laugh causes chills to race up my arms. It’s almost as glorious as the wink. “It may be the twin mind-reading thing, but she always knew what I had planned. She was even able to turn a few things back on me.”

  “You sound a little bitter about it,” I say as he hands me a plate.

  “You would be too if you spent a week working on the perfect way to scare someone and they don’t even blink when you carry your plan out.”

  I grin at the juvenile agitation he still has over failed pranks with his sister.

  Standing in the kitchen loading up our plates with beef and broccoli seems almost natural. The way I watch his muscles bunch and flex as he scoops fried rice onto his plate is also natural… in a lion watching its prey kind of way.

  He clears his throat and my eyes snap to his. I try to keep the embarrassment off my face at being caught salivating over him, but when I realize he’s only been pretending to put food on his plate while I watched in awe of his working body, my cheeks heat.

  I take the spoon from him, my eyes diverting to the food, and place a small pile of rice on my plate, mumbling, “Thanks.”

  “You may want a little more than that. You seem pretty hungry,” he whispers in my ear as he walks out of the kitchen. The graze of his back against mine is intentional. The heat radiating off his skin is pure bliss.

  I hang my head in shame, mortified, and contemplate heading to my room for the rest of the evening.

  “You’re going to miss Harry getting dropped off at his horrible aunt and uncle’s house if you don’t hurry, Liv!”

  I smile at the nickname he’s never used before. A few friends in school started calling me that, but it never overpowered the “Ollie” my dad has been using since I was born.

  I join him on the couch and wait for the awkward conversation to pop up again. It’s not the first time he’s caught me appreciating his body, and if he keeps living here, it won’t be the last. In my defense, he’s practically half naked and cut like an Olympian. I’d like to meet a heterosexual woman who wouldn’t do a double take at a shirtless Bryson Daniels. I imagine the list would lean tow
ard the geriatric end of the spectrum, or the blind.

  “What are you doing?” he chastises as I scoot a sliver of watercress away from my food. “That’s the best part!”

  I hold my plate up for him as he stabs the evil vegetable with his fork and pops it into his mouth.

  Plush lips, strong jaw, and masculine slashed eyebrows—this man has everything going for him.

  I give my head a slight shake and turn my attention back to the television. He seems relaxed and unfazed by sitting on the couch beside me. I, on the other hand, am full of turmoil. His thigh is touching mine, his shoulder bumps mine every now and then, and my body shakes slightly when he laughs, ever aware of his proximity.

  “You seem like a Hermione,” he says as Harry and Ron sit down beside her in the library.

  I watch her with sad eyes as she struggles to remain proud and unaffected by the naysayers trying to pull her down. I’m nothing like her. She stands up to those who throw negativity her way. She faces adversity with her head held high. I cower and hide.

  “I wish I were as strong as her,” I say, my voice low. “I used to be like her.”

  “What changed?” I tilt my head in his direction, finding the softness in his voice matches the compassion in his eyes.

  Looking away, I shake my head, trying my best not to let the tears stinging my eyes fall down my cheek.

  “Hey,” Bryson says, reaching over and hooking a finger under my chin, “forget I said anything.”

  His finger is gone just as fast, and I miss his touch immediately. My appetite gone, I lean forward and place my half-eaten plate of food on the coffee table, the idea of hiding away in my room sounding better by the second.

  “Nope,” Bryson says. Picking up my plate, he puts it back on my lap and points to the pile of broccoli. “None of that. Only those in the Slytherin house refuse to eat their vegetables. You’re not Slytherin, are you?”