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So that’s how I, Zina Washington, lifelong wallflower, find myself dressed in a tiny denim skirt and revealing top, face made up, hair done, on my way to watch my first college football game…
* * *
What are you doing here, Zina Washington?I ask myself for the hundredth time, standing with my back pressed to a wall in the middle of a frat house.
The football game was a lot of fun. Seeing all the supporters geared up in our opposing teams’ colors, being a part of the loud, excited crowd. Watching a game that held me on the edge of my seat through the very last minutes. I had a great time. Plus, the stadium food was great. I didn’t miss my solo evening plans for a second. Mynna and the other girls are always nice and fun to hang out with. Everything was perfect until I announced my intention to call it a night. Mynna raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me, hooked her arm under mine, and told me the party was just beginning. So we made our way out of the stadium with the rest of the crowd. The girls still chatting animatedly, me mostly listening but also feeling included, happy and relaxed. And we made our way to Frat Row.
The football house was packed, with people spilling down the street. Since our school won the game, campus police were nowhere to be seen despite the loud music booming from the two-story Victorian, and kids standing on the lawn and entrance holding suspicious red plastic cups.
When we made our way inside, I drew the line to joining the dance floor, found a quiet spot, and that’s where I’ve been standing for the past half-hour. People watching, nursing a cup of juice. Because I may be in college but I know better than to be tempted by alcohol at my underage… My nerdy ass graduated high school waaayy early, and now I’m eighteen-years-old, in grad school. Nowhere near twenty-one. I have no interest in that kind of drama.
The music is great. They’re playing the latest hits, with some old-school beats thrown in. The crowd is a bit rowdy, but not overly so. At least nothing that would send me running back to the dorms. No one’s bugging me, and my vantage point is perfect. I have a direct view of the other room where people are grinding and jumping to the music, ready to bolt the minute my girls show any sign of fatigue.
I pay little attention to the few guys who approach me, preferring watching the flirtatious exchanges around me to engaging in any. In my book, I’m having a great time. Being part of the Friday night crowd, but from the sideline. It works for me.
Nodding my head to the music, I take a sip of my drink, letting my eyes roam around the room. And that’s when I see him… A tall, broad, wickedly handsome guy. No, a man. Not one of these college boys. Uh-huh, the aura emanating from this one says power, intensity… danger. He’s leaning against the wall opposite to where I’m standing. Dressed in battered jeans and a dark Henley. A good head taller than most of the room. With wide, square shoulders, a broad chest. His thick arms crossed, bulging under the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. One of his long, muscular legs bent at the knee. The position making the well-worn stretch and outline his tree trunk size thigh. The sole of his booted foot resting on the wall at his back.
When my eyes have completed their perusal, my gaze returns to his face and everything I thought I knew about myself dissolves in an instant. For the past eighteen years, I have never been passionate, taken, excited, breathy and silly for anything other than knowledge, science, math… intellectual stimulation. I’ve kissed a few boys, messed around a bit, but always felt an overall sense of detachment, and very little interest. I thought I didn’t care for boys, passion, or romance, at least not in real life. Thought I could only swoon and get worked up from a good steamy book. Boy, was I wrong! Because the man standing across from me elicits all those emotions and so much more. My breathing picks up, my heart beats faster, my mouth goes dry, and a small tremble agitates my fingers. I feel completely overwhelmed, captured, enthralled. Fascinated by his unwavering dark gaze, the rough lines of his features. He’s all thick, inky brows, a strong, masculine nose, cut cheekbones, carved jaw, and a full, tempting mouth to fucking die for, nestled by dark stubble.
Rationally, I know we’re staring at each other from across the room. But when he pushes against his bent leg, stretching it for his boot to hit the floor, standing in all his mighty stature, then cuts to the crowd to come my way, I blink several times rapidly. As if to chase away a mirage, an impossibility. I turn my head to both of my sides, looking to see if someone is standing nearby. Maybe he’s coming to talk to someone else, or he needs the bathroom and there’s a door next to me I haven’t noticed.
But no. After the crowd has split for him like Moses and the Red Sea, my mystery man advances close enough that the points of his battered motorcycle boots graze my flats.
“Hey,” he rumbles. Voice, low, deep, velvety, and enveloping. Standing so close that the heat from his body engulfs me. His scent saturating the small space between us. He smells of soap and man. Fresh, with just a hint of musk. Heady, intoxicating, amazing. I’m fucking screwed.
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO - Mateo
It was just supposed to be another college party. Work. In and out. Drop by with some product, and leave with a wad of cash. Until I saw her. The most beautiful girl in the world. A fucking angel fallen down from the sky to reap my soul.
I was done with my transactions and decided to stay for a bit. The night was young, the party loud and filled with pretty girls. Maybe I could tip myself with one of these wild college girls. A lot of them were always up for a good time. The ones who spotted the bad boy in me at a glance and were eager to fall on their knees and swallow my cock, or drop on all fours, enjoying getting a bit roughed up. The ones who saw my big, calloused hands, the hardness in my stare, the tattoos, and got off on the thrill of a walk on the wild side.
I wasn’t expecting her. A good foot shorter than my six-five, with curves for fucking days, in a short jeans skirt and a top that molded her full, round breasts to perfection. I wasn’t expecting the big doe eyes that traveled through the room with curiosity. Almost like she rarely mingled with this crowd. Her perfect face made of soft lines. And that mouth. A mouth to fucking die for, sell my soul for. Fuck, I immediately knew I had to have her. The vision of her long legs wrapped around my waist, ankles crossed at my back, her thick thighs contracting around my body, flashed through my mind. I imagined her eyes going glassy, kiss-swollen lips parted in a moan that would hold need, want and pleasure. I had to have her. Lose myself in her. Find my salvation nestled between her thighs, wrapped in her tight, wet cunt, drown in the orgasmic taste of her luscious mouth.
* * *
“H… hi,” she finally answers, looking up at me with her big brown eyes. The delicate wings of her nostrils flaring because she’s breathing hard. Her eyelashes batting rapidly. Parted lips calling for my kiss. My dick jumps in my briefs.
“I’m Matt. Mateo Romano,” I introduce myself. Giving her my full name as a warning, a way out if she wants it.
I don’t cheat; I don’t lie. Don’t hide who I am, or run from it. If she’s heard my name before, if she knows who I am and wants nothing to do with my kind, this is her chance to bail. Maybe… Because at this point I’m not sure I could let her go.
“Zina Washington. Nice to meet you, Mateo.”
She thrusts her small hand at me, and I engulf her fingers into my huge paw. The feel of her soft skin, the warmth of our bodies mingling. Fuck! We’re standing so close that I can smell her. A tender, flowery scent, laced with a swirl of rich feminine musk. My cock jerks again.
I clear my throat. “Did you come with someone? Boyfriend, date?”
Zina shakes her head, biting down on her full bottom lip with a grin. Fuck. She’s so fucking cute. I could fucking eat her whole.
“Just my girlfriends. They’re over there, dancing.”
I don’t turn in the direction she’s pointing. Can’t detach my gaze from her for even a second.
I nod. “You go to school here?”
“Yeah, for my Masters.” My eyebrows rise. “Do you?”
I chuckle. Me, in a classroom. “Nah, baby. I was just here for an errand.” Zina’s head tilts to the side, her gorgeous face scrunching up with a frown of incomprehension. But before she can ask any question, I continue. “But now I’m done.”
