Chapter 21
Ingrid
The walk across campus feels endless, every shadowed corner another temptation.
Jefferson can’t keep his hands off me, and I don’t want him to.
Every time we pause, his palm slides under my shirt, fingers teasing skin, or he presses his hard, insistent cock into my stomach until I’m gasping, desperate.
By the time we cut across the quad, I’m clinging to him, dizzy from lust.
“What would you do in a normal situation like this?” I ask, trying to catch my breath as we start up a path toward the center of campus. “With a girl who isn’t famous. With no gossip sites waiting to post photos of us in a compromising situation.”
He slows, thinking on it. Like this man is seriously thinking about it. Then he looks at me with that crooked grin that makes me melt. “Follow me.”
We veer off diagonally down a short hill. At the bottom stands a modern-looking building, all glass and steel.
“Welcome to Wittmore’s student center,” he says, pushing open the door like he owns the place.
Inside, the building is quiet, humming with the faint buzz of vending machines and overhead lights.
“It’s open twenty-four hours.” He points to the shuttered food court.
“That’s where everyone goes between classes.
The coffee shop,” he gestures toward a separate little alcove, “where Reese shoved his tongue down Twyler’s throat for the first time. ”
I laugh, imagining always-in-control Reese in a scene like that.
“There’s a movie theater, the store where you can get books and sweatshirts and keychains…” Jefferson takes my hand and leads me down a long flight of stairs, then a hallway lined with locked doors. He stops in front of one, glances back at me.
“What’s this?”
“Room 110.”
“What’s room 110?”
He punches in an access code on a keypad. The lock clicks, and he pushes the door open.
“The athletic tutoring and study room,” he says. Then his grin goes wicked. “But the more popular use is for a quickie.”
I blink at him. “On campus?”
“Yep.” He pulls me inside and shuts the door with a solid click. “During the day, night, whenever the urge strikes.” He steps closer, his voice dropping. “Obviously.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s college, Angel. Especially when you’re one of the chosen ones.” He winks. “A D1, varsity athlete.”
Before I can roll my eyes at him, his mouth is on mine, hot and urgent, licking my lips open for access. His hands frame my face, then trail down, tugging at my shirt, already greedy for skin.
“Jefferson–” I try to breathe, but he swallows my words, kissing me deeper, hungrier.
In the next moment, he lifts me, setting me down on the desk at the center of the room. The surface creaks under the sudden weight. His body slots between my thighs, his cock hard against me, and I whimper at the pressure.
“I can’t keep my hands off of you, Ingrid,” he groans, dragging his mouth down my neck, teeth scraping at the soft skin. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”
His hands are everywhere, squeezing my tits through my shirt, kneading my thigh, slipping higher, higher. He pulls my top up, baring me, and yanks my bra down until my nipples are pebbled in the cool air. His head dips, tongue flicking, lips closing over me.
The moan that escapes me is shameless. My fingers twist in his hair, holding him there as he sucks and bites, lavishing attention on each breast until my back arches off the desk.
“You taste better than I dreamed,” he mutters, glancing up, mouth wet, eyes wild.
“You’ve dreamed about this?” My voice trembles.
“Every damn night since we met.” He smirks, then lowers his mouth again, trailing kisses down my stomach until I can barely think straight.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenges, voice rough.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
That’s all he needs. My jeans are around my ankles before I realize he’s undone them, panties following in one swift tug. The cold air hits me for half a second before his warm mouth replaces it, lips sealing over me, tongue lashing my clit.
I cry out, gripping the desk edge until my knuckles ache.
He groans against me, like he’s the one unraveling, and the vibrations send a shiver up my spine. His fingers join his mouth, sliding inside, curling just right. I buck against him, shameless, the wet sounds of his tongue and the rasp of his breath filling the room.
“I love your pussy, you know that?” He spreads my folds, then flicks his tongue inside.
“I’m getting the idea,” I breathe, close to falling apart.
One more hot kiss, and I’m gone, spiraling apart on the desk of room 110, with Jefferson Parks between my thighs, giving me the kind of memory I know will burn in my veins forever.
I’m still trembling when he pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, pupils blown wide. He looks wrecked, and I love it.
But I don’t want to just be another girl in Room 110. I want to be the one he remembers–the one who gives him something he’s never had before.
“Jefferson…” My voice is still ragged from the orgasm, but I press my palms to his chest, stopping him before he can lean in to kiss me.
“What?” His brows knit like he’s worried I’ll bolt.
“I don’t want this to be just another hookup spot for you. Another story you can tell.” His mouth opens, but I shake my head, cutting him off. “I want it to be ours. Something different. Something you haven’t done with anyone else.”
He searches my face, and I can see it, he gets it. That need in me to stake a claim. To matter. Then I smile, sliding my hand down his chest, over his stomach, stopping just at the waistband of his jeans. “You told me once what you wanted to do with me.”
He freezes. “What did I say? Because there’s a never-ending list of things I want to do with you.”
I lean closer, whispering against his ear. “That you wanted to fuck my tits.”
The sound he makes is half-growl, half-groan, his cock straining hard against the denim. His hands grip my hips, like he’s holding himself back.
“Angel…” He says it like a prayer, like I’ve undone him.
I push off the desk and pull my panties back on before perching on one of the hard desk chairs, face level with his waist. He stands before me and tugs his jeans down until his cock springs free, thick and heavy, flushed with need. My mouth waters just looking at him.
He’s already panting, running a hand through his hair, the other running down my neck. “You don’t have to–”
“I want to,” I cut in. My fingers curl around him, stroking him once, watching his head tip back. Then I squeeze my breasts together with my hands, thumbs running over my nipples.
“Fuck, Ingrid.” His voice is guttural, his hips jerking on instinct. His hands take over, lifting my tits in his big, wide palms. I’ve never been a small girl. Always tall for my age, developed early. The way this man touches me makes me forget every insecurity I ever had.
I duck my head and take his cock in my mouth, getting him slippery and wet, before releasing him. The weight of him, hot and slick, sliding over my skin makes me throb all over again. I glance up at him through my lashes. “Like this?”
He looks down, eyes dark and hungry, watching himself disappear and reappear between the swell of my breasts. “Exactly like that,” he grits out between thrusts.
I start to move, rocking my body in rhythm, squeezing tighter to give him more friction. He fists my hair, guiding me, his cock dragging over my skin, the tip smearing precum across my chest.
“Angel, baby, fuck,” he groans.
I flick my tongue out, catching him every time he thrusts forward, giving little sucks that make him shudder. The sound of his breath, the low curses spilling from his lips, it’s everything.
This isn’t just sex. It’s bigger, it’s the way we meet each other’s needs. I’ve never had this with anyone before.
I press my tits tighter, working him harder, faster, until he’s trembling, hips jerking with no control. His hands pinch, and it hurts in a good way, my nipples raw from the stroke of his thumbs.
“Fuck–” His voice cracks as he looks down at me, desperation in every line of his body. “I’m not gonna last.”
“Good,” I whisper, flicking my tongue over his head again. “I don’t want you to.”
With a broken groan, he comes, spilling hot and messy over my chest and throat, his whole body shaking as he holds my head to him.
I keep him tight between me until he finally collapses back against the desk, spent and gasping. I look up at him, wiped out and undone. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“I’m the last girl you bring in here, understand”
He leans down and holds my eye, saying, “Deal,” and then seals it with one last, blistering kiss.
The next morning, Jefferson insists on making the first stop of the day the campus coffee shop. He orders for both of us without even asking, rattling it off like he’s done it a hundred times.
When the wide-eyed barista, who definitely recognizes me, hands me a caramel oat milk latte, I raise a brow. “You pay attention.”
“I’m observant,” he replies, smug as hell. “I overheard the rant about whole milk with Madison when I stayed over in Atlanta. I wasn’t risking it.”
He looks so annoyingly pleased with himself that I stick my tongue out at him. Which, of course, just makes him lean down and kiss me quickly, right there in line. Too fast for anyone to grab a photo, thank God, but enough that I’m buzzing by the time we leave.
“Madison texted this morning. She said she and the girls are going for brunch.”
She texted other stuff too, like a million questions about my night and how things were with Jefferson. How photos had popped up online, but we looked happy, and the overall reaction was good. “Overall reaction” is code for, my fans are excited for me. My haters? Well, they hate everything.
I told her to stop scrolling and take a break.