Campus God (Campus)

It’s the mental image of him stroking his dick that sends me careening right over the edge into oblivion. My body convulses as I moan out my orgasm. I don’t stop rubbing until every drop of pleasure has been wrung from my pussy. His groans, and the slap of his own skin mingles with mine as we both find our pleasure.

Without question, it’s one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever given myself. And it’s certainly better that anything I’ve experienced with Andrew.

It takes a few moments for the sexual haze to clear so I can catch my breath. “Chris? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” he says, sounding winded, like he just ran a marathon. “I’m here.”

I grab a Kleenex and swipe it over my fingers before picking up my phone and clicking off the speaker. “Thank you.”

He chuckles. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

“That was,” I pause, trying to find adequate words to describe what just happened, “kind of amazing.”

“You’re damn right it was.”

“Promise me we’ll do it in person some time?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.

There’s a beat of silence as his voice turns serious. “Yeah, I promise.”

My teeth sink into my lower lip before I force out the next question. Considering the intimacy we just shared, it seems strange I would even have to ask. “Do you think we could meet up tomorrow? Maybe for coffee or something.”

A burst of nerves explodes inside me when an answer isn’t immediately forthcoming.

My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. “Please?” I don’t know why it feels so imperative he agree to this meeting, but it does. If he puts me off after what we just did…

I’ll be crushed. There’s just no other way around it.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly before adding, as if trying to resign himself to the idea, “sure, we can do that.”

“Really?” Air rushes from my lungs as cautious anticipation takes root inside me. I’m almost afraid to get my hopes up that I’ll finally be able to put a face to the guy I’ve gotten to know so well.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” A smile tips the corners of my lips. “Eleven o’clock at the Roasted Bean?”

“That works.”

It’s so tempting to squeal, but I keep the sound trapped inside.

For now.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I whisper, feeling almost giddy with the excitement rushing through me.

“Tomorrow.”

16

CROSBY

What the hell had I been thinking?

Oh…that’s right, I hadn’t been. I’d been much too wrapped up in what we’d been doing and all the strange feelings of need prickling beneath the surface of my skin, attempting to claw its way free. Afterward, when Brooke had asked to meet up, I’d caved like a cheap house of cards.

I’m regretting that impulsive decision now. She’s not ready to discover the truth. She can barely tolerate being in my company. At the library yesterday, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

I plow a hand through my hair and continue pacing outside the Roasted Bean. It’s ten fifty-five. There’s a massive boulder sitting at the bottom of my gut. And nothing I do banishes it.

Of course I realize that at some point, I need to come clean. It’s not like I can keep this charade up indefinitely. Especially after what happened last night. Even thinking about how we masturbated over the phone has me popping wood. I’ve fucked a lot of girls, and that’s probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced.

Screw it. I straighten my shoulders and draw in a deep breath.

All right, here’s the plan…I waltz in there, make a little bit of small talk, and then lay it on her that I’m Chris. She’ll be pissed off at first—that’s to be expected—but hopefully I’ll be able to sweettalk her out of it. Believe it or not, I can turn on the charm when the occasion calls for it. And this one definitely does. I’ll apologize again—profusely, if need be—and beg her forgiveness.

Who knows…maybe she’ll even see the humor in it. The entire situation is kind of funny when you think about it.

Yeah. That’s exactly what I’ll do, and, in the end, it’ll be fine. Just last week, we buried the hatchet. This can be part of that fresh start.

I stop and swing around to stare at her through the oversized picture window in front of the coffee shop. She showed up ten minutes ago and is already camped out at a small table, waiting for me to make an appearance. Her caramel-colored hair tumbles around her shoulders and down her back in soft waves. A lot of girls like to throw their hair up into a ponytail or messy bun, but not Brooke. She usually wears it long and loose.

I fucking love it.

There have been too many times when I’ve been tempted to reach out and stroke my fingers through the silky strands. Since I’m not a guy who normally enjoys taking my own life into my hands, I’ve always kept them to myself.