Chapter 9 – Kat
NINE
KAT
When I arrive at the Lambda house shortly before sunset, I’ll admit it is one of the weirdest experiences of my life. I’ve been here numerous times—I could probably map the main floor with ease—but it’s always been during a party. Being at a frat house when it isn’t midnight and I’m not half-buzzed is weird. While the faint smell of beer still haunts the air, the energy is different, but not in a bad way.
I step across the threshold, the remnants of the summer heat lingering on my skin. The house’s air conditioning is on full blast, the vents kicking on every few minutes. Despite this, the space is a balmy seventy-nine according to the thermostat on the wall.
Elijah notices my discomfort and places a hand on my lower back, leading me toward the stairs. “We were supposed to have someone come and fix it, but they can’t make it until next week,” he explains with a sympathetic look. “Do you want us to go back to your dorm?”
“No, it’s fine. We can hang out here, I don’t mind the heat.” Despite my attempt at being agreeable, I internally groan at the thought. I hate warm weather, so I’ve always been happy when the weather turns in the fall. However, I can be not difficult for a single night.
The group of guys, usually tense and on edge in search of female attention while cramped in their crowded living room, are now lounging comfortably on the couch and floor. It is oddly comforting to see them in their natural state, laughing and joking with each other without any pretense. A football game is playing on the large flat-screen TV in the corner, but they chat amongst themselves as a replay hits the screen.
Elijah’s hand sears into the small of my back as he nudges me forward, my foot brushing against the first step. “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispers.
I don’t even get the chance to step into the living room and say hello to those gathered around the TV before we disappear to the second floor.
Stepping into Elijah’s space, I brace myself for the typical frat house chaos. Instead, I’m greeted by a surprisingly clean and organized room. The floor is free of empty beer cans and dirty laundry, and every surface has been meticulously dusted. It’s a stark contrast to what I expected from a college junior living in a fraternity house.
“It looks nice.” I smile awkwardly.
“Thanks. I like to be clean.”
As we sit in awkward silence, I scan the room for a potential topic of conversation. The low-pile carpet, showing signs of wear and tear but clean nonetheless, catches my attention. I notice the meticulously made bed with its navy-blue sheets and pillows neatly stacked on top. On the old, rickety desk sits his MacBook Pro, the only sign of life in his otherwise sterile bedroom. I let out a frustrated sigh as I struggle to find something worth talking about.
“What do you want to do?” I ask tentatively.
Met with a shrug from Elijah, my eyes continue to scan the room, but eventually he speaks.
“We could watch a movie?”
His eyes meet mine and suddenly my anxiety of being in his space unprepared is calmed, the warmth in his gaze warming my already sweat-peppered skin. “Okay.”
We both sink into the softness of his bed, the crisp scent of fresh laundry filling my nostrils. The comforter, a fluffy cloud of blue matching his sheets, gently glides over my skin as I make myself comfortable.
He turns on Netflix and, with little discussion, makes a selection. I like that he knows what he wants.
Deafening explosions and adrenaline-fueled car chases fill the screen, but my excitement begins to wane. My gaze constantly flickers toward him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his reaction, but he is completely engrossed in the action-packed movie. The bright lights and loud sound effects seem to pulse through the room, my heart racing with each new scene. I’ve never been a fan of action films, but I am willing to give it a chance for him.
“Have you seen this movie?” I ask in a near-whisper.
“Huh?” He doesn’t tear his eyes from the film.
“Have you seen this movie?!” I yell as the score grows louder, no doubt indicating an impending intense moment.
“Oh, yeah. A few times.” Despite this, he still doesn’t pry his attention away. He must really like this movie.
My hand hovers over his knee, hesitant yet longing to feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his jeans. As I gently make contact, a current of electricity sparks between us. He doesn’t seem to notice at first, but as my hand slowly slides up his thigh, he shifts closer to me, craving more of my touch. His leg twitches in response, a sign of his desire and anticipation. The heat radiating from his body envelops me.
Soon Elijah mirrors my movements, his hand resting lightly on my inner thigh. I can feel the heat of his palm against my bare flesh, the sensation sending shivers down my spine. He traces gentle circles along my leg, teasing the frayed hem of my denim cutoffs. The electricity between us is palpable and I hold my breath, longing for him to lean in closer.
“Elijah.” I mean it to come out as an inquiry, but it’s more reminiscent of a gasp, finally pulling his attention from the action flick.
“Yes?” he asks, the corner of his lips quirking upward as he continues to draw circles along the hem of my shorts. He’s meticulous and intentional in his touch, careful not to let his fingers slip more than an inch under the thick fabric, no doubt with the intention of building my arousal.
Then he abandons his initial hesitation and slowly trails his fingertips upward. His gaze remains fixed on the screen, but I can feel his entire focus directed toward me. The heat emanating from his body is almost suffocating in the thick, humid air of summer. It only heightens the anticipation as his touch sends shivers down my spine.
His finger glides over the lace trim of my panties, sending electric tingles shooting through my body. I can’t help but arch into his touch, desperately craving more. His nostrils flare as he struggles to maintain control, his eyes still fixed on the movie playing in front of us. With each tiny circle he traces along the damp fabric, I feel myself yearning for more intense sensations. But he’s teasing me, giving me just enough to keep me wanting more.
Much to my delight, he pushes past the fabric. He shoves the lace to one side and I quake at the sensation of his fingertips dancing over the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Please, Elijah,” I moan, every bit of my reserve crumbling.
His restraint seems to waver as well, and he presses his thumb against my clit and plunges his middle finger deep inside my core.
I gasp at the sensation, realizing for the first time just how drenched I am.
As if he can hear my thoughts, Elijah mumbles, “Fuck, you’re so wet.”
I feel my face flush at his words, the simple action of him speaking the vulgar thought aloud bringing me to life. He pumps his finger lazily in and out of me, but I can’t resist bucking my hips, chasing the sensation. As quickly as his fingers are there, they are gone, leaving me breathless and empty.
Elijah stretches his arm to the side, grabs his phone and the television remote, and places them on the bedside table. The corners of his mouth twist into a slightly mischievous grin as he shifts closer to me on the bed. He deftly flips me onto my back, causing me to let out a surprised yelp. My breath hitches as he slowly unbuttons my shorts, his fingers lingering.
My shorts and underwear are in a heap on the floor within seconds and Elijah crawls between my legs. His erection strains against the stiff denim of his jeans, but he doesn’t remove them yet. His hot breath ghosts over my damp flesh, the sensation nearly causing me to buckle. I’m aware of every breath, every sensation.
So when he dips his head down and drags his tongue through my folds, I nearly lurch out of my skin.
“Oh my god,” I gasp.
His mouth is hot and wet against me, his tongue moving in quick circles over my sensitive clit. Each flick of his tongue sends a jolt of pleasure through my body, encouraging him to continue.
To my delight, I actually feel that flicker of sensation start to build. I’ve never orgasmed from the touch—or in this case, the tongue—of another person. The mere thought electrifies me.
With every lash of his tongue, I quiver. Elijah appears to be on a full-out mission, my pleasure the only thing driving him forward. It’s a foreign feeling, a partner being so dedicated to making me feel good.
My high school boyfriend never made me come—I’m not even sure he ever tried. When we had sex, we would typically just crawl into the back of his hand-me-down Chevy. There was seldom any foreplay.
But this? This is…magnificent.
The telltale sign of my impending orgasm starts to crawl up my spine, leaving me panting as Elijah sucks my clit between his lips, lapping at it with the tip of his tongue. When he pushes two fingers deep inside me, I detonate like a bomb.
“Fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna?—”
Burning white-hot pleasure floods me, and I don’t feel even remotely in control of my own body. He wields it like a tool from his very own arsenal, like my body was made for the sole purpose of him giving it pleasure .
Elijah’s lips land against my inner thigh, peppering kisses against the tingling skin before he lifts onto his hands and knees, hovering over me, his cock only inches from my entrance.
He kisses me, his lips hovering for a moment before he reaches over to the nightstand. He fumbles through the drawer and pulls out a foil packet, easily tearing it open and sliding the condom on.
Holy shit.
I’ve never had sex right after an orgasm before. I expect it to hurt, but the bite of his thrust only heightens my pleasure, my over-sensitized core instead climbing higher and higher into oblivion.
With each push into me, he grows more frantic, as if the thought of his own release on the horizon brings out a different side of him, an animalistic side.
Wielding that kind of power is invigorating. Knowing that I’m the source of his pleasure leaves a warmth in my chest.
“God. Fuck. Kat—I’m going to…” His thrusts grow faster, more aggressive.
My head nearly hits the headboard, but I don’t mind the shift. I actually think it’s possible that I could come this way too, a new concept that I hadn’t even considered.
Elijah’s grasp on my hips tightens as he pushes into me, this time with far more purpose.
One…two…three. As his last thrust buries him deep, he lets out a groan, his cock twitching inside of me. We stay like this for a moment, panting and gasping, drenched in sweat but without a single care in the world.
And then Elijah pulls himself out of me, leaving me achingly empty .
He looks around the room, scanning it with purpose before his eyes land on the towel hanging on the back of his door.
“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he says before disappearing into the en suite bathroom.
I simply stare at the ceiling, giddy as hell.