I’m outside her door, the key in my hand like a dark promise. The hallway is silent, the sorority house asleep around me. My heart hammers like a drum in my chest, an obsessive rhythm that matches the relentless pulse in my veins.
I can’t rationalize this need, this hunger that gnaws at me. I despise this weakness, but I can’t resist it. I slip the key into the lock. It turns with a quiet click, the sound barely a whisper in the stillness of the night.
The door eases open, revealing her room bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window.
Callista lies on her bed, a vision of innocence and vulnerability. Her hair is a halo of gold against the white pillow, her face turned slightly, lips parted in the soft breaths of sleep. She looks like an angel, but one who’s been bruised by life. There’s a quiet defiance in the lines of her face, even in repose, like she’s ready to fight the world the moment she opens her eyes. I kneel beside her bed, my fingers reaching out to caress her cheek. Her skin is soft, warm, and so fucking alive.
I smooth the lines between her brows, murmuring, “You look so pretty when you sleep.”
But I can’t stop there. My hand drifts lower, tracing the delicate curve of her throat. She stirs slightly, but her eyes remain closed, lost in the depths of her dreams.
I slide my hand under her lacy camisole, feeling the satin of her skin beneath my fingertips. Her breasts are supple, juicy, perfect. I cup them in my hands, feeling the hardened nipples pressing against my palms. The sensation sends a jolt through me, straight to my cock. I’m aching, throbbing with need. My cock swells, pushing painfully against the confines of my boxers. I can’t risk leaving any trace of my presence, so I resist the urge to lick her, to taste the sweetness of her skin.
Instead, I kiss her hard nubs through her top, feeling the heat of her flesh through the thin fabric. Callista moans softly, arching her back, pressing her breasts into my hands. It’s like she knows what I need, even in her sleep. She rubs her nipples against my hand, seeking the friction that will set her on fire.
The sight of her, so responsive, so desperate for my touch, sends a shiver of lust through me. I knead her breasts, reveling in the feel of her, so pliant and willing beneath my touch. But it’s not enough. My cock is a painful throb, demanding more.
I slip my hand under her panties, stroking her wet slit. Her clit is plump and needy, and even in her sleep, she rubs it againstmy fingers, seeking the pleasure that only I can provide. The sight of her, undone, begging, shakes me to my core.
I lean down, kissing her belly, imagining my cock buried deep inside her. I can almost feel it, the tight grip of her pussy around me, the way she would clench and writhe as I fucked her. The thought nearly drives me mad.
I grind my erection against her thigh, chasing a relief that’s just out of reach. She shifts, angling her body, craving my fingers more. Her hips move in a slow, sensual rhythm, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She’s still asleep, but her body knows what it wants. It knows me. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
I’m playing with fire, dancing on the edge of a cliff. But I can’t stop. Not yet. Not when she’s so close, so desperate for release.
I stroke her clit, feeling the wet heat of her arousal coating my fingers. She’s so close, so ready to fall over the edge. But I can’t let her. Not yet. I need to preserve this, to draw out the pleasure, the anticipation. I need her to crave me, to need me, even in her sleep. I pull my hand away, leaving her on the brink. She whimpers, a sound of frustration and desire that sends another jolt of lust through me.
I rise, my body shaking with restrained need. I can’t stay here. Not like this. Not when I’m so close to losing control.
I hurry back down the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest.
Once I’m in my car, I unzip my jeans, freeing my cock. It’s swollen, angry, demanding relief. I stroke myself, the image of Callista burned into my mind. Her parted lips, her flushed skin, the way she moved against me, begging for more.
The sensation builds, a tight coil of pleasure at the base of my spine. I come with a groan, spurting hot and thick over my hand, onto my shirt. I lean back, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The release is intense, but it’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
Callista is a dangerous obsession, a fire that burns deep in my soul. And now that she’s my fake girlfriend, she can’t escape me. I won’t let her.
I’ll draw her into my dark depths and consume her until her throat is hoarse from screaming in pleasure.
THREE
Callista
The ceiling is stillthe same pale cream it has always been, but this morning, it looks like silk stretched over a drum. My heart keeps beating against it, loud enough to hear. I roll onto my back, my sheet sliding down to my thighs. I should be getting up and getting ready for my classes. Instead, I’m my pussy is throbbing like I’m having a period cramp. My thighs are sticky with arousal, coated in my own slick. I feel half-embarrassed and half-horny.
I keep remembering the way Dmitry kissed me, not soft but full of ownership, his hands anchoring me like he could keep me from falling apart. It has awakened something that I don’t want to name, a hunger that feels like it’s burning through my blood. The more I try to push it away, the hotter it gets.
It has been two days since the party. Friday approaches, and with it, the promise of seeing Dmitry again, the anticipation of feeling his hands on me.
I press my palm between my thighs, just for a second, and whisper a curse. My clit is sensitive. Just one press sends a joltof electricity through me. Moisture trickles through my tight channel, staining my panties that are already wet.
Bad idea. Dangerous man. But my body isn’t listening to my brain.
The room is dark except for the glow of my phone on the nightstand. When it rings, I jump. My first thought is that it’s my father calling to remind me what a disappointment I am.
But the name on the screen freezes me harder than that.
