And what I’ve been thinking about the most is how huge he is…is it possible to die from having sex with someone with a larger cock? Because I think I might die. Or at the least, I’ll be walking around with a limp for months. Okay,maybeI’m exaggerating a little, but it doesn’t sound too far off.
In a way I’m excited to have sex with him, but I’m also nervous, scared, and everything in-between. I’ve never been with anyone as big as Greyson before—Kyle was average…maybe less than because Greyson certainly puts Kyle’s cock to shame.
Come to think about it, there’s so much that Greyson does that puts Kyle to shame—for starters, he can actually give me an orgasm (eight in one night like he proved last night) he fingers me, eats me out, something Kyle would never do.
He even listens to me and doesn’t dismiss my emotions as me being “too sensitive” which is what Kyle said I was on several occasions. Greyson shows me what it feels like to be truly cared about, and the realization of that makes my heart clench.
When we woke up this morning, we both took showers—unfortunately not together much to my disappointment—and then he drove me to campus before heading home because he didn’t have any lectures himself until this afternoon.
I still had ten minutes until my lecture, so I took that small time frame to grab a coffee and a blueberry muffin to try fuel me up. Normally Callie would have freshly brewed coffee prepped, but either she slept in this morning or didn’t come home at all last night.
As I’m walking up the stairs to my lecture building, a hand grabs me. Spinning around, I push their hand off me—this isn’t Greyson. Call me weird or whatever, but I know what his touch feels like, and this isnothis touch.
Thistouch makes me feel uncomfortable and when my eyes find the source of my discomfort, I groan.
“What the fuck do you want, Kyle?” I sigh, pulling my bag up my shoulder that fell when he grabbed me.
His face is still fucked, his left eye is swollen, a deep purple bruise that is tinging yellow spreads across his cheekbone, and I notice more little bruises littered around his face. I would say I feel sorry for him, but I don’t. He deserved it.
“I just wanna talk.” He says, taking a step toward me.
“I’m almost late to my lecture,” not a complete lie, I have five minutes to get there. “I haven’t got time for this.”
“Please, Lilly. Just a minute.” He pleads.
“Kyle, what part of no do you not understand?” I growl out.
You’d think after five months of us being broken up that he’d finally get the hint and leave me alone, but nope, the idiot is still bothering me and probably thinks I’ll have a change of heart.
We stand in silence, and as I’m about to leave, he leans in, his lips brushing mine just slightly. My eyes widen and my hand instinctively shoots up, slapping him across the face. The sound echoes in the crisp air as he stumbles back, clearly caught off guard.
Holy fuck. I’ve never hit anyone before! And…omg, why does my hand sting so much?
My hand shakes as I lower it to see my palm is red raw, and when I glance up at Kyle, I see my handprint imbedded across his cheek making my eyes widen.
I don’t even wait to see his response, I quickly grip the door handle with a shaky hand and pull it open, speeding toward the room I need.
He kissed me? He had the audacity to try and kiss me,again…did he not learn his lesson the first time? Now his face is not only sporting bruises from when Greyson punched him, but it’s also sporting a handprint from where I just slapped him…karma?
And why is my hand still stinging?
Opening the doors to my lecture room, I see the class is mostly filled already. Walking further in, I make my way up the steps and into my usual row to see Finley already sitting there scrolling on his phone.
“Morning.” I give him a curt nod as I sit down.
“Morning, Lilly,” he smiles, tucking his phone away into his pocket and then his face morphs into concern. “Holy fuck, are you okay?”
I sigh, slumping back into the chair. “Kyle just kissed me.”
“What the fuck.” His eyes widen.
“Yeah, and I slapped him.”
Finley chokes on his saliva, slapping his hand to his thigh as he bursts out laughing. “You slapped him?”
Before I have the chance to respond, Professor Davenport walks through the door with a huge smile on her face. “In my hands are early copies of the newsletter that’ll be sent out on Monday morning,” she announces, holding up said newsletters as she walks to the center of the room. “I’m not going to lie, it was a hard job choosing which two articles I wanted to print,” she confesses. “And don’t be sad if yours isn’t picked, there’s always another time.”
“Welp, I know mine definitely hasn’t been picked.” Finley snickers beside me.
