Living at the Frat House - A College Romance

Oh, this is going to be fun.

Juno isn’t like any girl that I’ve ever met here, and she’s mine. I wasn’t very excited about school this year, but I am now. This year is going to be special.

I can’t fucking wait.

4

Juno

I almost didn’t take the extra fluffy blanket that Malcolm tossed to me in addition to the thin quilt that I stole from his bed, but I do actually need to get some sleep, and this will make far better padding than the blanket I took.

But I don’t say thank you. I don’t acknowledge him at all. I don’t want him to know that he has any kind of effect on me even though he does.

The way that he touched me in the hallway, daring to suggest that I would enjoy being with him…it was true. And I hate that he was right. I hate the idea that now that I’ve agreed to live here and do his bidding that he thinks he can just have me. I will prove him wrong.

Malcolm’s already made it clear that he will never force anyone, but if he’d kept touching me, and describing how it would be if he took me to bed, I couldn’t have resisted much longer.

I set my alarm for early so that I can go get clothes before my class, and close my eyes. Sleep. That’s the goal. That’s what I need. But Malcolm doesn’t seem to have the same goal.

The corner I set up my bed in is next to a mirror on the wall, and I can see him moving around when I open my eyes briefly, doing things. He’s at his desk looking over some papers, stacking books and putting them in a backpack.

It’s somehow easy to tune out the pounding bass from downstairs and the general white noise of the ongoing party, but every sound that Malcolm makes feels like it’s amplified directly into my ear. Like I’m attuned to him in a way that I can’t avoid.

When he’s done with whatever he’s doing on his desk, he types on his phone, the little keyboard making those sounds that are usually muted. And then he moves to the closet. I try to ignore him, but the rustle of fabric and the shriek of hangers sliding is too much. I’m never going to be able to sleep like this.

“Do you really have to do all of that?” I ask him. “Right now?”

In the mirror I see him smirk. “Yes, Juno. Yes I do. This is my room, and just because you happen to be in it doesn’t mean that I’m not going to keep to my routine. Every part of my routine.”

He’s smiling when he leaves the room, and I’m assuming he went to the bathroom. God, what have I gotten myself into? It seems like Malcolm knows exactly how to push my buttons and we’ve only known each other for a couple of hours. This is going to be a very long year. But at least, hopefully, I won’t be sleeping on his floor the whole time.

Maybe I can get to sleep before he comes back. I close my eyes and let myself drift, but I’m not that lucky. The door opens and reveals Malcolm in nothing but soft gray sweatpants. I can see him in the mirror, and shock runs down my spine.

Every inch of him is just as hard as the forearms that I saw earlier. In the dim light of the lamp, his abs are cast in sharp relief. The pants are slung low on his hips, showing off the sexy V that leads to a cock that I can’t see but is clearly hard, bulging against his sweats, the outline fully visible even through the fabric.

And he is huge.

My eyes won’t stop tracing him up and down in the reflection, just the way he kept looking at me. The blush that paints my face is entirely unwelcome. I can’t react to him like this. I shouldn’t. He’s forcing me into an absolutely impossible position and I shouldn’t be wondering what it would feel like to run my tongue over the ridges of his pecs and abs and nipples that I can see are hard from here.

Suddenly I realize that he’s watching me in the mirror. Shit. He knows that I was checking him out. The smirk on his face just makes me blush harder. I brace myself for a sharp comeback, some comment about me not being able to resist him for even one night. If he said something right now, if he made a move… I don’t know that I could deny him again. But, “Goodnight, Juno,” is all he says, in a voice filled with suppressed amusement.

“Goodnight,” I murmur quietly, my voice muffled by the blanket.

He doesn’t turn off the light as he lays down on the bed, completely on top of the covers. That’s odd, but I try to close my eyes, because I shouldn’t be watching him anyway. Maybe he’s going to read or something before he goes to sleep. I close my eyes, ignoring the shuffle of fabric.