Chapter 2 #2
Instead, it’s only my own breath, shivering out in tiny clouds as I cross the quad.
There’s an almost unreal hush. The library’s windows are black, save for the occasional shimmer of a janitor’s headlamp, and the only motion comes from a trio of rabbits performing some kind of nocturnal heist by the bike racks.
I walk with no destination, my mind replaying everything: the slap of Simone’s ass, the way Professor Thomas called her “Daddy’s little fuckslut,” the unhinged beauty of it. I try to shake the images, but they stick, raw and sweet, honey on my tongue.
I think of the virginity contest, the thousand dollar pot, Kayleigh’s wolfish grin as she goads us all on.
It suddenly feels so middle school, so bloodless.
None of us could have survived five minutes with someone like Liam Thomas.
My guess is that he puts Jake Namors to shame because the boy’s all smooth surface and practiced cocky smile, but would probably faint if confronted by real, animal need.
The thought makes me giggle, then shiver; the cold night crawls under my hoodie, skitters down my spine.
Somewhere, a sprinkler kicks on, hissing.
I move toward the south end of campus, past the looming brick mass of the science building, where the air smells faintly of cut grass and the weird chemical tang of melting plastic.
Every light is a punch of yellow, every shadow a black hole.
I pass under the clock tower, the big hands stuck at 2:38. My phone buzzes again, a new text from Stella: “u alive? or just passed out in the stacks?” I thumb out a quick “still breathing” and pocket the phone, not ready to speak to anyone. Not yet.
At the edge of the quad, the path narrows, curling past the shuttered windows of the Faculty Club.
The building is a looming, Tudor-style beast, all pointed eaves and stained glass, and by night it’s the darkest place on campus.
The motion lights are dead, or maybe someone killed them on purpose, because the whole place glows only with blue moonlight.
I slow down here, footfalls soft in the gravel.
The air is heavy with the smell of blooming lilacs, so sweet it nearly masks the reek of stale cigarettes.
There’s a single light on in the Faculty Club’s upper window—a lone lamp burning in what must be an office or study.
Below, at ground level, the shadows seem to fold inward, denser than anywhere else.
The dorm is far behind me now, and the tension in my muscles begins to fade, replaced by a prickling curiosity. My body, still thrumming with leftover adrenaline, drags me forward.
Tonight, the world feels thin, like I could step through the shadows and into something entirely different, and maybe never return.
The path outside the Faculty Club is a stripe of ghostly gravel, moonlit and sharp, a little seam stitched between worlds.
My breath hitches as I step into the deep shadow where porch lights refuse to follow, the only illumination the silver run-off from the windows above.
The world is so still, so utterly arrested, that I can hear the ruffle of every leaf, the distant chime of a city bus, the tick of my own heart.
That’s why the collision is so shocking.
He’s just there, out of nowhere—a tall, solid mass in a suit that’s so perfectly fitted it might as well be painted on. My face smashes into his chest at full speed, and for a split second I’m sure my nose will break.
“Oof!” I grunt, swaying on my feet. But his hands are on my shoulders before I can stagger back, steadying me with exactly the right amount of force. Not too gentle, not too rough.
I look up, and for a moment all I can see is teeth. White, even, and grinning, not with humor but with something darker and hungrier. Then I see the eyes: blue, and not just blue, but the fierce, uncanny blue of heated fire. In the moonlight, they cut straight through me.
“Easy,” he says, and his voice is smoother than whiskey, with a rough edge that scrapes the underside of my soul.
I try to stammer out an apology, but my tongue has liquefied.
There’s a smell—something expensive and woody, with an undertone of sex that isn’t cologne but skin.
The man is older, but in a way that amplifies rather than dulls his power.
If anything, he looks more dangerous than Liam Thomas, more likely to set off alarms and not care if he does.
We’re frozen together for a single, ragged breath. His hands tighten on my shoulders, and for a moment I’m sure he’s going to scold me or tell me to get lost, like every other authority figure in my life.
“Um,” I stutter like a hopeless dork. “Hi.”
But the man isn’t turned off by my stammering. Instead, he pulls me in. Not gently, not asking permission, just the full, animal certainty that I will follow.
He guides me deeper into the alcove, out of sight of any windows or security cameras, and plants my back against the brick wall.
There’s nothing said, not a word, but I can feel everything he means: want, need, and something more feral.
His hand cups the back of my neck and pins me there, just hard enough to remind me that I am—right now—helpless and soft and entirely his.
It should scare me. It doesn’t. Instead, I feel my body switch tracks, the same way it did outside my dorm door an hour ago. There’s a pulse between my legs, a low, steady ache that makes my knees threaten to fold.
His other hand slides down my arm, ghosting over my waist, pausing at the hem of my hoodie.
“You’re cold,” he murmurs, and when he tugs the zipper down, it’s almost caring.
But then his fingers find my bare stomach, and the carefulness is gone.
He’s mapping me, cataloguing the way I twitch at every touch.
I reach up, almost by reflex, but he catches my wrist and pins it to the brick beside my head. “Keep that there,” he says, and for some reason I do. “Don’t speak, sweetheart. Just savor the moment.”
He’s close enough that I can see the dark stubble along his jaw, the smudge of a healed scar under his ear. His breath is warm and humid, and I realize I am breathing only in tiny sips, as if too much air might snap the spell.
His mouth is on mine before I see it coming. He kisses me like he wants to eat something out of my soul, not just lips but teeth, tongue, all of it. I can’t keep up; my mind empties out, pure sensation flooding in to take its place.
“Mmmm,” I murmur, sweet heat filling the space between my thighs. “Oh.”
The man chuckles deep in his chest.
“Yeah, you want it, don’t you?”
He breaks the kiss, and in the space of a single heartbeat, his hands are everywhere.
He pops the button on my jeans, slides his palm down the front, and I gasp at how quickly he finds me—wet, so wet I can’t believe it’s real.
He circles my clit with his thumb, slow and perfect, and I make a noise I’ve never made before in my life, a little strangled animal yelp.
“Good girl,” he whispers, and that does something to me, something weird and hot and deeply embarrassing. I want him to say it again, and again.
He pulls his hand out and licks his fingers, eyes locked on mine the whole time. “Delicious,” he says, voice low and amused. “You’re fucking drenched, baby. Slick and horny, just like a naughty little girl.”
I want to ask his name. I want to say something witty, or smart, or at least not totally humiliating, but my tongue is deadweight.
He doesn’t seem to mind. He turns me around, faces me to the wall, and leans in so his whole body is flush against my back, chest to ass, cock already hard and thick behind his zipper.
He slides both hands up under my T-shirt, palms flat against my ribs, and then—oh, god—his thumbs catch the undersides of my bra and hoist it up, baring my tits to the night air.
I shiver, both from cold and the raw shock of exposure, but then he pinches my nipples, hard, and all the cold disappears into a wash of pure fire.
Hot jolts of sensation go straight from my tips to my cunt, and I sag into his hands.
“Ooooh,” I moan breathlessly. “Mmm.”
He chuckles and props me there, a toy or a puppet, totally at his mercy.
“That’s my horny little bitch. You’re in heat, aren’t you?”
OMG, did he just call me a bitch in heat?
But I can’t process because he bends me forward, palms pressed to the brick, and with one hand yanks my jeans down to mid-thigh.
My panties go with them, leaving my ass bare and gleaming in the cold.
His fingers return, stroking between my legs, finding every wet place.
He teases my clit with one hand, the other grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling my head back so I have no choice but to arch for him.
“You ever been fucked outside?” he asks, voice a little slurred from want.
I shake my head, unable to speak.
“You ever been fucked in the ass?” he asks, and this time his tone is playful, mocking.
That jolts me fully awake. I whip my head around to stare at him, my mouth an O. “Are you serious?”
He grins, white teeth sharp in the dark. “You’ll like it,” he promises. “I know you’re a butt slut. I can always tell when it comes to certain girls.”
He spits in his palm again, then presses a slick thumb against my asshole. The pressure is weird, not quite pain, not quite pleasure, just—new. I jerk forward, but he’s got me pinned. He circles the rim, presses harder, and the shock of the invasion makes me gasp out loud.
“Oh!” I cry, my pussy gushing. “Oh oh oh!”
“That’s it,” he rasps, and slides his thumb inside my anus.
Not all the way, just the tip, but my pussy clenches in response.
I can feel how wet I am, how hungry my body is for more.
He works his thumb in and out, slowly, then adds a second finger, stretching me, prepping me.
The feeling is so strange I can hardly breathe; it’s like being hollowed out, made for something bigger.
He leans into my ear. “You’re my buttslut now, princess. You love Daddy’s fingers in your ass. Admit it. You’re my little anal whore.”
OMG, his words are so foul! But I can’t compute because my legs almost give out. Every muscle in my body contracts, shivering with a need I don’t understand.
He works me open, soft and patient, until I stop fighting and start pushing back with my ass, desperate to be filled. He lets go of my hair, uses both hands to spread my cheeks, and I feel the thick head of his cock line up against my back entrance.
“Oh my god, oh my god—unnnh!” I cry out helplessly as the huge monster penetrates my asshole.
He merely grunts and pushes forward, slow and relentless, the pressure mounting until it bursts into a sharp, sweet burn. I yowl, bite my own wrist to keep from screaming, but he shushes me.
“You love being fucked in the ass. That’s my good girl.”
He feeds his cock into me, inch by inch, until I feel stretched so wide I think I’ll split open. But then the pain fades, replaced by a deep, astonishing fullness. He lets me sit on his cock for a moment, adjusting to the size, then starts to move—tiny thrusts, gentle, letting me catch up.
I press my hands against the brick, desperate for something to anchor me, as he slowly drills my ass with long, smooth strokes.
Every time he pulls back, I feel my rectum suction to him, clinging.
He’s careful at first, then faster, rougher, pounding into me with the same savagery I watched through the crack in my dorm room door.
I’m moaning, gasping, lost. The dirty words pour out of him, fueling my fire:
“You’re Daddy’s anal whore, aren’t you?”
“You love getting your ass wrecked by a real man.”
“Such a filthy, hungry little bitch.”
Each one cracks me open, makes me needier, greedier. I want him to break me, want to be ruined in the dark by this stranger whose name I’ll never know.
At the very edge, he reaches around to finger my pussy, and the combination is electric—every nerve ending fusing into one white-hot supernova. I come so hard I see sparks, my body clenching on both his cock and his fingers, shuddering so violently I’m scared I’ll pass out.
“Ahhhh!” I scream. “Mmmmm!”
He’s at the peak too. The stranger groans, digs his teeth into my shoulder, and empties himself inside me with a series of savage, primal thrusts. “Fuck,” he bites out. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
I can feel the heat of his climax, the hot pulses of sticky jism in my ass, the pulse of his come shoot as he spurts again and again into my rectum.
“Fuck!” he bites out again. I moan headily, milking his thick cock with my anal walls, loving the deep penetration and the knowledge that I’ve pleased this man.
It doesn’t make sense because I don’t even know him, and yet a warm rush of pleasure shoots through my veins as I moan headily, my pussy vibrating.
We stay like that for a moment, panting together in the blue-black dark.
He pulls out, and I feel a hot, slick drip from my asshole and down my thighs.
I reach for my jeans, dazed, and fumble my phone out of the pocket.
Maybe it’s muscle memory, maybe it’s a fever dream, but I manage to snap a quick photo of his cock right as he pulls out.
It’s dark and the snap’s probably going to be blurry, but so be it.
Thankfully, the man has no idea what I just did.
He straightens his suit, buttons his fly, and tips my chin up with a single finger.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page then. We’re two trains passing in the night, never to meet again.
See you around, princess,” he rumbles, then vanishes into the dark like he was never there.
I stand there for a full minute, heart pounding, hands trembling, my insides redrawn around the memory of his size.
I don’t know his name. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.
But I do know this: his cock was huge and I just won a thousand dollars.
I zip up, wipe my mouth, and walk back toward the dorm with my ass aching, still gaping from the deep penetration. Yet the night tastes new, dangerous, and full of possibility.
Maybe I’ll tell the girls tomorrow.
But for now, I’ll keep it for myself, a secret as dark and sweet as caramel.