Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
ME: Where’d you scamper off to?
In the courtyard framed by the art and music buildings, there’s a garden featuring a small manmade pond. Beside it is a willow tree that freshmen are known to decorate with condoms on Halloween. An orchestra teacher designed the space after an ancient chestnut came down in a blizzard and toppled the south corner of the choir room along with it. It provides a peaceful environment for studying or contemplating nature. Or in my case, a late-night pitstop to do a bump under the cascade of gently fluttering branches.
SILAS: Snuck over to Ballard to see Amy.
Boo. No fun at all.
I can’t even imagine what they get up to in bed, but I suspect if they were to do their dirtiest on a public bus, even the nuns wouldn’t flinch. Silas has spent his entire life restraining his most carnal impulses.
ME: Enjoy dry-humping each other through a blanket.
Still, while his execution may be lacking, Silas does have the right idea about what to do tonight.
Doused in a perfect cocktail of liquor and cocaine, my head is capable of enticing me toward all sorts of bad intentions. The only dilemma is whether I’m in the mood for the warm embrace of soft, feminine flesh or a rough tangle with masculine muscle. In the end, I pick the first Goodwyn I see in my chat thread, because it’s too difficult to run through a pros and cons list when you’re this fucked up.
ME: You up?
GWEN: It’s nearly 2:00 am. I’m in bed.
ME: But you’re awake.
GWEN: Can’t talk now.
ME: Is he right beside you? Does that make you hot?
GWEN: What do you want?
ME: How about a nightcap? The art room?
GWEN: It’s late.
ME: And that isn’t a no.
I picture her lying there in some indecent silk nightie, the screen dimmed. Nervous while she watches his chest rise and listens to his breathing. Daring herself to pull the covers back and slide out of bed. All those silent fantasies tumbling through her head.
GWEN: Meet me at the fire exit.
I smile to myself. So predictable.
From her staff apartment, it takes only minutes for Gwen to emerge from the darkness in a pair of old worn jeans, a plain navy T-shirt, and a baseball cap over her red hair, as if she could blend in with the wayward students still whispering their way across campus at all hours in search of mischief. After the first time I met her here after hours, I nudged the camera at the rear entrance to face away from the door, allowing a clear path, so my stride is confident as we enter the building. I did the same thing outside the faculty offices to clear the way for me and her husband.
“You can’t text me at all hours,” she says, closing the art room door behind us and tossing her cap on a chair. “There has to be boundaries.”
“If you say so.”
Her hair is bed-messed and soft and I enjoy the way she frustratingly shoves it out of her lovely face as she corners me against the wall.
“I mean it.” Her teeth tug at my earlobe before she explores my neck with her mouth. For a woman who’s supposed to be annoyed, she can’t keep her hands off me. They’re already fumbling for my zipper. “No more of this dare-me-to-get-caught shit.”
“Would it be so bad?” I push my fingers up under the hem of her T-shirt and tease skin that’s still cold from the fresh chill in the air outside. “Could be overlooking an opportunity.”
“Stop talking.”
Gwen seals her mouth over mine. She can be quite bossy when she’s so inclined. Especially when she’s scolding me. That agitated energy releases itself in physical insistence and she becomes voracious. I reach my hand between our bodies to cup her pussy over her jeans and elicit a breathy groan from deep in her chest.
I quickly lose my sense of place and time, the darkened room narrowing to a hazy inference. I feel everything, but on a delay, like I’m watching myself in slow motion. The ground beneath me is unsteady and undulating. I might have gone at the tequila a little harder than I thought. Maybe done one too many bumps, too. But I’m not complaining about the ride. My dick is so hard it hurts, pleading for relief.
We stumble toward her desk, where she unbuttons my jeans and pulls down the zipper as her lips leave mine. My hands grip the edge as my head falls forward. She strokes me firmly, making me groan.
“Feel good?” she whispers.
“Not good enough,” I say. My body is screaming for release. “I want to fuck you.”
Her lips curve in anticipation. “Then fuck me.”
It’s all I need to hear. Breathing hard, I spin her around. One hand tackles her zipper, the other reaching into my pocket for the condom I stashed there. I knew I’d get laid tonight, but the winner of the sex partner lottery had been undetermined. Now, as I run my palm over Gwen’s bare, perky ass before giving it a soft smack, I’m glad I didn’t go into town with some of the others. This is exactly what I need.