Caroline
I can’t concentrate.
The professor drones on and on about God knows what, but every time I try to listen to what she’s rambling about, last night’s chapter meeting replays over and over again in my mind. We need money. Bad. Not just the sorority, but one of my sorority sisters too. The dog shelter that the girls and I volunteered with burned to the ground, and the animals, they need us. On top of that, her brother was severely burned in the fire. He needs help to cover his medical bills, so we offered our assistance. It’s not the idea of helping them that has my mind muddled, but more the how.
The girls want to auction off our virginity. The same precious virginity we made a pact to maintain is now on the chopping block, and I feel sick about it.
And not only because I lied.
I’m no virgin. My virginity was lost years ago, to a prick who didn’t deserve it. He took everything—including my heart—and then left me.
I shake off the ghosts from my past and get back to the worry at hand. I don’t know what to do. I proposed we raise money in other ways, which the girls agreed to consider, but they refused to postpone the auction while they wait for “phantom funds” to come in.
My idea was to hold a concert headlined by campus legends Punch-Drunk Kids. All proceeds would go to the fund. They all loved the idea but feared the band couldn’t fit us in on such short notice. I was told to proceed and update them on my progress at next week’s meeting. I sent the band an email, but haven’t received a reply. It probably doesn’t help that I know nothing about the band. I don’t partake in typical campus events and I’m afraid my email made that obvious. If I had only looked at our campus website, I’d have known that the date I proposed is out since they are already booked. I make a mental note to follow up after I check the band’s website—assuming they even have one.
Bottom line, we need the money and I need this concert to come through, because the alternative is not an option for me. I lied when I said I was untouched. What if the highest bidder is pissed I’m not a virgin, and informs the girls I didn’t tell them the truth? Will they kick me out of Beta Kappa Nu for lying? Will they ever trust me again? How can I stay in the sorority if they can’t trust me? I’ll have no choice but to deactivate. If that happens what will my mother say? She’ll kill me. It’s her legacy I’d destroy. She’s the only reason I joined this freaking sorority.
I’ve spent the last two years reinventing myself. Even though I partied hard my freshman and sophomore year of high school, I never let my grades drop, which worked in my favor, but once I became a junior I really excelled. I did everything I needed to do to be the best in my class, including swearing off men. I followed my mother’s plans for me—followed in her footsteps—and became the treasurer for Beta Kappa Nu, despite my own wishes. She was a Beta Kappa Nu, and so was my grandmother. It was my destiny, she claimed. If she knew that Brad Hayes took my coveted virginity, she might disown me.
Then there’s the whole issue of not being in control. What if the guy who bids on me isn’t attractive? What if he has some sort of disease? Ugh. This whole thing is a freaking mess.
I’ve only slept with one person and the entire act was tainted by the events that occurred after. The thought of rehashing my past due to an auction I want no part in has my anxiety at an all-time high. I just want to forget. Like I have tried desperately to do for two freaking years.
Not that the whole situation doesn’t have my brain stuck on sex. I’m practically a born-again. If your pussy hasn’t been touched in two years, that should automatically make you a virgin again. Right? My head falls back against my chair as my pussy throbs in need. Unfamiliar thoughts flood my mind as I try to think of anything other than a thick, hard cock giving me everything it’s supposed to be.
My gaze pulls forward to the boy sitting in front of me. Mathewson. Would I be lucky enough to get someone who looks like him? Unruly dirty blond hair and eyes so blue they remind me of a stormy day at sea.
Fucking him would be no skin off my back. In fact, it would be a dream. He could possibly turn the word sex around for me. I would enjoy it. Thoroughly. What would his lips taste like? My lids flutter closed of their own accord, and I imagine it in vivid detail.
* * *
He steps into me, reaching out his arms to cage me into the wall. The thick-corded muscles in his shoulder flex at the movement. He’s so close. Too close. My chest rises and falls with the tension circling around me. Will he kiss me?
God, I hope he does.
He answers my secret prayer by leaning down. His mouth hovers over mine. Our breathing is ragged. The breath I’m holding as I wait for him to kiss me expels from my lungs. He’s so close I can taste him. He’s so close he must feel my heart beat against his own.
Closing the distance, he seals his mouth to mine, his tongue tracing the seam until I acquiesce and open to him. His kiss is hungry, primal, and desperate. He nips. He sucks.
When he pulls away, I feel desolate, lost without his lips on mine. Before I can protest the loss, he trails a path along my jaw, down my neck. He dips in the hollow of my chest slowly, so slowly I’m panting. He’s sucking the thin material covering my nipples and I’m begging for more. I squirm against him, rocking myself along the rigid shaft beneath his pants. The friction is a delicious torture. I’m burning up.
A raging inferno.
Then I feel it. His hand slips under my skirt, past my panties and hovers at my entrance. Slowly, he presses inside me and starts to work his magic. The movement starts off slow, a delicious torture. Soon the thrust of his digit grows faster, harder. He’s fingering me at a punishing speed, leaving me quivering, breathless, and needy. As his pace quickens, a shiver that seems to last forever runs up my body, causing goose bumps to form against my skin.
He drives once, twice, and on the third plunge of his finger he hits a spot that makes my breath hitch, that makes me desperate to come undone with the sensation of him stroking my G-spot over and over again. I teeter on the edge until it finally happens, and the inside walls of my pussy contract, gripping and pulsating with his ministrations.
I’m there. I’m ready to come. I’m riding the fine edge of oblivion, but I need something more. He ends my torture as he pulls out and pinches my clit, sending me over the edge.
A soft moan escapes my mouth, and then there’s a cough.
A cough?
My eyes open and Mathewson is staring right at me, dangling a paper in front of my face. Every single muscle in my body tightens to the point of pain. This is mortifying.
“Your paper.” He smirks, clearly finding me amusing.
My cheeks warm and I’m sure I’m turning beet red. I was full-fledge daydreaming about this guy, probably moaning in my seat and he witnessed the whole thing. Lord, could anything be more embarrassing? He coughs, and I realize yes. He’s still looking at me, and I still haven’t spoken.
“Umm. Okay. I was just...” I mumble out, trying to save face, but instead it just makes me look like a bigger idiot. He leans forward, still holding my paper. His hand extends to pass it to me and our fingers brush.
It sounds cliché, but I swear electric current shoots down my body. Every inch of my skin tingles with his proximity. Looking up from where our hands touched, I meet his stare. I wait on bated breath for him to respond. He doesn’t. The corner of his mouth rises into a panty-melting grin. He knows where my mind was.
I was just caught by my college crush having a dirty fantasy about him. God, can my life get any worse? Oh, that’s right... I have to have sex with some troll. Great. Fucking great.
It can.