CHAPTER FIVE

HARPER

This is madness. Mindy’s right. I’ve left my brain back at campus.

What next? Gangbang with the curling team. Dogging out the back of Trader Joe’s?

The Harper I know, or at least I thought I knew, doesn’t go home with random guys… no matter how outrageously gorgeous they may be.

But God do I need this. I need the release, to prove to myself I’m desirable and perhaps more—that I’m not Elsa the Ice Queen when it comes to the bedroom.

Because screw you and your bendy penis, James. I can do better.

We’re at Colton’s place, a cozy granny flat with barely anything inside it save for a collection of beer bottles on the kitchen counter and a single large sport bag on the bedroom floor.

It’s warm, condensation on the windows, snow falling in soft sheets outside.

Colton has his hands on my face, deepening the kiss. I have to admit, I like the taste of him, the way his hard body presses against mine. Compared to James, he may as well be Mr. Universe. Before I know it he’s shed his shirt to reveal a planed chest leading to cut abs. Ink runs down his side and arms, too intricate to make out… or perhaps I’m simply too caught up in the way his fingers are raking through my hair, his tongue probing for mine.

This is not the Harper Dunham I know. My sex life up until this point has been completely unremarkable—‘Boredom is my middle name’ James and before that a string of high-school boyfriends all as useless as the next, poking in the dark trying to find my hole like it was a Where’s Waldo map.

Colton is different. His breathing is deep, his hands constantly moving, gripping and releasing, exploring.

Before I know it I’m down to my bra. His cock tents out his pants, the outline of it thicker than I imagined. I always thought smooth-talkers like Colton were of the small penis variety, but that does not seem like the case here. No, ma’am.

I let him kiss the side of my neck, suck at the delicate skin there, walk that fine border between pleasure and pain.

My mouth loosens, my eyes close. The mess of my life is already slipping away. In its place is heat and passion—pure energy.

I’m easing into it, actually enjoying myself, and so what if this is a one-time thing? I’m an adult. Can’t I have a little fun every once in a while? I’m a fun person… right?

You keep telling yourself that, the uber-annoying voice in my head answers.

Things are perfect until Colton breaks away, turning me around and pushing me over the edge of the bed with my ass out.

I look over my shoulder to see him smiling, slowly drawing down the zipper on his jeans. “Take off your pants.”

“Why?” I ask.

Why? Great way to break the mood, Harper.

Colton stops. “Why? Because I want to fuck you, that’s why.”

He comes forward, reaching for the waistband of my pants. “Here. Let me help. I want to see that perfect ass of yours.”

I’m sort of disappointed. What happened to the foreplay, the promise of an orgasm? All this and he wants to get straight to the P-in-V?

Just another guy who only cares only about his cock.

It settles on me like a prickly blanket. This isn’t going to work, but I’m going to give him a piece of my mind whether he wants it or not.

I stand and push him back.

He looks offended, inkpot eyebrows folding together. “What the hell’s your problem?”

“My problem?” I laugh, feeling foolish and exposed. “You sure made it seem like you were going to get me off. You guaranteed it, if I recall.”

He reaches down to grope his crotch. “And I will. I’m a man of my word.”

I gather my shirt off the floor, shaking my head. “You’re just like the rest.”

I kneel down to pick up my top when he takes me around the waist from behind, lifting me to my feet. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, instead pressing up behind me and sliding a hand down the front of my panties.

My eyes go wide. I’m looking straight into a full-length mirror, at the shock on my face, the way my mouth is a perfectly round ring, at this stranger’s hand disappearing into my pants.

Fingers. Searching. Going deeper.

I should stop him, turn away, but the confidence of the action, the way he nuzzles into my shoulder, his breath hot on the side of my neck, I can’t… I’m paralyzed.

Colton doesn’t require a map to find his way around. His fingers go straight to my clit.

I gasp aloud as he applies pressure, my spine straightening.

“You’re wet,” he whispers. “Really. Fucking. Wet.”

That single syllable almost does it.

I flush a deep, shameful red because he’s right. One finger concentrates on my clit, while another runs downwards, slipping easily into the slick heat of my pussy, the front of my jeans pressed out as Colton continues his exploration.

I don’t know what to do with my hands, standing there frozen in the mirror, my breathing rapid and shallow. I’m going to hyperventilate before I get off, I realize. The paramedics are going to find me unconscious, half-dressed.

A second finger joins the first inside me. My entire body relaxes, my hips shifting forward to meet Colton’s hand of their own accord.

I thought it was hot in here before, but now it’s a damn inferno. I close my eyes, can’t breathe or think, only be seduced by the masterful way Colton applies pressure here and there, his fingers running in and out of my body, curling upwards against the sensitive roof of my sex, everything pulling into my center and building, building like never before.

He holds me around the waist, cradles me against him. The tip of his tongue traces around the shell of my ear as he circles my clit in languid figure-eights. I’m pulsing down there and it’s new and unfamiliar and completely strange.

The sensation builds, his fingers shifting faster, the crotch of my panties soaked through as his knuckles dig and drag against it.

My legs are weak and limp. I want to collapse, but he holds me tightly, his cock hard and long against the globes of my ass, jerking against it, lightly fucking me clothed from behind, forcing me against his fingers.

My head rolls on my shoulders, my eyes squeezed shut because I don’t know what’s happening to me. It’s scary, this freefall, this abandon, but I want to move closer to the edge. I want to jump.

“Come,” Colton whispers, barely audible, a soft command.

“Come,” he repeats, louder, more pressure against my clit until I crest higher, my legs shifting apart to allow him greater access.

“I want to feel it,” he says, voice steady and even, that delicious rasp ever-present. “I want you to come, to squeeze my fingers… to fucking drown them. Can you do that?”

I open my eyes, see myself and lose all sense of reality.

The feeling inside me, this drawing of sensation, is relentless. It’s too great, the wave too high. I can’t escape it.

“I, I—” I sputter, unable to put together an intelligible sentence.

“Say it,” he continues.

“I’m… I’m going to…”

‘What?” he pushes.

The edge is so close. My eyes shutter closed again and I can’t hold it back any longer. “…come,” I gasp, with whatever breath I have left before I plunge into the void.

Pleasure as I’ve never known it slams into me, enough to hammer me back and forward against him, my entire body shaken by an unseen specter, a force from another world.

My sex convulses, gripping and releasing the fingers buried deep inside me, my clit thrumming and pulsing against the pad of his finger.

My vision blurs around the edges, the galaxy behind my eyes folding inwards and I don’t know whether to be terrified or ecstatic, only that I want more, again and again and again.

Sorry, chocolate, but there’s a new love in my life.

I want to lose consciousness, to melt into the floor, but Colton holds me firmly, his fingers easing away and, before I know it, his hand is gone completely.

He turns me around.

My eyes open and I see the smile on his face, the smug ‘told you so.’

Reality ebbs in as my orgasm fades.

What the hell are you doing, Harper?

I don’t know. I’m not in control. I’m lost here.

I’ve gone home with a stranger and he’s bewitched me. I’m Hansel hiding out in his candy house and the only place left to go is the oven.

“Everything okay?” he asks, eyes cocked and bright.

I shake my head. This isn’t right. I don’t do this, whatever this, whatever that was.

You’re scared of the unknown, that’s all.

I rebel against my inner voice. No. No, no, no.

I run my hair behind my ear, conscious of how sweaty I am, the weak ache between my legs still yearning for more. “I… I don’t know what to say?”

He’s putting on his shirt, collecting my things off the floor. “What are you doing?” I ask, the shock still running through me.

In truth, I’m floored. I never expected he’d come through, that my very first climax would come from a complete stranger.

“That was fun,” he says, handing me my clothes and already walking to the door. “But you should go.”

I dress confused, my head racing. “Go? What are you talking about?”

I sound desperate, but the truth is, I am. He’s shown me the gateway drug. Now I want the full hit.

He opens the door, waiting. “I’ll see you around.”

“That’s it?” I can’t help but verbalize it.

“It was nice to meet you,” he says, oblivious to the question.

What. The. Hell? Now he’s felt me up he no longer wants to sleep with me? I don’t get this at all, yet I find myself walking through the door, staring at it in disbelief when it closes behind me.

I turn and start to walk, the snow falling around my shoulders and that wonderful ache refusing to go away even as my anger rises.

Was I just used? Did he not enjoy it? Was I too wet or loose or not loud enough? Was he only trying to prove a point?

I think of these questions and more, going over and over them until they’re red and raw, only questions, stupid, cursed questions to comfort me during the long walk home.

*

I wake to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. I open my eyes and find Mindy crouched beside my bed, waving said coffee in front of my face like a magic wand. She’s combed her bangs down a la Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. All she’s missing is a cigarette.

Why can’t I be that cool?

I sit up and reach for the jitter juice. “You’re a god send.”

“And you got home late, which means…”

“Nothing,” I reply, using the mug to shield myself.

Mindy doesn’t buy it. “Bullshit, which either means Mr. Bright Eyes was either a-freakin’-mazing between the sheets or… lacking.” She traces my face with her finger in the air. “Though given the strange glow you’re sporting, I’d say the former.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, but I’m fifty shades of red.

She stands, looking down at me. “He didn’t… did he?”

I remain silent.

Her hands go to her face. “Holy shit. He cracked the code, didn’t he?”

I can’t hide it, a wry smile beginning to break behind the mug.

“You climaxed, came, consummated… You have arrived, Harpie.”

I hold the mug out as she crushes me in a hug.

“Welcome to the sisterhood, my friend. Welcome.”

I place the coffee down before I wear it. “Before we start cleansing our yonis and comparing mantra words, perhaps I could have a moment to get up and get dressed. It is Monday, you know.”

She releases me. “And the first day of your new existence.”

I roll my eyes. “I had an orgasm, Mindy. I’m not joining a cult.”

She wags her finger. “But ah, there you are wrong. You think that cup of joe is addictive? You just wait.”

I want to protest, but in a way she’s right. I do want to come again… just not with that inky-haired asshole who threw me out like the Sunday paper. I mean, WTF, dude. Seriously.

As per usual, the rest of the morning is a blur as I dress and rush out the door with toast in mouth, clutching my phone and laptop, chasing down the bus.

The whole time I try to justify what went on last night. I put it down to a temporary psychological blip, a moment of madness that shall not be repeated nor spoken of again.

Was it fun? In a dirty, diversional sort of way, sure.

Leave it at that, Harper, and move on.

I’m actually feeling back to my normal self when the bus pulls up.

I arrive on campus shortly after eight and power for the lecture hall.

Most of the students are already seated when I enter from the side door. I come up to the desk down the front of the hall and start arranging my things still huffing from the powerwalk.

I clip in the lapel mic and start leafing through my notes. “Welcome back to Cultural Studies 101, kiddies, your 200-level LAX of everything contemporary culture.”

I place my notes down, finally composed, and look up to the class.

Such fresh faces.

My eyes come to the middle of the room and stop.

My mouth drops, my heart not far behind it, because seated bang smack in the middle of my class is the guy who had his hand down my pants last night.

Colton.

Mr. Bright Eyes.

Right there.

There’s no way around it.

I. Am. Screwed.