My body trembles, and I squeeze my eyes shut, the sensation too much as tingles spread through my body, wave after wave, my pussy squeezing his fingers. Legs useless, I lean against him, letting him take my weight while he continues rubbing my clit with his fingers, my lips parting on a silent scream. Holy, freaking…
I slump forward, resting my forehead against his chest, attempting to catch my breath. Oh. My. Hell. That was the best freaking orgasm I’ve ever had. Hands down. My chest heaves with another unsteady breath, and a light laugh escapes me. Slowly, he removes his hand from my underwear, then tugs my shirt down, making sure I’m covered.
Okay, that was good. A little too good.
My knees wobble as I try to maintain my balance, but I still feel like Jell-O. My only experience with the opposite sex was when I was seventeen, drunk off my ass, and at a party I had noreason to be. It was messy and anticlimactic. Literally. But this? Within five minutes of Jagger’s expertise, I’m a quivering mess.
I shove my hair away from my face, reeling. I can’t believe I just did that.
As the bliss slowly fades, I lift my head, and he smiles, slipping his finger into his mouth and licking it clean.
“Next time, gonna fuck you with my mouth.” He crowds me even more against the classroom wall. “Then, I’m gonna fuck you with my cock, Little Thief. And you’re gonna take every inch.”
My head bobs in a jerky nod.
“That’s my girl. Now,” he smooths out my clothes, “You’re going to walk out this room, knowing what it feels like to have my fingers inside you. But you’re not going to tell a soul. Not yet.”
“Huh?” Maybe it’s the post orgasmic haze, but I’m having a hard time following.
As if realizing the same thing, Jagger’s mouth quirks up on one side, and he lifts my chin, kissing me softly. “For now, this stays between us.”
“For now?” I whisper.
He pecks the wrinkle in my brow. “You really think I’m going to let you go, Violet?”
Let me go? As if I’m his to begin with me. I should probably take a second to analyze how I feel about it, but all I can do is breathe out, “You tell me.”
His fingers tighten against my waist when his attention shifts to someone outside the door. “We’ve been here too long,” he mutters to himself and hands me my laptop. “Go. I’ll track you down later, I promise.”
28
VIOLET
“Come on, you’ve seriously never tried eggs benedict?” June asks.
“If it isn’t scrambled or fried, then no, I’ve never tried them,” Lexie returns.
“What about hard-boiled?” June questions. “Have you had hard-boiled eggs?”
“Nope.”
“What about like, an omelet? Have you had an omelet?” June prods.
“Depends. Are we talking scrambled with cheese sprinkled on top? Then yes, but only if we were feeling really bougie. If you’re talking about the fluffy stuff chocked full of veggies and meat that I’ve seen in commercials? Then, no. No, I have not.”
Stunned, June sits back on the couch and shakes her head as though my best friend has three heads sprouting from her neck instead of one. “You’re insane.”
She’s right. Lexie’s totally insane, but I wouldn’t change her for the world, and I love how despite June having her mind blown by my best friend’s lack of culinary growth, there’s no judgement there. Not really.
I was a little nervous to introduce my new roommate to my best friend, but they hit it off with ease. I wouldn’t call them peas in a pod by any means, more like the yin to her yang, they’re so different, but I’m not complaining. As soon as Lexie tried one of June’s sourdough cookies—because, apparently, those are a thing—and gushed about their amazingness, June was on team Lexie. So much so, she taught Lexie how to sign up for a free dental cleaning through the school, which in turn, won over Lexie in an instant. Because if it’s free, it’s a win in Lexie’s book. Now here we are, in my new apartment, watchingHarry Potterwhile discussing exactly how different our upbringings were, even when it comes to silly things like food.
“Okay, okay.” June rests her chin in her palm, fascinated by our childhood experiences and how different they are from hers. “What was your favorite after-school snack?”
Lexie’s expression lights up. “Either homemade nachos or cinnamon toast.”
June’s forehead wrinkles. “You’ve made homemade nachos but have never had an omelet?”
I clarify, “Our homemade nachos are just tortilla chips microwaved with whatever cheese is on sale.”
