Whore. Slut. Typhoid Mary.
I’ve been called all these at Central College. One drunken night, one act of irresponsible behavior, and my reputation was ruined. Guys labeled me as easy and girls shied away. To cope, I stayed away from Central social life and away from Central men, so why is it that my new biology lab partner is so irresistible to me?
He’s everything I shouldn’t want. A former Marine involved in illegal fighting with a quick trigger temper and an easy smile for all the women. His fists aren’t the danger to me, though, it’s his charm. He’s sliding his way into my heart and I’m afraid that he’s going to be the one to break me.
Impulsive. Unthinking. Hot tempered.
I allow instinct to rule my behavior. If it feels good, do it, has been my motto because if I spend too much time thinking, I’ll begin to remember exactly where I came from. At Central College, I’ve got fighting and I’ve got women and I thought I was satisfied until I met her.
She’s everything I didn’t realize I wanted and the more time I spend with her, the more I want her. But she’s been hurt too much in the past and I don’t want to be the one to break her. I know I should walk away, but I just can’t.
Once inside my bedroom, his lips were on mine before I could open my mouth. Every kiss before had been a gentle stroke of lip against lip compared to this. This kiss conveyed bone deep want.
Bo’s mouth ravaged mine, biting and sucking on my lips, his tongue seeking out every crevice and surface like he wanted to absorb me. I forgot about our talk as the blood pooled in my lower body. Bo’s hands were up under my shirt, the fabric preventing him from reaching his desired destination. He brought one arm down and lifted my legs up around his hips, urging me to wrap them around him. I did so and he lifted me higher, keeping one hand under my butt and the other pushing my shirt up to expose my bra. I whimpered with need.
He shushed me and bent his head to lick between my breasts, pulling down one lace cup with his teeth to suckle hard on my nipple. My legs were splayed open but I wasn’t getting any relief from his chest. I pressed harder and wiggled against him. Bo’s hand left my breast and went to the juncture of my legs. Through the denim and the lace of my panties, I could feel his hand, but this only made me want a closer, stronger touch. I canted my hips toward him. Bo undid my snap but could not get the zipper down with my legs spread open and his one hand under my butt.
He lowered me to the bed and pushed my jeans down just far enough that he could insert his hand between the denim and my flesh. His mouth never stopped working mine. I became just a mass of awareness. I could only feel his lips, his hands on my body. There was only one thought in my mind. How to get closer to him. He rubbed me in circles, his hand wet by my arousal.
“I love that you’re so wet for me.”
I shivered, the pulse of my blood drumming so loudly in my ears I could barely hear him. He pressed the heel of his palm hard against my pelvis bone and his two fingers pushed slowly inside. I was dying, one infinitesimal centimeter at a time.
“So hot. Tight. Can’t fucking wait to be inside you.” Bo’s words were more grunts than complete thoughts. I understood. I had no ability to form complete sentences either. My sole focus was on the slick between my legs caused by the movement of his fingers thrusting in and out and the abrasion of his palm, rough and calloused, against my clit. “I want to stay inside you for hours. Live here.”
All my nerve endings reached for something and then, like an explosion, sensation rushed down to my center and exploded outward. I was grateful to be lying down because my legs felt like noodles and I could only see sparkles of light from my eyes.
Bo kept his hand firmly against me, drawing out as many shudders and shocks from my body that he could and when I finally came down off my high, he withdrew his hand. He wiped his fingers on his sweatshirt that he’d discarded up entering the room and gave me soft, soothing kisses.
As I felt his insistent erection against my stomach, I knew I wanted to give him the same pleasure, have him under my thumb just as he’d overpowered me with emotion and need. Bo leaned forward and lifted the heavy fall of my hair aside as I slid off the bed to kneel in front of him. “You don’t need to do this.”
I pressed my hand against him. “I want to.”
Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She’s been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at email@example.com.
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