Chapter 38
S urveying Lit U’s quad, I inhale some much-needed fresh air after a long weekend full of sex, drugs, and rock and roll.
Technically, there was no rock and roll. What even is rock and roll? Anyway, the sex was with a drug, the only one I’ve ever allowed into my system. Except he hasn’t just affected my nervous system. He’s impacted most of my body’s eleven systems—reproductive, respiratory, cardiovascular, probably even my immune system considering how much fluid we’ve been exchanging.
Goddess, Crue Brantley is addictive. We spent more time wet this weekend than we did dry. I wouldn’t be surprised if his tattoo doesn’t heal properly. He probably should’ve gotten it done after…
After…
After.
It’s that word and those kinds of thoughts that keep this little bubble of ours from being impenetrable.
My eyes automatically lift to the university’s focal point, the giant hands on the clock tick, tick, ticking high above our heads.
That choking sensation returns.
I squeeze my throat, willing it away. Please. Not while Crue is beside me.
Crue is beside me…providing immeasurable comfort in our small, precarious bubble. In it, I can breathe.
I can breathe.
I. Can. Breathe.
Feeling my airway opening up, I slowly lower my hand.
I can’t afford to think about what happens after. Instead, I need to focus on the here and now.
Right here, right now, I have to go to class.
Walk.
My feet begin the trek across the quad.
Like the carbon copies they are, the clones all look over at me at the same time, expectant. Desperate.
It’s not me they’re desperate for. It’s my name. My connections. My status. My “aesthetic.” They wouldn’t know what to wear if it weren’t for me. They wouldn’t know how to be without me.
I deliberate for all of ten seconds before coming to the conclusion I wish I’d realized sooner—I don’t have to be around them. Nobody’s here to make me.
I have to attend my classes, that’s it.
So I walk right past my clones, acting as if they don’t even exist, wishing they didn’t.
Don’t they wish they could be themselves? Or are they as trapped in their own false reality as I am?
Paris scoffs while Bradford calls out, “Munreaux, we’re over here!”
I know. I’m not blind. I’m exhausted. Not from my weekend with Crue. But of them . Of who I am with them.
I much prefer who I am with Crue, who I get to be, who he lets me be.
I peek at him over my shoulder.
Staring stoically ahead, he pretends like he doesn’t notice.
He waits until I face forward again to murmur, “Change of routine this morning, miss?”
My body no longer needing directions, I huff and pick up the pace.
What’s the worst that can happen?
The clones will complain to their parents.
Their parents will mention it to my father.
My father will punish me.
That’s not new. He’s already furious with me. Has been since that dinner with the Larsons. The only reason he hasn’t followed through on the threat in his gaze every time he pins me with it is because he hasn’t had the opportunity to. Crue’s been glued to my side around the clock, even during dinners. He used to sit on the opposite side of the table from me, but lately he’s insisted on sitting right next to me.
The thing about Arthur Munreaux though, numbers are his sole focus. As soon as my bodyguard’s out of the picture, my father will collect his pound of flesh—and not just figuratively—for all the transgressions I know he’s keeping count of.
Honestly, a couple pinches on top of the dozens already coming my way are worth missing the clones’ inane chatter for a day. They go to the same school I do, one of the best in the country, and yet the only subjects they’re ever interested in discussing are the superfluous goings-on of the elite.
Oh, and our outfits.
I wonder what they’d think if they saw what I was wearing all weekend? The fact that Crue’s sweats were about seven sizes too big for me didn’t stop me from wearing them between our numerous sex sessions. They were raggedy and faded, but they were soft and smelled like Crue and felt like having an extension of him on me. If I can pull it off, I fully intend on stealing a set just to keep after—
There I go again. Worrying ahead instead of enjoying the present. What good has that ever done anyone?
The present is all I have, all I might ever have.
Passing my first class of the day, I head for a room about four…or five…doors down. Was it six?
I walk past door after door, craning my neck to scan inside without breaking pace. I know one of these is empty. I just don’t remember which one…
“What are you doing? Your class is back there.”
Ah. Finally, one with the lights out.
“I have to grab something first.”
“What?” Crue asks as he follows me into the empty lecture room.
Spinning around, I close the door and fist his shirt, shoving him into the wall beside it.
His lips spread into a grin as he takes hold of my hips, bringing me closer.
“Call me miss again and I’ll put a yellow jacket nest in your room.”
“Will you be in there, too?”
What? “In your room?”
He nods.
“Probably not, no. There will be thousands of pissed off yellow jackets…because I put a nest in it… if you call me miss again.”
“Then I’m not in there either.”
He’s missing the point of the whole… Ugh.
“It’s your room. You have to go in it,” I find myself arguing.
“Not unless you go with me, in which case, I have nothing to worry about since bats eat bugs.”
“I’m not a real bat.”
My bodyguard shrugs like he’s not completely convinced.
“Did you know too many stings from yellow jackets could cause anaphylaxis?”
“Did you know…” Crue leans down until our foreheads are almost touching. “…that whenever you speak, I like to picture your lips wrapped around my cock instead?”
“Whenever you speak, I like to picture these wrapped around your cock.” I bare my teeth at him, making him shudder.
“Jesus Christ. You fucking creep.”
That earns a bigger reaction than the threat of death by wasps?
I try to back up but he tightens his grip, keeping me in place.
“Why’d you ditch your friends?”
“They’re not my friends.”
“Why’d you ditch them?”
“I just…think it’d be too hard.”
His eyebrows cave in. “What would?”
“Imagining having sex with my bodyguard the whole time they talked.”
Those brows do not smooth back out one bit. I’m pretty sure they dip even lower.
“Is that what you usually do when you’re with them?”
Now I’m the one shrugging. “Sometimes.” All the time. Almost every time. The clones are so dull and my imagination is so not.
“Why would it be difficult to do that now?”
“Before I couldn’t do anything about it. Now I can.”
One corner of his lips rises. “Are you sore?”
I hold back a laugh. Of course I’m sore. We’ve had sex so many times in the past two days, I lost count.
“No,” I lie because no amount of pain would keep me from letting Crue have his way with me. He could fuck me into oblivion.
In fact, I hope he does. That outcome’s much more preferrable to what awaits me.
Don’t think about it.
“What do you imagine?” Crue asks.
“Right now, getting to class on time.”
“You have twelve minutes. Tell me what you imagine. Better yet…” Releasing my hips, he holds his hands up by his shoulders. “Show me.”
I lower my gaze to the bulge in his pants and bite my bottom lip. I also reach over to blindly lock the door. Thankfully, there’s no window on this one.
“Go over to the desk.”
“Which one?”
Even though I feel like I shouldn’t have to, I point at the professor’s desk. Who hasn’t fantasized about getting freaky on the teacher’s desk?
Once he’s next to it, I undo his belt, then pants, pulling them as well as his boxer briefs down until his massive cock is freed.
“Lie down.”
“On the…” He looks pointedly at the vintage oak desk.
Praying it holds both our weight, I nod.
As he gets settled on top, he encourages, “Do whatever the fuck you want to me. Show me what fills that beautiful, twisted head of yours.”
I lift his shirt up to his chest, putting his abs on display, then stroke his cock a couple times, making his hips buck off the desk.
“Fuck, Ever. That feels amazing.”
My hand freezes at his base.
“Better than my pussy?”
He guides my hand with his up the shaft to his tip, smearing his precum over my palm. “Nothing’s better than your pussy.”
Keeping eye contact with him, I lick my palm.
“Straighten out one leg but keep the other bent.”
While he’s pushing his pants down farther to do that, I shimmy my panties down my thighs, calves, and ankles, then bring them up to my hand with a heel.
I don’t bother saying this next command aloud, since I know he’ll question it anyway. So I just stick my panties in Crue’s mouth—wetness out of course.
“You’re welcome,” I say before he can even thank me, not that he can with a mouth full of underwear.
His eyes widen but I see his cheeks move as his tongue works the crotch part over, licking them clean, I’m sure.
Lifting my tweed miniskirt, I climb on the desk and swing a leg over to straddle Crue’s waist…facing his feet, with my bare ass on display for him.
Crue’s deep groan is so loud I have to check if he spit my panties out.
He didn’t.
Hypnotized, he kneads my ass cheeks, spreading them with rough caresses.
A wave of emptiness overtakes me, and with my pussy begging to be filled, I arch into his palms, wanting any part of him in any part of me already.
One hand on that bent knee for stability, I use the other to hold his cock in place as I sink down, impaling myself on the rigid shaft.
We both let out guttural moans as I reach the bottom, my ass settled on his lower stomach. It feels like the first time…every time. I love Crue’s cock. I could take it and take it and take it, never, ever growing tired of it.
Voices on the other side of the door sound so close yet feel so far as the world outside of us blurs.
I immediately begin rolling my hips, grinding my clit against his upper thigh and making the desk creak.
It’s not quite the glide I was hoping for, so pushing his knee out a couple inches, I look down and spit. The puddle lands right above the space where his groin meets his thigh, then I mash his leg against my clit again, spreading the moisture around. The spit won’t last long but neither will I, not like this.
My body shudders over Crue’s from the increased sensation. It’s crazy how the smallest bit of lube can make such a big difference. I think that was part of the problem the first time Crue tried eating me out. With his tongue out of his mouth like that, it was probably drying out. Friction is great. Lubricated friction is superior.
Five fingertips dig into my ass as Crue also grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head back until my chin’s high in the air, my breath flowing from my mouth in one long gust.
Goddess.
He mumbles something that sounds like his own command. Ride me, maybe. Or fuck me. Something short, sweet, and totally unnecessary.
My hips resume the previous motion, and I make sure to stick my ass out with each rotation before clenching my cheeks together to help grip Crue’s cock with my pussy walls.
We get a nice rhythm going, and just as I predicted, an orgasm tears through me not long after, hardly any notice whatsoever before I’m stalling out on top of Crue, all my muscles locking up as pleasure electrifies every single nerve ending I have.
With a growl, Crue thrusts up once, his body stiff as a board under me, his cock like a fountain inside of me.
Crue goes lax shortly after.
“Jesus fucking Christ, that was sexy,” I hear behind me and smile. I think I smile. My lips are numb, so it’s kinda hard to tell.
He releases my hair, and when I glance back at him, my underwear’s no longer in his mouth, but in his fist.
“I’m keeping these.”
I face forward again to hide an eye roll. Like I was going to put them back on anyway. They’re drenched.
I need Crue’s assistance to dismount without hurting either of us. A glob of cum falls out of my pussy during the transition and lands on the desk. We both stare at it, neither of us rushing to clean up the mess.
“It’s yours,” I tell him.
“Not all of it.”
“Your cum leaks. Mine clings. Check your balls.”
He actually glances down like he hasn’t already been made well aware of that fact.
While he’s distracted, I grab the sleeve of his jacket to use, but he yanks his arm away and gives me a lip snarl I just shrug at.
“Well, I’m not wearing as many clothes as you, even less now that you’ve stolen my underwear.”
Back on his feet, he lifts a small trash can up to the desk and aggressively swipes the cum into it before rubbing his palm along the inside of his jacket.
“What are you gonna do for panties?”
“Go without.” It’s not ideal considering I’ll be leaking his cum for a while, further proving that mess was definitely his.
“You’re in a skirt.”
“So?” I ask while fluffing my hair in the back.
Coming up behind me, he bats my hands away to fix it himself. After practicing all weekend—on me, not the mannequin—he’s improved greatly. He still can’t get it into a braid but that hasn’t stopped him from trying, or me letting him because I love his hands in my hair.
“Some motherfucker could see your pussy.”
“They could.” I smirk at the growl he unleashes. “But they won’t. I have a lot of experience maneuvering in a skirt.”
“You flashed me,” he argues.
“That was intentional. You were flirting with my professor right in front of my face, remember?”
“The only thing I remember is the overwhelming urge to bend you over your desk and fuck your cunt in front of Littoral University’s entire student body.”
My smile grows. I guess I was wrong. Not everyone fantasizes about doing it on the teacher’s desk.
Crue spins me around to face him, his expression serious.
“I don’t want you going commando.”
“Do you happen to have an extra pair on you?” I ask even though I know he doesn’t.
I’m pretty sure he doesn’t.
“Only mine. You can wear those.”
“Those?”
For answer, he bends down, removing his shoes and pants, then boxer briefs.
“Crue,” I scold. “This is going too far. I understand…” And secretly love. “…your desire to take care of me in certain areas, but sharing underwear?” I shake my head even though he’s focused on pulling off his boxer briefs despite my solid argument here. “Next it’ll be our toothbrushes.”
Without looking up, he says, “Should’ve thought of that before making me use your thong as dental floss.”
“I didn’t?” I put my underwear in his mouth. What he did with it was his choice.
Crue tugs his pants back on—sans underwear.
I throw my hands up. “I’m not wearing them.”
One arm around my waist, Crue drags me to him. “You will if you want to leave this room.”
“They’re too big,” I say, one notch below pouting.
“They’re the best we have at the moment.”
“They’ll ruin my aesthetic,” I do pout, quite pathetically might I add. I don’t want to wear them.
“Yeah, well, prison stripes will be ruining mine if anyone catches sight of my girl’s pussy.”
My already gelatinous legs threaten to give out entirely. Not only did he threaten murder, again, but he also used the words my girl.
If we didn’t just have sex, I’d so fuck him right now.
I do have a twisted mind.
“Be a good girl and wear them.”
I rip the boxer briefs out of his hand. “Fine. But we’re not sharing toothbrushes.”
With a chuckle, he takes them back, bending to a knee in front of me. “You’ll put my dick in your mouth but not my toothbrush?”
“I’m not putting anything of yours in my mouth anymore,” I grumble, earning another chuckle from him.
Over one stiletto at a time, he carefully gets the boxer briefs I picked out for him onto my legs, then pulls them up.
I glare at him the whole time, knowing he’s probably going to hold me down and brush my teeth with his toothbrush now. And he’ll like it because he’s the real creep.
Just before my pussy’s covered, Crue presses a firm kiss to my clit, whispering, “Until next time.”
When he stands, he puts his thumb in its usual place on my lips, kisses it, then says, “That goes for you, too.”
Every frigid molecule in my body thaws at once.
I know he’s dying to kiss me, yet he never crosses that line.
After putting his own shoes on, he leads me toward the door, saying, “Let’s find you a bathroom before the clock chimes.”
Using both hands, I tug on his hand and wrist, making him stop and turn to me.
“What?”
From the top of his head to the bottom of his chin, my gaze touches every inch of his face, even that scar he spends so much time trying to hide.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just wanted to memorize you like this.”
A single crooked eyebrow matches the uncertainty in his tone as he asks, “Like what?”
“Mine.”
He smiles as those green eyes give my face the same appraisal I just gave his.
“You got plenty of time to memorize me like this.”
No, I don’t, I think as my throat threatens to shut.