by Peyton Banks
Without moving his lips from mine, he whipped us around, reversing our positions, so that I had my back to the bed. Before I knew it, he’d pushed me down onto it and was climbing on top of me.
“Fuck. You’re so hot. I want you so many ways I don’t even know where to start.”
You and me both.
He leant back slightly, and I used the newly created space to rake my fingers down his firm, smooth chest to his taut abs. I was almost overwhelmed by how picture perfect he was.
I shifted my gaze to his face and licked my lips deliciously slowly.
“Start wherever you want. We’ve got all night.”
We’ve only got tonight.
I moved my hands from his body and onto my own, studying him as he watched me play with my breasts, squeezing their fullness and tweaking my nipples. His dick bobbed between us, and I wondered if I could get him off by pleasuring myself. The thought got me hotter and wetter. I slid one hand down to my entrance and gripped his length tightly with the other, loving the feel of him throbbing against my palm. He stiffened slightly, squeezing my wrist, indicating I should stop.
“I want to come inside you first. Up on your knees, hands on the top of the bedhead.” I hesitated, taking in his words, which clearly didn’t please him. “Now!”
I wasn’t used to being ordered around like that in the bedroom, but something about his tone and the look on his face when he said those words went straight to my hot spot. It would be a first, but I swore I could come just from the sound of his voice.
He reached across to the top drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a box of condoms. I turned onto my knees, gripping the edge of the headboard as instructed, watching over my shoulder as he rolled on the condom. How did he manage to make even that simple action hot as fuck?
When he was done, he met my eyes.
“Hold on tight, I’m not feeling like being especially gentle right now.”
I was glad, as neither was I. In fact, that was the last thing I wanted. I braced myself like he’d told me, also leaning forward, pushing my butt out toward him, for easier access. No doubt giving him a view of my sweet spot.
“Holy fuck. Your butt is the best thing I’ve ever seen, apart from your wetness. If I’m not careful, I’m going to be done just from this view.”
On those words, he nudged me experimentally with the tip of his dick. I pushed back, ready to take him deep, and he didn’t disappoint, thrusting into me in one strong, long movement.
Holyshitfuck.
He hit the spot straight away, and from then until we both found our release, it was a loud and wild ride—me pushing back into him, him slamming deep into me until I swore I was seeing stars. Each time he hit the spot made me want it deeper and harder. I was wild with desire, pent-up frustration, and the need for release. I wanted to wash out the old and sweep in the new.
I didn’t just want him, I needed what being with him represented: moving on, healing, regaining my confidence and my joie de vivre, grabbing life—and a hot young guy—by the balls and showing it who was boss. At that moment, I knew I was back. Finally. New and improved, and ready to take the world by storm again.
As we came together, we collapsed onto the bed, him still inside me, arms wrapped around me, and for the first time in a long time I felt at peace.
11
Luke
I pulled into the parking lot of FSNY, pissed that I was late for my first-ever class. It had been a long, hard battle to get there. Firstly, from an admissions perspective, as I wasn’t taking the usual post-grad route. But even more so in terms of fighting with my hard-headed asshole of a twin brother, and to a lesser extent, the rest of the band, about my right to pursue my interest in film, when the band seemed to be on the verge of something big.
I’d spent my whole life yielding to Arlo’s way of doing things—even the occasions I’d put up in a fight, I was always the one to back down—but this was the one time I’d put my foot down and kept it there until I got what I wanted. I even threatened to leave the band, if that was what it took to pursue the one thing that made me as happy as music. Arlo had no choice but to relent, for probably the first time in his entire life. If he had any say in the matter, it would likely be the last time, too.
I’d only crawled into bed at four a.m. after our gig, and even with all the desire, and the best of intentions, had struggled to haul ass only a few hours later, despite setting three alarms. I knew that the car park was for staff only, but if I’d have tried to find parking on the busy and heavily parking-restricted streets around the campus, or worse still, caught public transportation, I never would have made it to class.
I flung my car into what wasn’t really a space as it essentially blocked another car in, and hoped for the best. If I came back to find it had been towed, clamped or vandalized as a result. then that was a price I was willing to pay. I raced across the lot, map in hand, trying to find the lecture hall for History of Film as quickly as possible. No mean feat given that I hadn’t ever set foot inside the building.
The gods must have finally been shining on me when the first person I stopped to ask for help knew exactly where I needed to go, and it was just down the hall I was already in. I ran to the opposite end of the corridor, skidding to a stop like the wayward, rebellious kid in just about every teen movie ever made. Opening the door, I practically fell into the lecture hall, breathless and sweaty. Just like in those movies, all eyes in the place swiveled to look at me as though I was something that had crawled out of the toilet bowl. The only sound was my heavy breathing as I tried to catch my breath, and the lecturer’s voice as she finished her sentence.
“Good morning, Mr.…” She consulted what I assumed to be a student roll. “Jones, I presume?” I nodded mutely, both because I was still struggling to get air into my lungs after running to class, and because I’d been holding my breath since I entered the room.
“Well, Mr. Jones, what are you waiting for? Come in and take a seat. You’re already late, don’t waste more time standing at the door gawking like a guppy. You’re derailing the whole class.”
A quiet snicker spread through the room, and I couldn’t remember a time I’d felt more humiliated. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger. I was pissed at her for making a fool of me in front of a roomful of people, but more so, I was livid that I’d put myself in a position where that could happen. I took a seat—the one nearest to the door—and tried to school my features into some semblance of neutrality. I more than likely failed miserably.
“So, what you missed among other things, Mr. Jones, given you’re...” She glanced down at her watch. “Twenty-eight minutes late, was my explanation of the fact that I don’t tolerate lateness to, or unexplained absences from my class. Both attract a strike against your name. Three strikes and you automatically lose a credit. No ifs, no buts, no maybes. Are we clear on that point?”
“Yes Dr. Patterson, we’re clear.” I spat out her name as though it were poisonous, and didn’t miss her slight wince. Damn. I needed to get myself under control. She recovered quickly as she carried on speaking.
“Good. You can apologize at the end of class. In the meantime, you haven’t missed much, so you’re lucky.”
The rest of the lecture passed in a total blur. Dr. Patterson talked us through the course structure, the assignments we’d need to complete including some group work, the practical and theoretical aspects of the class, the grading process, etc. While I was excited beyond belief to have made it onto the course and looking forward to throwing myself into all that entailed, a feeling of dread also settled in the pit of my stomach as I listened to her talk.
I silently reprimanded myself for being a pussy. It was something Arlo accused me of all the time, and to which I normally responded telling him to go eat a bag of dicks. I knew he was full of shit. It was just a symptom of the sibling rivalry and antagonism that had plagued our relationship since before we could walk and talk. It had gotten a little better since the ba
d old days when we couldn’t even be in the same room as each other without drawing blood, but we were still just about as far from Brady Bunch status as two siblings who did ultimately love each other could be.
Ironically, the only time I’d previously agreed with his assessment was whenever I thought about how I’d let the situation with Marnie, and therefore him, get the better of me all those years ago. I continued to live with the consequences of my actions—or more accurately, my inaction—every day.
Today I added more evidence to the list. What other explanation was there for the fact that I spent the entire session willing myself to walk out of the door and not come back, yet had sat there stewing and seething, unable to do what I knew I needed to?
12
Natalie
I watched Luke pack his things and get up, turning to make his way out of the theater with the rest of the class.
“Mr. Jones, a moment of your time, please. I believe you have something to say to me.” I did my best to sound bored, looking down at the stack of papers I was shuffling in front of me.
I looked up just as he turned slowly, making eye contact for the first time since he entered the room.
Holy shit. Yes, he looked like a deer in the headlights, as any student would on their first day of college if they feared they were about to get bawled out by their lecturer, but that look was the least of my worries. What was undoubtedly a concern—hopefully not an ongoing one—was everything else that was clearly visible there, to me, at least. Hurt. Anger. Desire. So much desire I was surprised my clothes didn’t burst into flames as he stared.
“Come down to the front please. I’d rather not bellow across the room.” The last thing I wanted or needed was him standing so close, but as I had said, I could hardly yell what I had to say to him across the echoey lecture hall, plus, having him walk toward me would buy us some time for the room to empty out without it appearing like I deliberately wanted to be alone with him. Which of course I didn’t.
Who was I kidding? I shouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere near him, but the truth was that what I shouldn’t want and what I actually wanted were two different things.
He made his way down toward me, never breaking eye contact once, and it was one of the hottest, most intense encounters of my entire life. Neither of us said a word, yet volumes were spoken. I wanted so badly to look away but found myself absolutely compelled to do the opposite. For anybody observing it would definitely have registered as strange or inappropriate, but thankfully, everyone had their backs to us, focused on leaving the room in the opposite direction.
As he got to the bottom of the stairs that cut through the rows of seats, I indicated a spot in the front row.
“Take a seat, please.”
He looked at me as though I was out of my mind, and he probably wasn’t too far from the truth, but on this point I was totally clear-minded. For all the world we were lecturer and student, formally acquainted for only a couple of hours, and our first interaction hadn’t been a positive one. It was totally fitting for him to sit there while I spoke to him. I climbed down from the podium, walked to the front of the stage, directly opposite where he sat, and rested my butt on the edge, legs crossed at the ankle and stretched in front of me.
I was aiming to give the impression of unruffled indifference, although I felt anything but.
As the door clicked closed behind the last student, Luke opened his mouth to speak. I silenced him with a raised and arched eyebrow.
“My house, my rules, kiddo.” Jesus. I knew I was being a bitch, but I also knew that for both of our sakes, I had to.
“This is going to be a one-sided conversation, and I’ll keep it short and to the point. Firstly, apology accepted.” With that out of the way we could skip to the real reason I’d held him back.
“Secondly, obviously this is a turn of events that nobody saw coming, but it’s here now. We’re here, so we’re just going to have to deal with it. And by deal with it, I mean brush it under the carpet as though it never happened. As far as anyone is concerned we’re just a new student and his lecturer, and in order to safeguard both our careers, that’s what we now are to each other. That night never happened. If we both keep to that version of events, or non-events, as it were, there’s no reason why we can’t make this work.”
“So we just pretend like there’s nothing between us?”
“Absolutely. It was a one-night stand. We were never supposed to see each other again. This is a huge coincidence, but that’s all it is. If you want to stay on the course, and I want to stay in my job, then we both get amnesia. Fast.”
“What if I don’t want to forget?”
What? Was he for real right now? “It’s not about what you want, it’s about what you have to do. This isn’t going to be more than it’s already been. If having me teach you is going to be a problem under those circumstances, then your film studies career is going to be short-lived.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if you can’t stay on my terms, you’ll have to leave, because I’m sure as hell not going anywhere.”
13
Luke
The rest of the day was a blur, and not in a good way. I moved from class to class, barely able to focus on looking at the lecturers, let alone listening to what they had to say. I had my iPad with me the entire time but failed to take any notes. I couldn’t recall what a single one of my fellow students looked like, let alone their names, although most classes started with a brief introduction from each of us.
As the day wore on, I felt more aggrieved and dejected. I resented Chantelle, whose real name turned out to be Dr. Natalie Patterson, for…well, for just about everything. For lying to me about her name. For lying to me about her job. For screwing me six ways from Sunday, then sneaking out in the middle of the night, leaving nothing but her bra, and a cold patch on the bed where she should have been. For somehow in that one session ruining me for future women. For embedding herself in my psyche and dominating my thoughts in the three months since we were together.
But most of all, I resented her for making me feel shit I’d always felt sure I’d never feel for anyone other than Marnie.
I somehow made it through to the end of the last class—which felt more like a feat of Olympic endurance than the exhilarating first day at college it should have been—and found my way back to my car. I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw that it hadn’t been towed away or clamped. The sleek black Skyline had been a present to myself to celebrate the Heartless Few signing our first record deal. It was only a rental, but even being able to afford to commit to the regular payments was beyond my previous wildest dreams. Now that we had the deal in place and were starting to get on the map, I vowed to myself that one day I’d buy one for real, with cold hard cash that I’d earned. In the meantime, I had the rental, and life was good.
It got even better when I approached it and noticed what I’d failed to see in my hurry that morning. The car I was blocking in was parked in a space that a white plaque informed me was reserved for none other than one Dr. N. Patterson. There was a God, and she had a sense of humor!
I had no idea what time Chantelle/Natalie finished up, but I didn’t have anywhere to be—well I did, but I figured that waiting for her trumped being yelled at by Arlo in rehearsals in front of our new manager, again. I leaned against the side of my car with my legs crossed at the ankles, the very picture of fake indifference, mirroring Chantalie’s earlier stance. I flicked through the various handouts I’d been given throughout the day, trying to jog my memory about at least a little of what had been said.
I wasn’t there long before I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up to be greeted by a familiar pair of light green eyes, blazing with unfamiliar anger. Damn she was cute, even when angry. Especially when angry, in fact. My dick was at attention in moments, as it always was when I saw or thought about her.
“Nope.” She stood next to her car, arms folded, jaw set in a hard line that told me she meant busin
ess. Not that I’d had any doubt, just from the look in her eyes.
“Nope what?”
“Nope I am not going to play along with whatever drama you have in mind here. This isn’t some movie where you can give a rousing speech or perform some kind of grand gesture that’s going to change my mind and see us go riding off into the sunset together, to live happily ever after. I made my position very clear earlier, and there’s nothing more to discuss, so if you’ll move your car, or is it your mom’s car? I’ll be on my way.”
I legit had to count slowly to five before speaking again. She frustrated me so much that I couldn’t trust myself to say the first words burning on the tip of my tongue. When I had my shit together enough not to say something I couldn’t take back, I finally spoke.
“It’s my car. Yes, it’s true, you did make yourself very clear this morning, in your house. But that was then, and this is now, and we’re outside your house, and you have nowhere to go—“ I motioned to her blocked-in car “—so the way I see it, all bets are off.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” she hissed, looking around furtively.
“It means that I don’t accept any of what you said before, and I want you to come for a drink with me to discuss the situation.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you need to ask? Because there is no ‘situation.’ And because you’re not legally old enough to get served a fucking drink. Because I’m what, ten years old than you? And last but most certainly not least, because I’m your lecturer, and this is real life, not some schmaltzy Hollywood Mrs. Robinson bullshit.”
“We can go back to The Basement. They seem to be happy to serve anyone—as long as they’re older than an embryo—and still keep their liquor license.”