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“Do I need to walk you through it?” He sounded exasperated. “Doesn’t a little slut like you know how to masturbate? Even twice in one night? I know you said you’ve always been a runner-up, but you can at least get this right.”
“Fuck you,” I gasped. “I was telling you private shit.”
“Of course you were.” His voice was hard. “We’re doing all kinds of private shit. Now touch your fucking clit.”
I moaned. It wasn’t a choice. It dropped out of me, willful and reckless. My hand went between my legs. My finger found my clit.
“Oh God.”
“See? You do know what to do.”
I did. But it wasn’t about thinking or trying. Pure instinct drove my fingers on my pussy, faster and faster. I was out of control, impulsive, overwhelmed.
“More,” I breathed.
“That’s it.” His assured whisper sent tremors through my body. “You’re dripping juices, aren’t you? Listen to the sounds you’re making, So hungry and wild and desperate. You’re going to be a fucking mess every time I put my hands on your body. The more you keep it in on the outside, the more you’re going to let it out with me. I’m going to fuck you senseless, Christina, and you won’t even be able to try to hide anything.”
I gasped, furious, aroused, trembling, my fingers blurring on my clit.
“Patrick…” I sobbed.
“Fuck yes.” He was masturbating too. It hit me in a flash. I’d been lost in my own shock and desire, but I heard his sudden intake of breath, his words becoming more disjointed. “I’m going to take you in every way possible. Give it up to me. You’re mine.”
The air left my lungs in a gasp. I hugged my thighs around my wrist as spasm after spasm wracked my body. My mattress creaked as I rocked back and forth.
“Oh God…oh Jesus…help me…”
Patrick’s growls of release made me come harder. I saw him sprawled on his bed, his broad fist jerking his cock, arcs of cum spurting into the air.
“I can’t stop coming.”
“Ride it,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “Ride it till I say you can stop.”
Jesus, I obeyed, rubbing my swollen clit, giving in to the intensity that peaked and peaked. Moaning, crying out, a total mess just like he’d said.
“Christina.” My name, in his voice, pierced the fog of sensation. “Stop. Take your hand away from your pussy.”
I eased my hand away from my soaked folds. My heart hammered in my chest.
“I can’t believe we just did that.” My voice sounded watery.
“Good girl,” he crooned. “I’m proud of you.”
All I could do was pant for breath. I definitely wasn’t proud that his words made me arch toward the phone like a cat begging to be stroked.
“So…Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays?”
“What?” I mumbled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Our schedule,” he said patiently. “Do those nights work for you? Say ten pm. You’ll stay over.”
I rubbed my forehead. This was insanity. Spending the night might be the most insane of all. What would I tell my friends? If I had a new boyfriend, no one would wonder where I was disappearing to, or why. But “boyfriend” didn’t come anywhere near this situation.
“Okay, I’ll stay over. But I have Student Senate until ten on Monday nights.”
“Busy girl.” He chuckled.
“So I’ll be a little late. Like 10:15.”
