23. Serena
I’m not sure that dropping down and stabbing myself with Wolf’s dick was the smartest thing I’ve ever done, especially considering that it looks like a soda can, but I can confirm that I feel incredibly full. Glancing down, I’m shocked to realize that I’m only halfway seated, no more than three inches inside me.
“For fuck’s sake, Serena. I told you to set the pace so that you can go slow, not split yourself in half,” Wolf grunts out, sounding pained below me. I move my gaze from where we’re joined to his face and note his strained features and the set of his jaw. He looks like he’s holding himself back, and while I appreciate his effort, it’s not what I need right now.
“I can take more,” I pant, shifting against him. The move has his dick rubbing against my inner walls, and I clench, the sensation simultaneously foreign and amazing.
“Clench one more time, and I’m going to come before we get to the good part,” he warns, squeezing my hips to still my movements. I don’t listen to him; instead, I contract my muscles again and enjoy the feeling of his cock inside me. “Serena, enough.”
This time, I don’t ignore his words.
“I’m going to work myself in deeper. Tell me if it gets to be too much.” His words are considerate, but his tone is harsh, a lashing against my skin. Does it make me sick that I feel myself growing wetter at his gruffness, more turned on by his intensity?
Wolf starts rocking my hips gently, shifting his left hand until it’s splayed over my stomach, his thumb rubbing against my clit. The dual sensations of fullness and his rubbing against my clit have my movements growing less controlled, more erratic, and fighting against the rhythm he sets. With each thrust, each swipe of his thumb, I feel my body loosening more, accommodating his girth in a way I would never have thought possible. It doesn’t take long until there’s only an inch separating our pelvic bones, and then he’s buried inside of me so deep, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get him out.
Fighting against his hold, I lean back, gripping his knees to give myself leverage as I move against him, pushing myself up and down while his thumb continues to rub circles.
“So fucking tight,” Wolf mutters, more to himself than to me, as though he can’t believe how damn good this feels, either.
Determined to remove the last bit of distance between us, I push up one last time before dropping down in a hard thrust, pinning him beneath my hips and sealing us together.
“Oh,” I say at the same time he grinds out, “Fuck.”
If I thought I felt full before, that’s nothing compared to having him fully seated inside of me. Refusing to move off of him, I release his thighs and lean forward, plastering my naked chest against his clothed one, and grind our bodies together, effectively trapping his hand between us to give me extra friction.
What feels like seconds pass before I feel tingles erupt along my spine, traveling until I feel like a livewire on the verge of exploding. I clench against him, drawing him inside deeper until my orgasm hits me with a ferocity I’ve never experienced before.
“That’s it, ride my cock, princess. Fuck, I can feel you coming around me.” Wolf drives into me from below, fucking me until his body stills, and he releases a loud curse. I collapse against his chest, breathing hard as I attempt to catch my breath. Wolf releases my hip and extracts his hand from between our bodies. I start to move up, assuming that he is getting ready to pull away when his hands wrap around me, catching me by surprise when he hugs me closer to his body, keeping us molded together in a way that screams intimacy despite our earlier agreement.
I don’t fight his hold, and when a heavy hand touches the back of my head, threading fingers through the short strands and giving my head a soft scalp massage, I feel myself pulling under. I succumb to the exhaustion of the day, the depletion of energy both from sex with Wolf and the anger over my dad and Marina’s texts earlier in the evening.
Closing my eyes, I tell myself it’s only for a minute, that the safety I feel in Wolf’s arms is false, temporary, and the least permanent thing in my life.
—
The room is dark when I wake up, and I startle, disorientated by my surroundings for a minute until I reach over and flick on the lamp by my bedside table. The night comes rushing back to me: the tattoo shop, the texts, Wolf’s thick dick. There’s a soreness between my thighs that tells me I didn’t imagine the last part, even though there’s no evidence of Wolf in my space. I look down, surprised to find myself in an oversized T-shirt when I know damn well that I passed out on top of Wolf with not a stitch of clothing on. Either I sleepwalked, opened my dresser drawer, and slipped on one of my cotton shirts, or Wolf rummaged through my things and made sure I was covered before leaving.
I look to the other side of my bed, though I’m not delusional enough to imagine that he’ll be there or that there would be an indent or indication of his presence. I take in the perfectly folded sheets and sigh at the thought that there would be some sign of him in this room.
Flinging the covers back, I walk barefoot into my living room, surprised that the smell of sex doesn’t permeate the air. Walking through the space, I grab a glass and fill it with water, leaning against the counter as I stare at the couch where I rode Wolf like he was a stallion and I was a champion jockey. Maybe I should be embarrassed, but the two orgasms he gave me eclipse any other thought I have.
My eyes move from the couch to my door, where the lock is suspiciously in place, though the deadbolt remains unlatched. I cut across the apartment and turn the deadbolt, providing an extra layer of unnecessary protection between me and whatever is outside of my apartment.
I’m not sure how Wolf managed to leave and lock my door, but I’m grateful that I wasn’t left vulnerable and unconscious in my apartment. I ignore the sting in my chest that Wolf didn’t linger until I woke up, scolding myself for having any ill-conceived thoughts that this was anything other than a one-night stand.
Walking back into my bedroom, I grab my phone from my nightstand—another indication that Wolf was here—and cycle through the text messages that have come through since I’ve been home. It’s the middle of the night, so I’m not surprised I have a few unread messages awaiting me. My eyes snag on one from Wolf, confused as to why he’d text me if he was just here.
Wolf: Turn the deadbolt when you wake up. Call Aubrey next week to schedule your appointment; your back should be healed and tattooable by the end of the month. I’ll shift shit around to book your first appointment.
My brows furrow at his text; up until this moment, we were all in agreement that Sloan was doing my tattoo, and I was prepared to sit with her to fix the monstrosity on my back. There’s been no mention, no utterance, that Wolf would be the one spending hours on my piece. My hands fly over my phone as I text him back.
Serena: Thanks for locking up, but what do you mean, “I’ll shift shit around?” I thought Sloan was doing my tattoo.
Three dots pop up on my screen, and I watch for his reply. My brows furrow as soon as it comes in.
Wolf: I didn’t like the direction she was headed, and I have something in mind. I’ll see you in a few weeks for your appointment. Don’t forget to lock up.
“Dick,” I mumble, clicking out of his thread.
Going back to my messages, I see that Ava and Celeste have blown up our group chat once again. I scroll through the thread until I arrive at the beginning of the conversation.
CeCe(8:29 PM): Wolf’s final fight is on the twenty-fourth. Ava, Grey, and Lincoln are coming with us. Serena, are you in?
Ava(8:32 PM): Of course she’s in. The last time we abandoned her, she was assaulted by that asshat. Speaking of, have you heard from the double-D assholes lately?
Ava(9:15 PM): Are you ignoring us, my little butterfly?
CeCe(10:54 PM): Okay, now I’m starting to get worried. I’m not above driving to your apartment to make sure you’re not dead.
I hastily type out a reply, musing that Wolf’s final fight must be why he has availability at the end of this month. He’s never spoken to me about it, but I can imagine that training for a fight is intense and requires copious amounts of hours in the gym. I’ve only seen the artistic side of Wolf, never the side that battles against other men in a cage.
Serena(12:59 AM): Sorry, I had a long day and fell asleep on my couch; I just woke up. Sure, that sounds fun, though I don’t know much about MMA. And no, I haven’t heard from Dylan or Devin. Marina did text me earlier today, though.
CeCe: Jesus. We were about to drive over to break into your place. I’ll kill her. What the hell were you doing to tire you out?
Serena: No one.
“Dammit.” I wince, annoyed with myself for how I just answered that question.
Ava: I’m trying hard not to say what we all know I’m thinking.
CeCe: It’s fine, I’ll say it. What were you up to, Serena? Don’t even try bullshitting us because you lie like shit.
Scrunching my nose, I grow increasingly annoyed at my friends’ good-natured but nosy texts.
Serena: It’s a text message. You can’t detect a lie from a text.
CeCe: Can’t I?
Letting out a sigh, I shake my head before typing out my response.
Serena: Just drop it. I’ll be there on the twenty-fourth. I have tutoring and will be in the library all day tomorrow, so I won’t make brunch. I’m also scheduled for tutoring sessions next Saturday and Sunday, but I’m free both afternoons if you want to move our weekly breakfast to lunch.
Since the beginning of the semester, Ava, CeCe, and I have met weekly for breakfast, typically on the weekends but sometimes during the week, too. This will be the first week where my schedule is too busy to allow me the girl time I’ve missed out on for most of my adolescence and teenage years.
CeCe: Do you want me to drop off a French toast? I feel bad that you’re missing out on brunch.
I can’t help the smile that breaks out on my face at CeCe’s question. Even when Dylan and I were on good terms, he was never thoughtful in a way that communicated he truly cared about me or my well-being. Just like when I had the flashback to stapling the fabric of my car, the memories of our friendship are tinted with an unflattering hue.
Serena: No, thank you, though. I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow. XX
Swiping out of that conversation, I take a look at the last unread messages on my phone: one from a random number and the other from my big, Meg.
With the knowledge that I spoke to Meg yesterday about giving Jack my number, I have a strong feeling that I know the owner of the unknown number. Without delaying, I open the text.
Unknown: Hi, beautiful. It’s Jack. How are you? Meg finally gave me your number. It was great seeing you.
The choppy sentences of his text make me feel like I just read the intrusive thoughts of a dog. Gnawing on the skin of my thumb, I consider the fact that I have one man’s saliva and bite marks covering my body, who couldn’t be less interested in me, while another seems wildly interested despite my reservations.
Serena: Hi, Jack. It was nice seeing you yesterday, too.
I don’t have to wait for his response; it’s almost instant.
Jack: I had no idea you were related to Marina. That must be cool to have a friend turned sister. I have two brothers.
Furrowing my brow, I think back to our encounter yesterday; I’m not sure if Jack is just trying to make conversation or if he’s so obtuse that he didn’t pick up on the obvious dislike Marina and I harbor for each other. I’m pretty sure I was blatant in my distaste.
Serena: We’re not friends.
Jack: Right, right. So, uh, anyway, would you want to go to dinner sometime? I’d love to take you out and get to know you better.
Serena: I’m not sure. I have a lot going on right now.
Jack: Come on, just one dinner, beautiful. Please. I promise if you want me to leave you alone after, I will.
Jack: Just give me a shot, beautiful.
Releasing a breath, I look at the texts, his obvious eagerness, and feel like there’s a rock in the pit of my stomach. For some inexplicable, stupid reason, Wolf’s face flashes in my mind when I think about going to dinner with Jack; in my vision, it’s not Jack’s slender form sitting across from me, it’s Wolf’s hulking one.
That image is like ice water soaking my veins, breaking me from any delusions I may harbor. We had sex, amazing, wild sex, but there’s nothing more to it. Pushing my shoulders back, I expel any thoughts of Wolf from my mind and respond to Jack.
Serena: Okay. I’m free on Thursday.
Jack: Hell yeah :) I’ll pick you up around seven.
I like the message before moving to the last unread message on my phone.
Meg: Hey, Little! I just spoke to Jack, he’s so into you, holy shit. He’s going to text you tonight and ask you out!!!
Yeah, no shit, Meg.
—
I passed out last night after responding to the ungodly amount of messages on my phone. Despite my initial annoyance with Meg, we ended up speaking for a while and confirmed plans for lunch on Tuesday in the Student Center. Though I’m not as close to Meg as I am to CeCe and Ava, I can’t deny that she’s been a good friend to me despite my distance in recent weeks.
This morning, I have a full schedule of tutoring followed by my coursework. At the end of class last week, Dr. Forester assigned us a write-up on morphological awareness, or how prefixes and suffixes can be utilized to alter the meaning or intent of a word. Unlike other assignments I’ve received in my English courses, Dr. Forester assigned us only that phrase and told us to come up with a discussion or argument around it.
I decided to focus on how morphological awareness can help increase literacy rates and vocabulary comprehension. How I’ll craft that argument, I’m not entirely sure, but I know that I’ll need to scour through multiple sources and lexicon to achieve something presentable.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t register the footsteps that follow me to the private rooms until my backpack is tugged, pulling me backward until my body hits the wall. Startled, I look up and meet the eyes of Marina.
“God, you look like you’re homeless already.”
“Shut up, Marina.” Rolling my eyes, I pull myself out of her hold and step back, placing much-needed distance between us. “What are you even doing here; you know it’s a library—where people study, right?” I draw out my words, speaking slowly as though she has difficulty comprehending it.
“Why Daddy even cares about you is anyone’s guess, you freak. I’m warning you, stay away from Jack. He’s not for you.”
I can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles out of me. “Stay away from Jack? Marina, are you listening to yourself right now? He’s not even interested in you, and you have no say on who I do or do not spend time with.”
“He’s not interested in me yet. You already stole Devin away from me; don’t be a homewrecker again.”
Looking to the ceiling and calling on deep-buried patience, I release a long sigh before looking into Marina’s face. “Marina, I mean this with everything in me: leave me the hell alone. I told my dad last night—” I emphasize the possessive pronoun—“I want nothing to do with him, with you, or with your mother. I don’t need his money, my mom doesn’t need it, and I am so damn sick of you, Dylan, and my dad trying to bully me when I am anything other than the good little forgotten daughter. All of you can fuck right off, okay?”
Marina stares at me, clearly stunned over my outburst. In the past, I would take her jibes, internalize my sadness, and then remove myself from the situation. Maybe it’s the influence of CeCe and Ava, or maybe it’s me just acquiring a backbone at nineteen, but I am so done with them and their treatment of me.
“Have a nice day, asshole,” I mutter, lowering my voice now that my tirade is over, and walk past her, pushing into her shoulder so that she gets the hell away from me.
“Yeah, well. Stay away from my big, too.”
Unable to help myself, I turn my head, pausing in my steps. “Who is your big?”
“Bethany.” I can hear the self-satisfied smirk in her voice and internally groan.
“Of course she is.” Shaking my head, I walk away, disgusted and annoyed by Marina, which really isn’t anything new.