FIVE MONTHS LATER.
B randon and I stumbled into my dorm at Dartmore. Arms and legs go in all directions as we endeavor to strip each other’s clothing before we reach my bed housing my latest rejection letter for Browns. I don’t know what I did to the admissions officer from Browns in a previous life, but he obviously knows how to hold a grudge. Even with an article in the New York Times saying attendance was low for them this year, every request for a transfer I’ve made over the past five months has been denied.
My grades did slip a little at the end of my senior year due to my parents’ death, but they’re still remarkable. Brandon said that exact thing multiple times tonight when we attended one of his father’s ritzy parties. It was brimming with people from all walks of life, including some law professors from Browns.
They assured Brandon that Mr. Darcy will come around eventually. I just hope it isn’t by the time I graduate. I’ve missed Brandon so much our first three months at college, I mentally have to remind myself not to reflect my anguish to him. Brandon is loyal to a fault. He’d leave his studies at Browns in an instant if I told him our separation is breaking my heart.
I’m surrounded by thousands of people every day, but I’ve never felt more alone.
It’s so lonely here, and it has nothing to do with the fact there are only two other deaf students at this university. Disability allowance cuts mean things like note-takers for the deaf comes out of the university’s pocket, so a lot of universities are shying away from offering scholarships to people with hearing impairments. Most of the lecture theaters have hearing loops installed, but since I’m profoundly deaf, I can’t use hearing aids. Cochlear implants are still a consideration, but since that’s more than I’m willing to spend right now, I’ll continue sitting at the front of the lecture halls to ensure I have a clear view of the lecturer’s mouth, so I can read his lips.
I emerge from the dense cloud surrounding me when Brandon murmurs my name. He didn’t sign it, but I felt the vibration on my chest.
“Sorry, I zoned out.”
He tugs down on the cups of my strapless bra to expose my breasts to his more-than-avid eyes before saying, “I was asking about your roommate. Have they mentioned when she will rock up yet?”
If he wants me to answer him, he needs to stop sucking my nipple in his mouth. It feels too good to do anything but weave my fingers through his hair.
Brandon’s lips raise against my chest before he releases my nipple from his mouth. “Sorry. I forgot about your inability to communicate when my mouth is on you.”
“Brandon James McGee, is that cockiness beaming out of you? Say it isn’t so.”
He smiles at the jesting cock of my brow before placing a kiss on my left breast, my collarbone, my jaw, and then the little freckle behind my right ear. “It is impossible for a man not to feel like a hero when he is invited into the bed of a beautiful woman every single weekend.”
I feel him grow heavier against my thigh when I reply, “Then I guess it is okay to brag because not only are you bragging about me, you are also my superhero.”
“You are only saying that because I have my hand between your legs.”
His laughter fans my face when I use a defense technique to flip him over, so I’m straddling his hips. “Imagine what I will say now since your hand has been replaced with your dick?”
Before he can reply, I seal my mouth over his. Our kiss is a hungry, all-consuming embrace, but it’s also full of love and mutual understanding. Respect has always been a highly-valued commodity in our relationship, and I’m pleased to say it has remained that way even after we tiptoed from best friends to lovers.
I shiver into Brandon’s mouth when his fingers brush down my dripping core. Although we attend different schools, distance hasn’t stopped us from making up for the time we lost after my parents’ accident. We go at it for hours every single weekend because each exchange strengthens our desire for each other.
After inching back, I sign. “BJ… can we mix things up tonight? I want to try something new.”
His throat works hard to swallow. “It isn’t that pegging thing Carmen mentioned, is it?”
The pure anguish on his face makes laughter bubble in my chest. “No. Your butthole is safe…” His smug expression is wiped away when I add, “For now.”
Brandon isn’t a fan of jokes in the bedroom, especially when they involve my friends telling me I should fuck him with a strap on since he is, I quote, “The bitch in our relationship.”
They can’t understand our dynamic because they’re still chasing men who think waiting for them to fall asleep before sneaking out is how you treat a woman right.
When I slip off the bed and track to my makeshift kitchen in the corner of the room, Brandon props himself onto his elbows. His panicked expression as he watches me cross the room is hilarious. “Stop fretting. I am pretty sure you are going to love this.”
A peculiar sensation rolls through me like liquid ecstasy when I bend down to remove his surprise from my backpack. I’m not wearing any panties, and since I refuse to bend with my knees when Brandon is around, he’s given an uninterrupted view of my nether regions.
After hiding his gift behind my back, I lock my eyes with Brandon’s cock. The pre-cum pooling at the top of his impressive manhood slides down the shaft when I pull out a super-large jar of peanut butter from behind my back. It’s his favorite brand, but instead of the double-crunch version, I went for smooth. No one wants to chew during sex.
“You want to add peanut butter into our sex life?” I can’t tell if Brandon is confused or amused. It could be a combination of both.
I shrug. “Why not? It is your favorite flavor—”
“No,” he denies, cutting me off. “You are my favorite flavor. Peanut butter comes in a very close second.”
Excitement burns my cheeks with heat. “I wonder if your opinion will change if we mixed them?”
