I shake my head again. “I don’t think I can get my legs to move.”
His smile nearly sends me falling into ecstasy again. “All right. Then curl your legs around my hips, so you can slow my pumps if I get too excited.”
Not waiting for me to answer, he guides my legs around his sweaty waist. Missionary and cowgirl on top are our go-to positions. It has nothing to do with preference and everything to do with Brandon ensuring I only take as much of him as I can.
Once he has his cock lined up and at the ready, Brandon lowers his forehead to mine. “Ready?”
We breathe as one when my head dip sees him slowly notching inside of me. He takes it to the very base before slowly drawing it back out, his pace only quickening when I beg him for more. For each rock of his hips, he increases his pace. He plunges in and out of me on repeat, his speed gauged on the moans escaping from my throat.
I feel his cock throb when my thighs shake around him. I’m trembling, my skin both hot and cold. My pussy tugs at him, milking him, while also begging for him to come with me this time around. I love when he comes with me, his breaths heavy on my neck, and his cock fighting through the clenches of my pussy.
Brandon ignores the pleas of my pussy for him to focus on his own orgasm by concentrating all his attention on me. He adds a roll to his hips that has my eyes rolling into the back of my head before lowering his hand to the bud zapping like it could power a city.
I’m still recovering from my two earlier orgasms, so it takes him a little longer to ease my third one out of me. But he does it. He coerces me back into a state of deliriousness with a slow, body-ripping climax that takes everything from me.
I come silently, the intensity of my orgasm rendering me incapable of releasing the moan I feel vibrating in my chest. I’m incoherent, shaking, and heavy-limbed from the warmth spreading through me. It starts at the tips of my toes, then seeps to my pussy that Brandon is still tormenting with precisely timed strokes before it puddles in the orifice I was convinced would never thump again when I stumbled upon my parents’ wreckage months ago.
I should’ve known better. Brandon was raised by my father to protect me, and that didn’t just mean in the physical sense. He’s keeping me emotionally stable as well, and it’s time for me to return the favor.
19
BRANDON
THREE MONTHS LATER.
“M r. Darcy?” I follow a middle-aged man through the quad of Browns University. Although he personally knows every student on this campus, he’s quite elusive. I’ve been chasing him for months.
“Mr. Darcy?” I try again when his speed increases so much, his hairpiece flaps in the breeze of his quick strides. “Ms. Melrose said you’re the best person to speak to about a request for transfer.”
When I reach him, he shoos me away as if I’m a nagging parent willing to do anything to get my kid into the number one school in the state. I’m willing to do anything. Melody just isn’t my kid.
“You’ve denied my girlfriend’s request for a transfer over a dozen times now, but you’ve not once given her a reason. All we want to know is why you keep refusing her application, so we can try and improve it.”
His bushy brow shoots up high on his face. “This is an education facility, young man, not a place for you and your girlfriend to play house.”
His response pisses me off, but I keep a cool head, recalling how intimidation is a form of flattery. “She doesn’t want to play house. She wants to study law. Browns has the best pre-law professors this side of the country.”
Mr. Darcy tosses his suitcase into the back of his sleek new ride then holds down his toupee, so he doesn’t lose it when he spins to face me. “Perhaps your girlfriend should consider a degree more suitable for her GPA.”
“If law isn’t suitable for a student with a 3.9 GPA, what would you suggest?”
That piques his interest. “She has a 3.9 GPA?” When I nod, he asks, “SATs?”
“Above average for both SAT and ACT. She even sat the graduate admission test for LSAT last month and passed.”
He whistles, clearly impressed. “Not many seniors can pass that, so a freshman should be commended for the effort.”
“She’ll be a sophomore after summer break. That’s how long she’s been requesting a transfer.” I sound pissed off. Justly so. Melody and I have lived separately for months now because this asshole couldn’t see a gifted student if she were standing right in front of him. “She has organized to spend summer break as a personal paralegal at a law firm in the city. They’ve cited an interest in offering her an internship for additional credit if she can get into the right pre-law courses.”
Mr. Darcy’s pause reveals he doesn’t like giving in, but his interests are too piqued for him to back down. “Where’s she studying now?”
“She’s spent her first year studying at Dartmore. It’s about an hour from here.” I nudge my head over my shoulder like he can see Melody’s dorm from here.
He ha’s out loud. “That’s not a school. It’s a slush fund for rich investors who collect tuition checks from trust fund babies without supplying them any education their parents are paying for.”
“That’s my point. That’s why she needs to transfer her studies to Browns. She’s smart, Mr. Darcy. She aces her tests, does extracurricular activities as required as part of her scholarship, and helps my mom with the many charities she chairs. She’s perfect for Browns… you just need to give her a chance.” I can already see I’ve won him over, but a little extra sweetener never hurt anyone. “My father has been a benefactor of Browns for years. When he eventually runs for Congress, I’m sure Browns will benefit even more from his contribution if they help out the girl he classes as family.”
The sweat on the top of his brows is more noticeable when he slants his head. “You’re Vincent McGee’s son?”
