My whole body vibrates, blood pounding in my ears, nipples scraping against the inside of my T-shirt, so hard it aches. I slide a hand down, unable to help myself, and press my thighstogether. I can feel the slickness starting, like a secret between me and the void.
Simone sobs: “Yes, fuck, please, fill me up, Liam, I’m your cum dumpster. Please.”
He growls, “You want it?” and she says, “Yes, Daddy, yes!Please, now!”
Liam thrusts a final time and groans, his whole body tensing, and I watch as he stays buried inside her, both of them shivering with wild release. They scream and shout, Simone’s eyes rolling up in the back of her head to show the whites as her pussy clenches on Liam’s massive shaft. I literally see his balls pumping, his come shoot pulsing as stream after stream of virile jism pumps into my curvy roommate.
“Ooooh!” she moans. “Oh oh oh!”
After a moment, he pulls out, and a wet drip trails down Simone’s thigh. She collapses forward, breathing like she’s run a marathon, semen oozing from her drenched twat. Liam stands over her, catching his breath, chest slick with sweat.
“Goddamn, you’re a good fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps while stroking her blonde tresses. “You always pull every last drop of come out of my dick.”
Oh my god, Liam Thomas is so dirty! He treats my friend like a whore, and yet judging from Simone’s blissful expression, she loves it. Even worse, I realize, with a shameful, electric clarity, that I’ve been holding my own breath the entire time because I loved watching the scene. I exhale and almost topple into the hallway. My pussy pulses, hot and tender, my whole body a single raw nerve.
Inside, Liam’s voice: “Clean yourself up. We can’t risk anyone seeing us like this.”
Simone laughs, weak but wicked. “You adore it. The danger. You love me.”
He doesn’t answer, but the way he touches her hair before fondling her ass says everything.
I’ve seen enough. I back away from the door, footsteps so careful I might as well be floating. The echo of Simone’s moans follows me down the corridor, the memory thrumming between my legs.
All I can think is: so that’s what it looks like. That’s what it feels like. What it sounds like, even.
I want it. I want it so bad, I think I’ll die if I don’t get it soon.
I stumble down the stairwell, dizzy and wet, and into the dark of the night.
Outside,the campus is a museum after hours, every tree and flagpole and weathered bench pinned in shadow like an exhibit. The grass is stiff with frost, but I hardly feel it; my skin is hot, all nerves blown open from what I just watched. I half-expect to see steam trailing from my hair.
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 thereek 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 pathoutside 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.
