Page 29 of Notorious Man on Campus

“About Sam,” I say. “He didn’t…”

“No.” She shakes her head, her eyes wide. “He was too drunk to do any real harm.”

“So you’re okay, right?”

“I will be as soon as we drink these shots and relax.” She shines her face at me like a sunbeam and I heat up on cue. Lifting my glass in the air, I wink as if unaffected and then down the liquid in one satisfying gulp. The black licorice aftertaste pleases my tastebuds and I smile for real, heaving a sigh. She downs hers and then collapses onto the bed, the luscious dark waves of her hair splaying on the white pillowcase, creating an irresistible image of sexy innocence.

She pats the bed next to her.

“Come sit with me.” Except she’s not sitting and I know better. In theory. But in practice my legs and my dick carry me to the bed and I lie down next to her. She touches my face in a soft caress, her scent sweet and heavy like cream, like something I could drown in and be happy about it.

“I didn’t thank you properly for rescuing me, Brick, and I need to.” Her words float to me as I stare at her golden eyes, my heart pounding in warning. But whatever sense of control I had or I need to exert to avoid her kiss makes no sense to me as her lips touch mine, as her tongue darts along the seam of my mouth and inside where I capture it, taste it and savor the heady taste of Nyla laced with licorice.

The only sense left in me is the sensual experience of her hot body next to mine, the sound of her breathing hard and mewling into my mouth as I devour her, her teeth, her tongue and her cherry plump lips. I bite down and she moans, an arm around me and spreading fingers through my hair. My breathing labors and my heart bangs against my chest in a relentless staccato beat.

When she slides her hand down my body to the waistband of my jeans, I suck in a breath and put my hand over hers to stop her. Pulling from the kiss, I raise my body over hers and pin her hand over her head. Searching her eyes, I try to think. What does she want?

What the hell do I want? Her eyes are liquid desire. She bites her lip as she stares back at me, her breasts heaving, and arches her back.

“Brick.” She breathes my name like I’m the answer to her prayers, the single object of her desire in all the universe, infused with need. The surge of dizziness nearly makes me pass out. She’s like a shot of the most addictive drug never invented by man, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

Finally, I just ask. “What do you want?” She pulls the words from me, raw, from a place I don’t recognize. I will give her whatever she wants.

“You.” Her word is tortured and she heaves her hips up in a universal timeless siren call.

“You want to fuck.” I watch her eyes go dark and glassy at my words and she traps her lower lip between her teeth.

I can see her anticipation. My mind doesn’t work, but my desire feeds the answer to my mouth.

“I want to see you come, to fall apart in my arms.” She moans and struggles against the hold I have on her arms, arching against me. My cock is solid and straining in my pants and as much as I crave release, I crave the look on her face more.

So I lower myself down her body, shifting my hands to lift her sweater and lay kisses on the soft white skin of her abdomen as I go. When I get to her pants and undo them, then peel them off her, she reaches down and grabs fistfuls of my hair as she lifts her hips so I can relieve her of her pants and panties as far as her ankles. She kicks off her boots and I toss her clothes to the floor.

Kneeling between her legs, our eyes meet and she shamelessly spreads wide to show her glistening pussy. I touch her soft mound with a finger, testing her, pressing it into the wet folds to find her sweet spot.

“Oh my God. Brick.” She writhes under me and I feel her pulsing heat suck my finger inside. Then I pull it out and she watches me as I lick her sweet juices from my finger, tasting her, my heart pounding hard and my cock leaping, or trying to within the confines of my jeans.

“I need you inside me,” she says. These are words I’ve heard a hundred times and half the time I comply, gladly if not enthusiastically, but this time something stops me. Maybe self-preservation, because under the hazy fog of sexual desire somewhere, my mind is telling me there’s danger in fucking Nyla.

“I want to make you come in my mouth,” I say. My heart stutters with anticipation. I need to maintain control, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make her lose it, does it? Her eyes go wide and she arches invitingly under me, her chest heaving under her sweater.

Lowering myself, I lift her glorious thighs over my shoulders and cup her ass cheeks in my hands, shaky with excitement, to feast on Nyla’s pussy like it’s my last meal. You’re so beautiful. I can’t tell her, can’t say the words out loud, can’t let her know how I feel as I lower my mouth and lick her pussy from bottom to top and down again as she squirms and moans my name over and over. It’s a sound I can’t get enough of. The taste of her, the feel of her, the earth-shattering desire and ecstasy I see as I circle her clit with my tongue and bring her over the edge almost has me coming in my pants.

With my chest heaving and my lips wet with her taste, I rise to see her face, glowing and ecstatic. I bend to kiss her and she holds onto me like she’ll never let me go and in that instant it hits me. The monumental fucking idiocy of what I’ve done slams me in the gut, sobering me like a gallon of ice water on my head as Nyla rains kisses on my face and murmurs tender words, the kind of words a lover says.

I bolt upright and push myself from the bed. Standing, looking down at her sex-softened face, the bottomless warmth in her eyes and expression like a painting from a museum or a cathedral, I run my hands through my hair and try to collect myself. Adjusting my cock in my pants so I can walk, I move toward the door. She sits up.

“Where are you going?” She gets out of the bed. As if realizing she’s only half dressed, she pulls her sweater down to hide her naked pussy. Ironic, but I take no pleasure at the show of her modesty. It only underscores what a fucking bastard I am.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “This was a mistake.”

“No—”

“I’m leaving. I shouldn’t have—” She follows me to the door and I feel shades of Willow, except Nyla has a right to demand something, doesn’t she? No. She doesn’t know how I feel. I don’t even know how I feel, except that right now it isn’t exactly pleasant.

All I know is I want to feel nothing. I’ve been in this spot before, leaving a girl when she doesn’t want me to leave. I know my lines.

“I’m sorry, Nyla I shouldn’t have teased you like that.”