Kasien （Age 19）
Kasien
The sky is turning dark outside the window as we sit in a small university study room during our private economics class. I glance at my watch and see it’s barely after four, exhaling lazily.
The room smells of wood and old books. It’s relaxing. My eyelids feel heavy since this is our fifth class of the day and my back hurts from sitting too long, but I keep staring at the board anyway.
Professor Hale—gray hair, tweed jacket, zero patience for stupidity—draws another graph with sharp, irritated movements.
The professor’s old rusty voice is so calming that Adrien looks like he’s going to pass out any second now.
He’s slouched deep in his seat, legs spread, his whole body melted into the chair like he’s physically allergic to paying attention.
He drops his head on my shoulder and mumbles something.
“Speaking of economics, did you send another stash into offshore accounts?” he asks quietly, his curls brushing my neck.
“Yeah, there’s already enough for everything we need,” I assure him, whispering.
“Good,” he whispers back and scribbles something on paper in front of him.
We sit in the back and silently pray not to draw attention to ourselves before the professor decides otherwise.
The marker squeaks. Adrien groans next to me. I suppress the urge to kick his shin.
“Gentlemen,” Hale says, tapping the board so hard the whole frame rattles, drawing a clean X-shaped intersection between MC and MB curves.
“You have marginal cost on one axis,” he says, tapping the line with the marker, “and marginal benefit on the other. Socially optimal quantity of any good occurs where these two curves meet.”
I rest my elbows on the wooden desk and rub the bridge of my nose. My hand smells like gun oil from the training earlier.
“Now,” Hale says, turning toward us, “why is the equilibrium quantity higher than the socially optimal level in the presence of negative externalities?” He looks at Adrien first as he lifts his head up from my shoulder and his soul visibly leaves his body.
My brain kicks back into gear even though it’s drowning in exhaustion.
“Because the private marginal cost is lower than the social marginal cost,” I say quietly.
Adrien adds to my response, “producers ignore the external damage. Pollution, crime, health costs, the market overproduces because it doesn’t pay the real price.”
Hale points the marker at us like he’s awarding a medal. “Correct. Painfully correct, actually.”
Adrien turns his head toward me, whispering to me. “Look at us—brains and beauty? Now just pray the dick ratio matches, so we don’t ruin our whole statistic.”
I choke on a laugh before I can stop myself, the sound punching out of me loud enough that Hale actually stops writing for a second and turns around, giving us an annoyed look.
?
I get out of the elevator and take out the stash of hundreds, slamming it onto the little table before the hostess even opens her mouth, so I don’t have to hear that disgusting surname again.
I drape the hoodie over my head and step inside the restaurant, but it’s already almost empty.
It’s before midnight and they’re closing soon.
Kiara started taking some closing shifts at the hotel, since it’s too cold for catering events and she needs more work, which means she’s staying here all alone after closing hours. Which means I’m helping her clean up.
I also dream about fucking her over that bar there. But she would probably kill me, so I squeeze that idea out of my head before she sees that look on my face.
She notices me as she cleans the table after the last guests that are just leaving the restaurant area, leaving us alone. The hostess has just grabbed her bag and left as well.
Kiara gives me a quick smile as she approaches me.
“You’re early again.” She gives me that melting smile.
“I like to help.”
“Actually, instead of helping, you just make me nervous and slow me down every time,” she says, trying to sound irritated but I know she isn’t.
My little sneaky fox.
“Okay, I swear I’ll be better tonight.” I smirk at her as I circle the bar and start filling the dishwasher with glasses.
“Can you use that pretty ass of yours and bring a few wine boxes from the back?” she commands me.
I might actually turn that dream of mine into reality with her being so bossy out of nowhere. I try to hide the smug smile before heading back into the wine cellar, picking up three boxes of wine bottles and heading back to line them up in the refrigerator, preparing them for the next day.
Kiara shuts the lights off in the kitchen and walks around me behind the bar to turn off the coffee machine. I finish putting away the wine bottles and shut the refrigerator door as she’s waiting for me at the end of the bar.
When I get up, I rest my hand on the underside of the bar, looking at her.
How is it possible that she’s even hotter every time I see her? This faintly exhausted after-shift look on her might be my favorite.
Maybe because she looks slightly ruined and I’m about to make it worse.
We just stand there, looking at each other, waiting for the other to say we can head out. She takes off her ponytail, and her long, wavy hair scatters around her shoulders, wild and messy, framing her beautiful, angelic face.
I’m so fucking in love with her it’s not even healthy.
“Come here,” I say quietly, not moving, only gesturing with my eyes toward the back of the bar where my hand rests.
She approaches slowly, a smile tugging at her lips. When she reaches me, she’s so close she has to tilt her head to look up, her breath brushing against my face as mine turns shallow.
My hands slide beneath her knees, lifting her effortlessly onto the lower surface so she’s level with me. I ease her legs apart just enough to step between them, planting my hands beside her thighs as I lean in, letting my lips find her neck.
A shaky breath escapes her instantly, laced with pleasure, and she tilts her head, silently offering me more of her skin.
“Whatever you’re doing—stop. There are cameras,” she says, trying to stop me, but her voice is already cracking, giving away how much she wants me.
“I’ll hack them later,” I mumble against the skin on her collarbone.
“I had an eight-hour shift, Kasien. I need a shower,” she exhales a silent laugh.
“No, you taste fucking amazing. Let me eat you right here.” I grab her ass to press her more into me and sink my face in her chest, inhaling her, licking her skin.
I missed her so fucking much.
I’ve seen her almost every day for the last four months and the addiction is getting even worse.
“Absolutely not.”
“Wasn’t a question,” I mutter while slipping her top off quickly before she tries to protest.
I press her down onto the bar, laying her on the cold surface there and appreciating that beautiful view of her lying in front of me, legs hanging around my waist, her beautiful body wrapped in a white lacy bra. I love how white contrasts with her olive skin.
I run my fingers down her belly, and she has that teasing, almost sinful glint in her eyes, like a little mischievous fox.
I lower my lips to her belly, biting the sensitive skin under her navel while working on her belt.
I curl my fingers behind the hem of the jeans and slide them off completely, together with her sneakers, leaving her in the lacy thongs on the cold marble surface.
I take in the view again—my little golden goddess.
“You keep looking at me like that and I’ll lose every ounce of discipline I have.”
She giggles, and Jesus fucking Christ, that sound ranks somewhere at the very top of my favorites.
I lower myself between her legs, sliding the lace aside, already feeling how wet she is as her eyes fall shut and her back arches instinctively.
I haven’t touched her yet and she’s already squirming. She’s so fucking incredible.
“You’re always so wet for me,” I murmur, just before my mouth finds her pussy, taking my time, tasting, teasing, dragging my tongue slowly before pressing into her entrance, then moving up again, deliberate, unhurried, until she’s already losing control.
She tastes so fucking good, I can’t get enough of this.
When her hand dives into my hair, I fill her up with two fingers, her body tensing in my hold as she lets out those nice soft squeals.
She reacts to everything, every movement, every shift, and I swear I could stay right here forever.
I keep her there, exactly where I want her, bite her a little bit down there so she makes that tiny scream I love before finishing her entirely, pushing her higher, drawing everything out until her body tightens, her legs trembling around me, her pussy gripping desperately, like she’s not ready to let go.
As soon as her body goes limp and her addictive moans stop leaving her mouth, I pick her up and turn her around, bending her over that cold surface, gripping her hips and lifting them higher so her feet are dangling in the air above the ground.
I open my jeans and take out my cock, painfully hard and desperate.
She slams her palms on the surface beside her body for balance as I slide the material to the side and position my tip right at her entrance, not pushing in yet.
I run my fingers through her hair, gathering most of it into my hand and wrapping it twice around my fist so I can hold her in place, lacing my other hand with hers against the surface before sliding into her all the way to the hilt, without hesitation.
“Fuck!” She always screams so nicely from the shock.
I will never get used to this—this moment, that first thrust inside. She’s never ready for it, never ready for what follows, and she loves it. I let my head fall against her back, breathing out the overwhelming rush that always hits me all at once, so intense it nearly makes me finish right there.
She’s so tight. So soaked.