54. Sydney
fifty-four
sydney
Dylan didn’t speak to me yesterday. We had the one class together, and she sat on the other side of the room. Which is fine—I kind of expected her to be completely furious with me. It hurt, but not as much as I was expecting.
In a way, I think I prefer that she’s the type of anger that makes her want to avoid me. I don’t know how I’d react to someone yelling in my face.
Today, I’ve got two classes with Brandon. I speak to each professor before class, apologizing for missing an entire week’s worth of work. I even missed the Econ presentation I’d been stressing over, although they let me reschedule my presentation for the end of the lineup.
Crisis averted.
In my writing class, I talk to Professor Page in a low voice just outside the door. I don’t really have any good excuse, but she seems to read between the lines anyway. She pats my shoulder and gives me an out.
The only class that doesn’t is Crime Fiction. I take a zero on the paper that was due last Thursday, although if I somehow manage to hand it in before this Thursday, I can get some points for it and salvage my grade.
Brandon is in both my writing class and crime fiction. But it isn’t until we’re walking out of the last class that he calls my name.
I stop in the hallway and slowly turn around.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
My eyebrows hike. I wait, but he doesn’t continue. “You’re sorry? For what?”
“The mean text without asking if you’re okay.” He gulps. “I was caught up in Dylan’s emotions, you know? She was mad, and I was focused on that instead of worrying about you.”
Right.
“Thanks.” I leave it at that. I don’t know what else to say, other than… fuck off? I shake my head and turn my back on him. I just want to go home. Returning to campus has been exhausting, leaving me with no capacity for anything else. And it’s only Tuesday.
“Sydney, wait—” He grabs my shoulder.
Immediately, he yelps.
I whirl around.
Oliver has his wrist at a funny angle, looming over Brandon. My friend’s expression is pinched, clearly in pain?—
“Oliver.” I grab his arm. “Let go!”
His jaw clenches, but he finally does. One finger at a time, peeling off Brandon’s wrist until he can snatch it back.
“Go,” Oliver snaps at him.
Brandon’s eyes round, but he doesn’t waste any time. He scurries past, giving us both a wide berth.
I glare at Oliver. “What is your problem?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I got carried away.”
“Oh, really?” I force a laugh. “That’s a change.”
He winces.
“What are you doing up here?” This is the English wing, and I’m pretty sure most of the hockey guys avoid the writing-intensive classes on purpose.
“I came to see if I could walk you home.” His expression is sheepish.
“No.”
His eyebrows hike. “No?”
“Yeah.” I shake my head and resume my trek to the exit. “You’re capable of respecting a no, right?”
“Well…”
I pause.
“I’m sorry, Sydney, I’m going to follow you home either way. Just to make sure you’re safe.”
Great.
He’s just doing this because he feels guilty.
The rest of the week follows a surprising monotony comprised solely of Oliver Ruiz. He seems to have taken over protection detail—minus sneaking in through my window and curling up beside me. Carter and Penn seem to have divided that responsibility up between them.
Which is what it’s beginning to feel like: responsibility.
Carter confiscated the knife he gave me. I saw him pocket it one night, and my stomach twisted. He told me it would just be until I’m through this self-harm phase.
It’s not like I can tell them I’m over it—they have no qualms with stripping me and checking.
Saturday morning, I wake up to Penn and Carter in my room. I hadn’t heard either come in, which should be alarming. But I just inch closer to Carter, burying my face in his chest. Penn is on the foot of the bed, curled up more like a cat than boy.
“Couldn’t decide?” I ask when Carter’s fingers slide into my hair.
He laughs. It rumbles his chest, vibrating into my face. I like that I can feel his laugh as well as hear it.
“It was Penn’s turn,” he admits. “But I just wanted to wake up with you when we don’t have anywhere to be.”
“You do have somewhere to be.” Penn uncurls and stretches. He crawls up over me, ignoring Carter entirely and dropping his weight onto me. He buries his face in my neck. “Mmm, you smell good. He’s got a bus to catch, princess. But I’ll be here until our game tonight.”
“I have a presentation to finish at the library,” I mumble.
Plus another mission: tracking down Dylan and Brandon and actually shoving my apology down both of their throats. The volleyball team is playing tonight, anyway, and I’m absolutely going to be there.
One of their hands—can’t tell whose—slips between my body and Penn’s. The fingers inch into my panties.
Penn grunts, making me think it’s Carter’s wandering hand. The long finger slides through my wetness. Penn rolls off me, his gaze dropping to where Carter’s hand is between my legs. I was right, at least.
My legs fall open. He strokes me slowly, lazily. Dipping inside and then dragging my arousal up to my clit, which he rubs in tantalizingly soft circles.
We haven’t talked about choosing in a while. I haven’t voiced that I don’t want to pick between them. They seem to be letting it go for now.
My alarm goes off.
Carter groans. On the outside of the bed, and therefore closest to my alarm, he rolls away to shut it off.
Quick as a whip, Penn yanks down my shorts and panties.
I let out a squeak, but Penn’s already got his face buried between my legs.
Carter flips back over and lets out a hiss. “Not gonna lie,” he says, his voice strangled. “That’s hot.”
Penn smirks and lowers down. My eyes flutter shut when he makes contact with my lips, his tongue perusing. He thrusts inside me, then drags back up to my clit. A similar pattern Carter’s fingers followed. He sucks and nibbles until my hips jerk against him.
Carter pushes up my shirt and palms my breast. His lips close over the other nipple, and I gasp. He pinches the one, nips at the other, alternating attention and stimulation until I’m trembling. Penn seems to be of similar mind. He slides one finger inside me, curling and touching along my G-spot, then a second.
His lips never leave my clit.
“I’m going to?—”
“Good.” Carter kisses up my breast, over my collarbone, to my throat. He nips my skin, then soothes it with his tongue. Finally, his lips drift over my jaw and claim my lips.
Penn sucks harder, his tongue flicking against my clit, until my orgasm crests.
I gasp into Carter’s mouth.
As soon as Penn moves away, Carter shifts. He edged his boxers down at some point, but now he thrusts into me with ease. My orgasm made sure of that. But after a minute of continuing to kiss me, he lifts. Then sits back on his heels.
He gathers my legs and hooks them on his shoulders, sliding back into me at a new angle. Deeper.
“Princess.”
I turn and focus on Penn. He’s standing by the bed, his cock pointing at me.
I open my mouth.
He slides across my tongue, going to the back of my mouth. He bumps deeper, and my gag reflex closes my throat around him. He grunts, gripping my headboard. His hips move, pushing him farther. I wrap my fingers around the base of him with one hand, my other going to his balls.
Carter’s hands are everywhere else. Trailing across my torso, up to my breasts, then back down to between my legs.
“You going to come with his cock in your mouth, dream girl?” Carter asks.
I shiver and continue what I’m doing—stroking and sucking, cupping Penn’s balls and trying to take him deeper. Even when I can’t breathe, when he fills my throat and cuts off my air?—
“She likes that,” Carter tells him. “She clenches, ooh , fuck. Yeah, just like that.”
My eyes roll back. I’m losing control, but it seems like it doesn’t really matter anyway. Penn grasps my hair and holds my head still. He takes over, his hips driving his cock into my mouth. I keep open wide for him, while Carter stays even with the same tempo. Every stroke into me is hard and deep, but so fucking slow. The withdrawal leaves me trembling and gasping.
Empty.
Then it repeats.
They drive me higher and higher.
Carter breaks first. He stills and groans. The pressure on my clit increasing as he focuses all his attention on me. When I tip over a few seconds later, my cry is muffled by Penn’s dick. The sounds seem to only work him up, and it triggers him like a domino effect.
I swallow what I can, but he pulls out and spills across my chin and throat, too.
“Fuck,” Carter groans. He’s still inside me, semi-hard, and he pumps a few more times. “I have no interest in touching dick, but…”
“Hot,” Penn agrees. “Not that I like to watch her get fucked by someone else either.”
They both pause.
I wipe at my mouth, my eyes closing again.
“It’s time to get up.” Carter kisses my cheek. His hand grips the back of my neck, his other across my back, and he forces me to sit up. “Shower with me.”
“Or we could go back to sleep,” I suggest.
He chuckles. “Penn’s going to make coffee. Come on.”
I sigh, but I let him help me out of bed and steer me into the bathroom. His cum seeps out of my pussy, smearing across my thighs. I run my fingers down my throat and collect Penn’s. Most of it wound up in my mouth.
“Don’t tell.” Carter pushes me against the door and kisses me soundly. His tongue infiltrates my mouth, tasting all of me thoroughly. But then he moves lower, kissing my throat. Tasting?—
I whimper. I cup the back of his neck as he licks and tastes more than just me .
When he hoists me up, I’m not even surprised that he’s hard again. He thrusts back inside me. His motions are quick and frantic, a sudden, unexpected high he’s forced to chase.
I just hold him. The back of his neck and his shoulder, my grip tight enough to be steady but not leave marks. My shoulders make a steady thump on the door. He comes with a gasp, his body shaking with the force of it.
Slowly, he withdraws and drops my feet back to the floor.
He clears his throat.
I smile at him. “It’s okay.”
It takes a minute for his gaze to come back to mine.
Suddenly, a fist hits the other side of the door. “You’re supposed to be showering, not fucking and locking me out.”
I smother my laugh.
Carter rolls his eyes. “Too late.”
Penn grumbles.
I turn on the shower. We brush our teeth while we wait for the water to heat. When we’re done, his gaze travels my body.
“No more incidents?”
I shake my head. My cheeks heat. “You guys haven’t left me alone?—”
“Don’t give me that,” he interrupts. “If you wanted to, you’d find time alone.”
I spin in a slow circle. The cuts on my ankle are still ugly, but they’re scabbing over. By some miracle, I’ve resisted picking at them. The ones under my watch—which sits on the counter—have progressed even farther.
“This week has been… better.”
He waits.
“Hard to get out of bed sometimes,” I admit. “And when I’m at school, all I want is to be back in bed. Peopling is hard. Doing my schoolwork is tiring. Remembering to do everything I have to—eat, go to bed on time, brush my teeth, wash my hair, laundry—is exhausting.”
His gaze softens. “But you’re still doing it.”
“Mainly because of you guys.”
I shed my shirt, my only remaining article of clothing, and drop it on the floor. The water is steaming, which I appreciate. I step into the water and wait for Carter to join me.
“You give us too much credit,” he finally says. “You’re stronger than you think.”