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I unravel on the spot. I can’t restrain myself for another minute.
I curl my fingers into hers and lead her to the side of the bar to find an empty closet, slicing my gaze stealthily side to side to make sure no one’s paying attention to us.
As much as I’m anticipating giving her the fuck of her life, that’s not the only thing I’m looking forward to.
In this moment, for the first time, I feel like maybe I’ve found something more than just a hookup. I feel like I’ve found someone I’d like to spend time with outside of bars and bedrooms.
I’m anticipating keeping in contact with Zoey when she goes back to her school, and when she transfers here next semester, hanging out with her for more than just frenzied sex.
But it doesn’t end up being nearly that simple …
3
ZOEY
Igasp as the most delicious pain I’ve ever felt sears on my scalp, his fist tightly wound in my hair, pulling my head back. I grip the metal rails of the shelving I’m steadying myself with even.
“You like that?” he growls, his voice raw and animalistic, the perfect accompaniment to the rhythmic sound of his hips slapping against my ass.
“Fuck yes,” I moan.
I’ve never really been into rough stuff, but the combination of the man and the situation being so far out of the norm for me is letting a side of myself that I never even knew existed bubble to the surface.
He twirls his wrist, wrapping his fist even tighter into my hair, increasing the pressure on my scalp. The sensation sends a wave of pleasure rippling through my whole body, pushing me closer to the edge, so close, so close that I feel like I’m going to shatter into shards of pure ecstasy in just a second, if only he would …
The shrill buzzing of my alarm cuts through the dream.
My eyes open, and I find myself staring at the ceiling in my dark room.
I feel my sheets underneath me damp from sweat. My thighs are warm and buzzing, my nipples pebbled into firm nubs under my shirt. I fling the blanket off from over me and sigh in relief as the cold January air of my room cools the sweat on my body.
I’ve been having this dream once or twice a week, ever since Halloween night.
And even though my body responds as if I like it, I’m beyond tired of it.
Maybe I shouldn’t be. Maybe I should be able to appreciate that night for what it was: the best, dirtiest sex of my life, by far. Why shouldn’t I savor how good and hot it felt?
I pick up my phone to turn off the alarm. It’s seven o’clock on the dot. Still pitch-black outside, the sun yet to peak over the horizon here in the dead of winter.
With my phone in my hands, I do something I shouldn’t do. Something I’ve told myself time and time again over these last three months that I would stop doing.
I open my text message history and scroll down to the conversation with the contact namedLiam.
There’s not a lot to read. It’s just one text. The one I sent to him when he gave me his number, shortly after we left the closet.
He never replied.
I press the button on the side that turns off the screen, dropping my phone next to me on my mattress.
Whatever. Why should this even bother me? The whole point of that night was to have a no-strings-attached one-night stand to get over Will. I literallytold himthat was the point of what we were doing. What right do I have to be upset that he never messaged me back afterwards?
If only our emotions actually needed the right to feel the way they do, things would be a lot easier.
I get up and get dressed for the day. The first day of Spring semester—my very first semester at Ridley University.
While I choose my outfit for the day, I try to massage some of the negative feelings brought on by that dream.
For one, it really did do a great job accomplishing the goal it was meant to: it finally got me totally over my ex.
