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om the clothes strewn around the place (I can already guess those must be Anthony’s; Vin is way too tidy to leave his stuff on the floor) to the lacrosse sticks out of their cases and propped against a wall. There’s even a Playboy magazine on the floor beside their bunk beds, and my face flushes as I catch a glimpse of the page it’s spread open to—a completely naked woman.
Who are these guys? Are we going to have anything in common? Are they going to do anything but torment me all year?
I shower as fast as I can and dress in the narrow common bathroom stalls before I head back to the room. I hope to beat the guys to bed so I can at least have one night of peace before I figure out how to handle living with them. Luckily, there’s still no sign of them, so I climb into my bed and pull the covers up to my chin, sighing.
Here goes nothing, is the last thought I remember having before I drift off to sleep.
When I wake up again, it’s still dark. For a moment, I stare at the ceiling, confused and disoriented, wondering where I am. The memory floods back slowly, along with the sound of other people breathing. Two other people, to be exact.
One is deep and measured, the sound of someone fast asleep. The other is faster, interwoven with sharper breaths. It sounds like someone working out.
For a moment, I just pause to appreciate the fact that the guys managed not to wake me up coming home. I’m a pretty light sleeper, so the fact that they both got ready for bed and passed out before I even noticed they were here is impressive. And probably means they were trying to be quiet on purpose, for my sake.
I don’t have time to be impressed by that, though, because I shift a little in my bed, peering out from a gap in the covers over my face, and feel my breath catch in my throat. Any softening feelings I might have felt toward the guys fly out the window as I realize what’s happening in the top bunk, the one directly across from mine, of which I have a perfect, bird’s-eye view.
Anthony has the covers pulled down to his thighs, his head tilted back, teeth gritted in the dim light. It’s dark enough that I can’t make out much of his expression—only his teeth are white enough to show in the midnight room. But I can make out the shape of his arm, the muscles tense and tight. And his hand, folded up over his waist. Wrapped around…
Oh, god.
He’s jerking off, I realize, my eyes widening at the sight of his thick, gloriously hard cock. His hand slides along his own length, his breath speeding up as he moves his hand faster, curving his fingers along the tip.
I should look away. Close my eyes. Pull the blanket back over my face and try to fall back asleep until he’s finished. I know that’s what I should do.
But there’s something impossibly hot about the strain on his face, the tension in his strong arms. The way he arches his hips, curses under his breath, pleasuring himself completely. That must have been what woke me—the uneven sound of his breathing, and the occasional gasps he lets out when he gets nearer to his peak.
Without thinking, without even realizing what I’m doing exactly, my hand strays to the waistband of my PJs. I might be a virgin, but I’m not a saint—I sure as hell know how to make myself feel good when I’m in the mood. I have to if I want to stay on track and away from other distractions.
The sight of Anthony right now is definitely putting me in the mood.
I slide my hand under my pajamas, straight past my underwear. I run my finger along my slit, realizing with a start of surprise that I’m already wet. I circle my finger in my juices, coating my index finger, then my middle finger too, all the while picturing Anthony’s hand where mine is, tracing the outline of my pussy lips, feeling how wet he makes me. I slide a finger inside myself, curl it to stroke my inner wall, and imagine him doing this to me instead. What if that thick arm of his was wrapped around my hips instead? What would he make me do; how would I feel if he took me the way he’s taking himself right now?
I watch his hips arch off the bed again, and imagine him thrusting inside me as I push my finger deeper into my pussy. I slide my middle finger in too, watching Anthony’s thick cock, knowing how he’d stretch my walls tight if he fucked me. I circle my thumb over my clit, my own breath speeding up as I hit all the right spots. Anthony is panting now, near his climax. I hope the heavy sound of his breath will disguise my own, as I stroke myself faster, circling my clit, quickly bringing myself close to the brink as well.
He shifts in bed, onto his side, facing toward me, and for a moment my whole body freezes, muscles frozen, terrified. What if he sees me watching him? What will he think if he knows I’m touching myself, turned on as hell by watching him masturbate?
But his eyes remain closed tight, his lips parted in distraction, his ab muscles on full view now, tense as he strokes himself off, right to the edge.
I press harder against my clit, thrusting my fingers into my pussy at the same time, and part my lips, gasping without sound as the orgasm hits. At the same moment, across the room, Anthony comes too, groaning faintly as his cum pumps across his knuckles, drips along his arm. I stare at it, still rubbing my clit, the orgasm jolting through my limbs, electrifying my brain. I feel like I can feel his cum on me, slicking my body. I imagine him coming on my stomach, my chest, or deep inside me, coating the walls of my pussy, marking me as his.
When Anthony rolls over and reaches for a towel, I quickly drop the covers back across my face, sliding my hand out of my PJs. My body still feels limp and relaxed, my pussy tight and twitching from the orgasm. I roll over in bed, away from him, and curl up facing the wall, wondering if he could hear me. Wondering if he guessed what I was doing at the same time as him. I hope to god he didn’t because I don’t know how to explain what the hell just came over me.
I told myself that coming here, I would remain completely focused on school. On my work, on classes, and not on guys. Now, less than 24 hours later, I’m already masturbating over one of them?
I grimace and tighten my grip on my pillow. How the hell am I going to survive an entire semester with these guys so close to me?
Two
When I wake up, the room is empty again. Thank god for early morning practices, I think as I get dressed. At least it means I’ll probably have the room to myself every morning since I tend to just roll out of bed as soon as possible before I need to actually be somewhere. And, I really do appreciate that the guys are quiet about getting ready, too.
I shouldn’t complain. There are way worse roommate situations I could have been stuck with. Someone loud or annoying or who blared music and tried to keep me awake all night.
This will be fine, I tell myself as I stuff my books into my backpack. It’ll just take some getting used to. Hell, maybe it will be good for me—if I can learn to ignore my own attraction to these guys, then I’ll be well set for ignoring any other hot guys I might stumble across this year. Making it through any other tests of willpower will be a cakewalk after this semester.
A little bit more cheerful after that thought, I head out of my room, chewing on a breakfast bar as I make my way toward my first class. The campus is already bustling at this hour, people crossing it in all different directions on their way to classes. I have bio first, which I’m actually excited about. But I get about as far as figuring out which of the towering glass structures surrounding me is the science building and then I completely lose my place. There’s a zillion different corridors inside the building, each one branching off a different direction, some upstairs, some down… The numbers don’t seem to be in order, either.
I walk at least five minutes down one hallway before it dead-ends and I realize I’ll need to turn around and go a completely different direction just to get back to another option.
Crap, crap, crap, I think, hurrying my steps. I left with plenty of time to spare, but if I stay lost in this maze much longer, I’m going to be late. On my very first day of class, no less. Way to make a great first impression on the professor.
