Jess
A girl has needs.
The last time I had that one, steadfast thought on repeat in my dirty little pea brain, I met Jarrett. I never could have known what would come from that, but I’m pretty sure I know exactly what will come of tonight.
After chapter, I half-walked, half-skipped down Greek Row to the Omega Chi house. Greg asked me if I wanted to come by to “study” tonight, and I have a pretty good idea what that’s code for.
“Study” equals “take our pants off and see what happens.”
So, I decided not to wear pants at all, opting to stay in the same little black dress I wore to chapter. It’s a little formal for the occasion, since we have to wear business casual for chapter, but it’s also easier access.
Priorities.
Greg meets me at the door after I shoot out a text to let him know I’m walking up, and he leans against the frame, smirking as his eyes take in my legs.
“A little overdressed for studying,” he muses. “And you didn’t bring any textbooks.”
“I don’t really need them for the subject I’m studying tonight,” I banter back, pausing in front of him.
My eyes drink him in — the black sweat pants hanging on his hips, the large, heather gray Omega Chi t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, arm holes gaping so far down I have full view of his glorious washboard abs.
“That so?”
“Mm-hmm,” I assure him, tapping my temple. “All up here.”
“And what subject is it that you’re studying?”
“Anatomy.”
He chokes out a laugh, shaking his head and holding the door wide for me as I slip under his arm and into the house.
He tosses that same arm over my shoulder, guiding me through the hallway back to his room with my arm pressed against his bare ribcage — also exposed by that artfully shredded t-shirt.
“I really do have to study,” he says. “I started my internship, and hatching season is coming up soon.”
“That’s right,” I mused, snapping my fingers. “I forgot how much you nerd out over turtles.”
“Don’t act like it doesn’t turn you on.”
“Oh, it definitely does,” I agree as he ushers me inside his room. “Which is exactly why I didn’t bring anything to study, nor did I wear panties under this dress.”
Greg groans, sitting on the edge of his bed with my hands still in his. He pulls me to stand right between his legs, his eyes roaming over my curves appreciatively.
“You just sit there and talk about turtles,” I tell him, guiding his hand up my inner thigh. He bites his lip, shaking his head as he follows the movement with his eyes. “And I’ll do my own kind of homework.”
Standing over him, his hand inching closer and closer to my heated and severely underused treasure box, as Skyler would call it — I realize Greg is actually insanely hot.
His features are all so dark — and delicious.
From his caramel skin to his jet black, messy hair, he’s like sin wrapped up in an ice cream cone.
Add in his eyes, black and wide, like deep, bottomless pools of water, and his smirk, devilish enough to melt even the chastest of panties — and I can’t figure out how I ever didn’t notice his sex appeal.
I should have realized all of this the first night we met at Ralph’s, but then again, my heart belonged to Jarrett that night. I couldn’t think of any other guy in any kind of sexual way, not in the entire time I was dating Jarrett. I was literally broken when it came to having those thoughts.
And while my heart might still belong to Jarrett, it’s different now, knowing he doesn’t want it — knowing he’s holding on firmly to another woman’s heart now, and most likely holding on to a lot more than that at the present moment.
So, when Greg slides his hand up a little more, his fingers brushing my slick heat, I moan with him at the feel of it, closing my eyes and letting go.
Greg may not be Jarrett, but he is a sexy, fun, single male with his hand between my legs.
And right now, that’s all I need, anyway.
As soon as he feels how wet I am, Greg stands, yanking my wrists over my head as he crashes his mouth to mine.
He tastes like beer, like he’s been drunk since noon, and I feel his kiss like an intoxicating shot of alcohol warming every single limb.
His lips are firm but warm, his breaths coming harder now — which, coincidentally, leads to him growing harder in a completely different way, too.
I lean forward, pressing my stomach into his erection, and he groans at the contact.
Running his rough hands down over my arms, he hooks them in the hem of my dress and yanks up, breaking our kiss long enough to strip me out of the black fabric and drop it to the floor. My bra comes off next, an easy snap of his fingers sending it down to the floor next to my dress.
I wait for it to hit, that shock of electricity I always felt when Jarrett touched me, but it never does. My heart is racing, my clit swollen and throbbing, just waiting for Greg to touch me. But it feels a little empty, a little detached — a little like every other guy felt before Jarrett.
Again, I’m reminded of how my life was severed by that man.
Shoving him out of my mind, I push my hands into Greg’s chest until he’s sitting on the bed again.
I rip his shirt over his head, nodding to his sweat pants as I toss the shirt over the back of his desk chair.
Greg just smirks, lifting his hips enough to take off his pants and briefs in one sweep of motion, and when his hard-on springs free, all I can do is lick my lips.
I drop to my knees, giving Greg a wicked grin as I take him in one hand and tease the tip of him with my tongue. He’s not quite as big as Jarrett, and he leans a little to the left, but it’s still a beautiful cock — and definitely a tool I can work with.
Greg leans back on his palms, watching me with rapt attention as I take him inside my mouth. My brows pinch together as I figure out how to fit him inside, working with his unique shape, and once I find the magic combo, he lets out a steely, “Fuckkk.”
“Don’t let me keep you from studying,” I tease, releasing him from my lips with a pop. “Come on. Tell me about hatching season.”
Something between a laugh and a curse escapes his lips as I take him inside my mouth again.
“I can’t,” he manages, his breaths labored.
Greg flexes his hips into my slick hand when I take my mouth off again, eyes meeting his.
“Come on. Talk turtle to me.”
He spits out another laugh, but it dies quickly when I strengthen my grip, sliding down from his tip to his base. With a growl, he leans forward, hands wrapping around my upper arms as he tosses me onto the bed.
“We’re done talking.”
“Oh, are we?” I tease, spreading my legs wide open for him to see. He’s on his knees above me, one hand stroking his cock as his eyes roam over my breasts, down my stomach, his pupils dilating when he takes in my wet pussy.
Greg bends forward, which gives me hope that he’s going to spend some time downtown returning the favor I just paid, but instead, he grips my ass, yanking hard until my wet entrance is lined up with his ready member.
“Tell you what,” he says, teasing the slick skin between my lips with his crown. “If you can say a word after this, you can talk about whatever the hell you want.”
It’s right on the tip of my tongue, the smart-ass remark to his challenge, but everything is wiped from rational thought when he slides all the way inside me — all at once, balls deep, not a single centimeter of space left between us as he groans in ecstasy and I try desperately to catch my next breath.
Before I can so much as moan, he’s withdrawing, plummeting inside me again with just as much gusto. He feels even deeper somehow, and when he lifts my ankles up to rest on his shoulders, I finally cry out, the sensation too much — but in the best fucking way.
Greg works himself to a release within minutes, and I fake mine, just to give him credit for surprising me.
The poor guy likely didn’t stand a chance of getting me off, anyway — not tonight, at least. With Jarrett, it was easy to come.
Hell, just looking into his eyes while he whispered that he loved me was enough to send me skyrocketing.
Still, when Greg rolls off of me, kissing my neck with a chuckle before retreating to the bathroom to clean up, I smile.
And when he comes back with a hot wash cloth, wiping between my legs carefully, I smile a little wider.
And when he hands me a pair of his boxers and an oversized sweater, when we crawl into bed — me with my phone, him with his textbook — I rest my head on his chest and revel in the comfortable silence between us.
Greg holds me while he studies, his fingers drawing circles on my shoulder, and I turn the page for him when he asks me to. Sometime after midnight, I pull the book from his sleeping hands, kiss his cheek, and slip out of the Omega Chi house.
He may not be Jarrett, but no one ever will be. And when I’m with Greg, I feel a little less shitty.
I’ll take what I can get.