The Play
“Oh yeah. Hunter was the one who gave me the heads up about the cheating. Nico didn’t like that, so he tracked Hunter down and roughed him up with four of his friends. Five against one, Dad. That’s how mature adults deal with their problems, right?”
Dad’s cheeks hollow as if he’s grinding his teeth. “Well. That aside, I wonder if perhaps you should keep your distance from this Hunter.”
“Why? This is coming out of nowhere. You don’t even know him, and I don’t think you should be taking Nico’s word for anything, please. He’s a liar.”
“He lied to you, yes. But that doesn’t make him a liar.”
“Daddy. If I murdered you, I’d be a murderer. He lied to me, therefore he’s a liar.”
“Semantics.”
I heave a sigh. “Look, I like Hunter, all right? He’s great.”
“Are you dating him?” my father demands.
“Not really.”
Mom twists around in her seat, her meddlesome instincts kicking in. “‘Not really?’ Dios mío! You are dating him! When did this happen?!”
“We’re not dating.” Just having sex. Repeatedly. “But if we were, I’d expect both of you to give him a fair shot. Nico isn’t my boyfriend anymore, you guys. Eventually someone else is going to fill that role, and I need you to accept that and be open-minded about it.” I shrug. “As for Hunter, he’s a good guy and I like him a lot.” I meet my father’s eyes again. “And if you met him, you’d like him too.”
31
Demi
New Year’s Eve
Hunter has me on the bed before I can even say hello. His greedy mouth latches onto mine, the kiss stealing the breath from my lungs.
“I missed this,” I whimper, and I feel his answering groan vibrate through my body. I wrap my legs around his trim hips and shamelessly grind against his very prominent bulge.
“Missed you too,” he mumbles. His lips are exploring my throat now. He sucks on the side of my neck, then rolls us over so that I’m straddling him.
His hands slide underneath my shirt to cup my boobs. I’m not wearing a bra, so his calloused palms are a delicious scrape over my sensitive flesh. My nipples instantly pucker and strain against his touch.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Take this infuriating thing off.” He peels the shirt off me and whips it across the room.
A laugh flies out. “Hey, now, my shirt didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It was covering these perfect tits. I’m furious at it.” The hot whisper fans over my nipple and I moan when he draws it into his mouth and sucks deeply. God. I can’t believe it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen him. How have I gone without this for two weeks?
I roll my hips, grinding his covered erection. He cups and squeezes my breasts, then curls one hand behind my neck and tugs me down for a kiss. His tongue touches mine and it’s like a bolt of lightning directly to my core.
In an unplanned synchronized frenzy, we fumble at each other’s waistbands. He shoves my PJ pants down. I try to do the same with his jeans, but the denim snags on his thighs. He grins and lifts his ass to help me out. He’s still wearing a shirt, but naked below the waist, and his cock springs up, long and thick. My mouth actually waters.
“Fuck,” Hunter chokes out as his gaze roams my nude body.
Our gazes lock. A second ticks by, two, three.
And then we’re mauling each other again. I find a condom and put it on him. He pulls me back onto his lap. I impale myself on him, and off to the races we go.
I don’t know how long I ride him. It could be seconds, minutes or hours. All I know is that the knot of pleasure between my legs is almost painful, unbearable. My breathing is shaky. So are my hands. My fingertips tingle as I stroke them over his sculpted pecs. Lord, I know I’m close.
Pippa was right when she posited that maybe I’ve been having sex all wrong. Or maybe sex simply becomes predictable when you’ve been having it with the same person for years. With Hunter, it’s completely unpredictable, and right now I’m relishing the newness of it, all these firsts with him.
First kiss.
First fuck.
First orgasm while I’m riding his dick.
I come first, collapsing onto him, and he thrusts his hips, digging his fingers into my ass. He bites my shoulder as he comes, and I laugh breathlessly against his damp chest. We lie there for a moment, his arms wrapped snugly around me, his dick still buried inside me.
“Oh my gosh,” I say dreamily. “That was so good.”
“So good,” he mumbles.
We stay in that position for nearly a minute before he reluctantly withdraws. I sit up and help him remove the condom. “Here, let me get rid of this. I need to pee anyway.”
I return to the bed a minute later and we snuggle up, still naked. Hunter reaches for the fleece throw at the foot of the bed, pinches the corner and drags it up to cover us.
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” he remarks.
“Are you just realizing it now? Did you not see all the decorations the girls are setting up downstairs?” Theta Beta Nu is hosting one of the many parties on Greek Row tonight. Which means my presence is mandatory.
I’m touched that Hunter chose to come here tonight instead of chilling with his boys. His teammates are throwing a huge party in Hastings.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Conor’s?” I fret.
“No.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’m never leaving this room.”
“Well, we have to leave it at some point to make an appearance downstairs.”
“Fine. We’ll go down once every hour for twenty-minute intervals, then come back up here and fuck. After midnight, all bets are off and we stay in here forever.” His hand slithers down to pinch my bare butt.
“You’re insatiable.”
“Babe. I’m literally coming off a nine-month sex drought. If it was possible, my dick would be permanently inside you for at least three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” I yelp. That sounds exhausting. Fun, but exhausting.
“You’re right. That’s completely unreasonable. I’ll need at least three months inside you before my balls return to normal. It takes a while for semen production to regulate.”
I snicker loudly. “Gross.”
Voices echo outside my door as several of my sorority sisters pass by.
“Well, if you do want to go and party with your friends, I wouldn’t fault you for it,” I say, carelessly stroking his ridged abdomen.
“Not going anywhere, Semi,” he says stubbornly, his arm tightening around me.
“Can I ask you something?”
He snorts. “You’ll ask regardless of my answer to that.”
“True.” My grin fades as I broach the subject I’d been avoiding since we first had sex. “Are you mad at me for pushing you to break your celibacy vow?”
“No.” Nothing but sincerity there.
“Are you mad at yourself?”
“I was the morning after,” he reveals.
“Really?” I say in surprise. This is the first time he’s admitted to having any doubts or regrets about us.