“Shh. I don’t want Smilly and Saddlemire to hear us.”
Whispering into my ear, he says, “You can’t tell me to be quiet when you graze my dick like that.”
Leaning over to his ear, I say, “If you want me to continue to graze your dick, then you’re going to have to be quiet. Can you do that?”
“I don’t know.” His hand releases my breast and quickly works its way down to my shorts where he slips himself inside and spreads my legs. Before I can catch my breath, his fingers are sliding up and down my slick heat. “Can you stay quiet if I do this?”
“Yes,” I choke on an intake of air.
“You sure?” His fingers start to move faster, testing my strength.
“One hundred percent sure.” I steady my breath and pay attention to my own intention of making him squeal.
“What about this?” He removes his hand and dives down under the sheets so his legs are at his pillow. His hands snag my shorts and bring them down my legs. Since I’m not wearing any underwear, I’m bare below, and from the way Andrew’s fingers are spreading me, I get the impression he’s appreciating that right about now. And then he flicks his tongue out and my legs clench automatically. His chuckle vibrates along my legs. I can practically hear his cocky attitude now.
Not going to happen.
This is war.
Since he’s flipped upside down, I have perfect access to his growing erection, so I do what any other competing girlfriend would do—wiggle down, release his cock from its confines, and start sucking him. His grip on me tenses, his tongue stops, and against my skin, I feel his moan of pleasure while his hips show no shame in their minimal thrusts.
Aw, the power of a woman’s mouth, there’s no denying—
Oh fuck. Andrew shows no mercy once he gathers himself from my attack and starts flattening his tongue along the length of my pussy, taking deep, languid strokes, so excruciatingly slow that it feels like everything is curling up and purring down there.
He’s putting up a good fight, but I’m determined not to let it distract me. Instead I focus on one thing—his throbbing cock. I start licking and twisting my mouth over the head of his cock, pressing the tip of my tongue hard at the top and then sucking him all the way in while I play with his balls, pulling gently, rolling softly and then pressing the spot right behind him. He bucks against me.
I hold back my chuckle because just when I think I’ve got him, he presses two fingers inside me and sucks on my clit, hard. I see stars, glorious, black and white stars.
From my waist down I can’t feel anything. My clit pounds, throbs so freaking hard that it’s the only feeling I can concentrate on. I’m on the edge, one more curve of his fingers, one more suck that’s all I need and right when I think he’s going to give it to me, he pulls away.
My breath hitches and my protest is a low moan I know only we can hear, but it doesn’t stop me from my eyes going wide. If he’s going to play games, I’m going in for the kill. Not letting up, I continue to suck up and down his length while expertly pressing his perineum. A light sheen of sweat coats his body and below, I can sense his end nearing from the way his chest is rapidly falling against my stomach.
To keep up, he starts flicking my clit with his tongue again, and his fingers work their way deep inside me. It’s a race to the finish.
There is no finesse. It’s fast. It’s brutal. It’s sexy as fuck. It’s the chase to see who can make the other orgasm first, a dangerous battle that I can feel myself losing because with each press of his tongue, my mind turns more and more blank. I’m on autopilot, my body reacting to Andrew’s movements.
Pleasure builds in the pit of my stomach, coiling, stirring, burning. It’s right there. I can feel it. My clit pounds against Andrew’s tongue. Just one more . . .
White-hot pleasure bursts through me, rocketing my nerves into overdrive. My stomach plummets, my toes curl, and my mouth clamps around Andrew dangerously, holding in my moan. From the pressure around his cock, he pumps one, two, three times and then quickly removes himself and strokes his own cock, his orgasm hitting my exposed stomach, his moan vibrating against my swollen heat.
From beneath the covers, I can hear him mumble something, but I can’t quite make it out. I’m about to ask him what he’s saying when the door to the bedroom opens and Smilly walks out. “Sorry, forgot my water. You know how I always choke on my salvia at night. Without my water I’ll—” Stopping on her way to the kitchen, she looks over at me where I’m lying next to Andrew’s legs. She tilts her head to the side, trying to understand what’s happening. “Uh—”
“Nope not down there,” Andrew says, making his way back to the head of “the bed.” When he appears, his hair is slicked down from sweat and his face is flush. Oh God, it’s so obvious.
Wiping his mouth—yeah, not obvious AT ALL—he smiles at Smilly and says, “She lost her socks. Couldn’t find them.”
“Oh yeah?” Smilly looks us up and down and then asks, “Did you search her vagina well enough? Or are you going to take a second look?”
Not even skipping a beat, Andrew says, “Might have to check again, once my tongue gets a rest though. Didn’t drink enough water today, the damn thing is cramping up on me.”
I slap his arm, causing him to laugh.
Why did I even think he’d be discreet? He never is, but I think that’s one of the many things I like so much about him. That and the fact he gives me incredible orgasms. Every. Time.
Chapter Twenty-Four
SADIE
“Are you really not going to let me make any of your sundaes?” Andrew asks, saddling up next to me as I scoop ice cream into a sundae dish. “I don’t mind, you know. I like to pay extra attention to yours, show off my sundae-making skills, impress my mentor.”
“Not necessary.” I chuckle. “I don’t mind making mine when you’re over here, gives me a chance to spend a little extra time with you.”
“Whoa.” He steps to the side, acting shocked. He leans over and whispers, “Are you flirting with me? The guy in the glasses?”
“Go ahead, make a big deal out of it. See where it gets you.”
“Let me take a guess. Sex in the freezer finally.”
“No,” I scoff. Turning toward him, ice cream scoop in one hand, I prop myself against the counter. “First of all, I will never do something like that again in this establishment, we were lucky we weren’t caught.”
“Live on the wild side, baby.” He winks.
“Second,” I continue, cutting him off before he can elaborate, “the freezer is full of meat. It seems wrong to conduct sexual acts around meat.”
“That seems like an odd thing to say, especially since sexual organs are referred to as meat in today’s slang. You know, deli counter for the pussy, salami for the dick. It would almost make sense to fuck in a frozen square, meat-sicles dangling around us.” His brows pull together in question, trying to understand my reasoning.
I have no desire to acknowledge his statement. Deli counter—blech. “Whatever. I just don’t want to go fuck next to frozen beef patties and chicken fingers. It would feel like they’re staring at me. Also, wouldn’t you be concerned about shrinkage? I’m not about to have sex with a shriveled raisin.”
“Hold up. How did cannon cock turn into a shriveled raisin? Even on his worst day, this dick beats out most dicks. Don’t challenge him with shrinkage. I will stick my cock in a vat of vanilla ice cream right now and fuck you against the milkshake wall just to prove a point.”
The printer goes off, sending Andrew a new order, which is good because it gives me a moment to process Andrew’s threat. How does he always make me so horny? Even against the gross milkshake wall.
“Having sex against the ice cream wall with a dried-up vanilla bean dick, wow, you really know how to woo a woman. Where do I sign up?”
His head falls back as he laughs, the muscles in his throat shifting up and down in one of the sexiest dances of humor I’ve ever seen. Hmm, the milkshake wall isn’t looking too
bad right about now.
“Hey, handsome. Did you get my ticket?”
Michelle. The boob-pressing sex fiend. Every single time she puts in an order she always visits Andrew to make sure he got it. And in the process, she makes it clear what she wants. She wants to fuck him. If she could, I’m pretty sure she’d work topless just to get his attention. It’s annoying, even if Andrew shows no signs of being even the least bit interested.
“Yup, have it right here,” Andrew answers, holding the ticket up. “Give me a few seconds and I’ll have it ready.”
“No rush. I’ll just wait here.”
Of course she will.
“Have you been working out more? You look so strong.” Oh my God, does she understand how desperate she sounds? “I mean, your work shirt looks extra tight on you. Doing extra pushups?”
I take a gander at Andrew’s work shirt and realize it does look tighter. Has he been doing extra pushups? I know he goes to the gym regularly, but has he been picking up an extra day? How come I needed Michelle to point that out to me? Shouldn’t I know if my boyfriend’s muscles are getting bigger?
“And your pants—are they new?—they’re making your ass look like a little bubble.”
My eyes go to Andrew’s butt now. Huh, she’s right. Are those new pants? They ride low on his hips and I know with just a little lift of his shirt, I would be able to catch a glimpse of his toned skin.
“Eh, yeah, they’re new pants,” Andrew answers awkwardly.
When did he get new pants? It shouldn’t matter, but why is Michelle noticing? Gah, I bet she secretly takes pictures of him and puts them on her inspiration board of men she wants to fuck. I bet she calls it her fucket list. And once she gets them to fall for her boob-flopping ways, she puts them in a scrapbook and looks through that book every night, reminiscing on the penises that once stuffed her vagina. Well, not Andrew. There is no way she’s getting her reconstructed nipples on my guy.
“You know, I had a dream about you—”
“Can you not, Michelle?” Irritation flows through me while my hands clamp together at my side.
“Excuse me?” Michelle asks, straightening up, as if she’s ready to pluck off her fake nails and square up for a hair-pulling fight. God, she can be terrifying.
Taking a deep breath, I wrap my arm around Andrew, taking a leap of faith, and say, “This is my boyfriend, and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t ask him about his workout routine and if he has new pants and telling him about some lonely lady horny dream you had about him. He is mine, therefore you need to back the fuck off.”
The wind has been knocked out of Michelle’s sails, because her reaction is not what I expected. She almost looks like she’s gasping for air. Yikes, is she going to faint? Please God, do not let her faint. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life.
Finally, Michelle points a finger at both of us and asks, “Are you saying, you two are dating . . . exclusively?”
“Yes,” I say with pride. “Andrew and I are exclusive, so please, if you wouldn’t mind, stop flaunting your tits at him and hitting on him. It’s inappropriate, and honestly, grossly desperate. Have a little pride, Michelle.”
There is no response from her, just an open mouth of shock. To break the tension, Andrew holds out the finished sundae and says, “Here you go. Hot fudge sundae is ready to go.” He tacks a smile on with his sentence.
Not saying a word, she takes the sundae and walks away, still adding that damn wiggle to her hips. I guess some things will never change.
Leaning down to my ear, Andrew squeezes my hip and says, “I’m so going to fuck you for that tonight. Damn, baby. I like it when you claim me.”
I turn to him and point my finger into his chest. “Next time you get new pants, you tell me. I don’t want Michelle noticing before your own girlfriend. Honestly, Andrew!”
With my sundae in hand, I storm off, a small smile at my lips. His ass really does look great in those pants, and I can’t wait until he fucks me for that.
***
“Pass it, Andrew, pass the grapefruit.”
“It’s not a basketball, Katja, I eat this.”
“Pass the fruit,” she continues, holding her arms out.
I watch as Andrew battles it out with his roommates, trying to protect his breakfast fruit they insist upon using as a basketball. Meeting his height, they all scramble around the kitchen, trying to snag the fruit from him, as if they’re on the court, trying to earn possession of the ball. They have him outnumbered.
“You not let us have Topless Tuesday, at least pass the fruit,” Leena says.
Topless Tuesday was banned after the whole miscommunication between Andrew and me, and he’s also made it his mission to avoid Show Me Your Snatch Saturdays as well, something Leena keeps requesting.
Now, in the dining room, stretched across the wall, are three poster boards tacked onto the wall. It’s full of rules for the house. The first two are: keep your private parts private and covered. There are exceptions to the rules, of course, which are: privates are allowed to air during private bathroom time, night time, and when you’re in your bedroom with the door locked. I thought that was a fair compromise. The girls can still have Topless Tuesday, but they just have to do it in their bedrooms.
Other rules are:
Knock before entering someone’s room. This was established after Katja walked in on Andrew eating me out on his desk. She did say I had a nice pussy, which I took as a wonderful compliment. Cough.
You’re only allowed to use your own razor, and other razors are off limits. You can imagine why Andrew wrote that one up on the board.
Grabbing Andrew’s crotch as a greeting is not a greeting. Handshakes and fist bumps are allowed. Leena was under the impression one night that Andrew’s crotch needed a hello as well. She was wrong.
And last: no touching Andrew’s girlfriend’s boobs. I don’t know what it is with these ladies, but they are very touchy-feely. The first boob lift caught me off guard. The second, third, fourth, and fifth . . . now those were just interesting. It got to the point that when I entered the house and didn’t get a boob lift from them I felt like I’d done something wrong. That’s when Andrew put an end to it. He didn’t want me to be conditioned to expect my boobs to be fondled when I saw them.
With rules in place, we’ve been having a great time coexisting together. I love spending the night at Andrew’s place because it’s always fascinating—and a little scary—to see what Leena and Katja are going to get themselves into. The other three roommates are supposed to filter in during the next week since classes and practices start up soon.
“Just pass it, Andrew,” Katja says with irritation, which I find funny since it really is Andrew’s grapefruit.
Conceding, knowing he is never going to win when Katja and Leena have something set in their mind, he tosses Katja the grapefruit, who then does a quick pass to Leena, who fakes to the left then to the right, only to jump in the air, and slam the grapefruit through a basket Katja is holding.
In slow motion, we all watch the grapefruit push through the basket and straight onto the floor where it splatters everywhere.
Defeated, Andrew places his hands on his hips as his head slouches. “Yup, I saw that coming.”
Katja bends down and looks at the squashed fruit. “Grapefruit down. Maybe you make wine now with it.”
“It’s not . . .” Andrew sighs and runs his hand over his face. “It’s not an actual grape.”
Why do I think he’s so hot when he gets mad? There is something in the way anger vibrates off him that turns me on. Is that weird? Maybe a little, but, oh well. I can’t help it.
“I’m not cleaning that up.” Andrew nabs my hands and pulls me off the counter. “You broke it, you clean it up. And use cleaning supplies or else the floor will be sticky. I will be adding don’t slam fruit on the ground to the rules.”
He walks us out of the kitchen as Leena and Katja both say at the same time, “Yes, Maammo.” br />
I snort, which doesn’t make Andrew very happy because he scowls at me. Too bad for him, his scowl turns me on too. It still makes me laugh every time they call him Mom in Finnish.
He takes me upstairs and shuts his door, making sure to lock it. He leans against the wood and blows out a long breath. “Those two are going to be the death of me, I just know it. That poor grapefruit, it was attacked by Finland with no defenses. A vicious hate-crime on a forbidden fruit.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to add no attacks on grapefruit or any kind of fruit to the list. Maybe this one died so it could save its successors.”
I study him, listening to the nonsensical dribble coming out of him. “Are you about done?” I ask, mirth laced in my voice.
“Yes.” He walks over to his desk where he sits and pats his lap for me to sit down. “Want to help me find cheap versions of the books I need this semester? I finally got the list I need and want to get a head start on everything. Can you believe school starts in two weeks? Where did the summer go?”
I swallow hard and put on a bright face. “Uh, yeah, crazy.”
Guilt swallows me whole as I sit on Andrew’s lap and he shows me his list of books. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so enthused about earning an education. It almost feels like the first day of school to him is equivalent to a beer-bellied sports man gearing up for the Super Bowl.
He’s ecstatic.
“And this professor I have for Human Computer Interfaces, shit, he’s great. I’ve been dying to get into his class ever since I heard about the engineering school at Binghamton. What about you?”
The back of my neck starts to sweat; I can feel the prickles of nerves turning up the heat in my body. “What about me?” I ask.
“Are you excited about any of your classes? I took psychology in high school, and was fascinated, albeit a little lost. It wasn’t math. I’m sure you’re learning some pretty sweet stuff. Do you get to conduct tests on rats? See if Pavlov’s dog is a real thing?”
“It is a real thing,” I answer instinctively.
“I know, I’m only teasing.” He kisses the side of my head and sighs. “Hell, I haven’t even thought about what we’re going to do when school starts. Ithaca is about an hour away. That’s not quite long distance but I know I won’t be seeing you every day like I am now. Shit.” He runs his hand over his face. “You’re not going to find some brainiac out there in the gorges and fall in love with him while there are miles separating us, are you?”