Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
He pulls away, his hands holding mine until our fingers slip apart.
“See you tomorrow, Zara.”
He leaves, leaving me still panting, still trembling, still wildly turned on, and utterly and completely confused about what I’ve just managed to get myself into.
5
Zara
Okay, I’m over-dressed. Or at least, I spent way too long dressing for this. Maybe that’s what happens when one of the hottest guys at school—even if he’s a jock—presses me to the wall and kisses me like something out of a romance book after catching me touching myself. And when that same boy tells me to meet him in the basement of my dorm so that I can come practice with his rock band—comprised of two other utterly gorgeous guys?
Well, hence spending way too much time getting a stupid outfit together.
I’m in black leggings with chunky leather rocker-type boots on, with a cut-off Talking Heads t-shirt that draped off one shoulder. Hair pulled back, makeup done in that way that’s supposed to make it look like I’m not really wearing any, and to top it all off, matching black lace bra and panties.
I’m sure Trisha, my old roommate, would have had something snarky to say about how I look. Maybe that I’m trying too hard, or that I’m just posing as some rocker chick type. Or she’d just say all of this is a desperate attempt to not look like the total prude I usually am. But, whatever. Trisha’s shitty opinions aren’t my concern anymore. Ramona, who’s basically my best friend, would maybe say the same thing about trying too hard, but she’d at least frame it a little more nicely.
At nine-fifty-five, I take one more look in the mirror, mess with my hair once more, and then grab my guitar. I slip out of my room and into the hallway, checking for the RA before I make a beeline for the stairs next to the common room. I scurry down them, passing the ground floor to head into the basement, where the washers and dryers are, even if more than half the girls here are snobby enough to pay for an outside laundry service to wash their stuff. I mean, we’re all rich enough at Winchester to afford it, but please. You have to be a special kind of privileged and lame to not be able to do your own freaking laundry.
At the washers, I duck around the corner to the door to the maintenance room, right next to the door to outside I snuck out of last night. And there, I wait. I wait, and my mind just replays that kiss on freaking repeat. Actually, it replays the whole thing. Falling into three of the most gorgeous guys on campus basically naked and flashing my freaking panties to them if any of them even saw it. Then acting like an ass and storming off, only to not be able to keep my freaking hands off of myself in the practice room, where my mind went to very, very dirty places.
…Where I thought about all three of them.
I mean, virgin or not, I’ve watched porn. Okay, I’ve watched a fair amount of porn before. Fuck it, I do watch porn, and I enjoy it. And I may or may not have been thinking about a certain scene I’ve watched before involving one girl and three crazy hot, well-endowed guys at the same time when I was touching myself in that practice room. Only, in the utterly filthy, and if we’re being honest, mortifying, fantasy, that girl was me.
And the guys? Anders, Carson, and Griff.
I blush even just remembering that, and then of course my mind plays the part where Anders walked in as I was coming. The part where he grabbed me and pressed me to the wall and kissed me until my panties about melted off. I came back to my room last night and barely had the door shut behind me before I was face-down on my bed with my fingers between my legs, rubbing my aching pussy right through my soaked, messy panties until I came again.
And now, here I am, waiting for that same guy who made my pulse skip and my toes curl. And just like before, the heat that pools between my legs is unstoppable.
“Hey.”
I gasp, red-faced as I whirl at the sound of a guy’s voice. But there standing in front of me is Carson, not Anders. I swallow, hoping to God that the filthy thoughts running through my head aren’t written clear as day across my face.
“Hey,” I parrot back before I frown. “Where’s Anders?”
“Nice to see you too, Zara.”
I roll my eyes. “Your poor wounded pride.”
He grins and clutches his heart.
“Anders was late to practice, so coach has him running drills. I’m supposed to come grab you.”
I bite my lip, but it doesn’t stop the blush that creeps over my face.