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“Xavier is a fucking stalker,” she swears. “He had the audacity to show up at the same bar I was at and-and-and,” Kaye stutters. She stomps her feet and lets out a little scream. “Chris, he fingered me on the dance floor, and I had an orgasm. There were a dozen people around,” she exclaims, mortified.
Lucky bitch. The same thing happened to me, except I wasn’t allowed to get off. “What a sick and disgusting man,” I agree, loyal to a fault.
“That’s what I’m saying!” Kaye flings her hands up in the air in exasperation. “To find me at the bars,” she huffs. “And then to touch me likethat. I don’t even touch me like that.”
For a minute, I forget about Niccolo and raise an eyebrow at my best friend. “You don’t masturbate?” I’ve been in charge of my orgasms since I was fifteen and found out what an orgasm was. The most embarrassing moment of my life happened in a Spencer’s gift store when I was trying to buy my first vibrator, and the guy at the counter asked how old I was. A line of people behind me listened to the cashier dress me down for trying to buy a sex toy when I was barely old enough to know what to do with it.
A blush kisses Kaye’s cheeks, but it’s hidden in the dark hues of twilight. “I, well, it’s different,” she blusters. “I-I touch myself, but it’s never felt like that.”
Color me shocked that Xavier McCade has magic hands. At least if he follows through with his threat to take Kaye’s virginity, he’ll make her feel good while he does it. “What happened to the vibrators we bought a few months ago when you turned eighteen?”
She covers her face with her hands and groans, shielding her embarrassment behind the hollow of her palms. “I feel so awkward when I use it. And I didn’t bring it to college,” she hisses.
I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her close. “It’s okay. Some people are more shy about sex than others.” I pat her on the back, comforting her.
“I’m sorry I ruined our night out,” Kaye moans. “I was having a good time until Xave showed up.”
She’s not the only one. Until I found out that Niccolo was at Red Dawg, it was shaping up to be a perfect first weekend at college.
As we get back to the dorm, the halls are buzzing with energy despite the hour nearing midnight. The air smells of freshly popped, buttery popcorn and pizza. It’s Friday night, and people are playing games, hanging out with their friends, and commiserating over the homework they’ve already been given. Everywhere I look, students gather in small groups, listening to music and laughing. This was where the party was at all along.
“I’m going to go to bed,” Kaye announces when we make it to our room.
I’m still too worked up over what happened with my stepfather to go to sleep. I need to dispel some of this restless energy before I implode, and I know just how to do it. “I feel gross; I think I’ll take a shower. I won’t bother you when I come back in, right?”
With a yawn, she shakes her head and starts undressing. “I’m so tired that I’d probably sleep through a tornado at this point.”
“That’s what a good orgasm will do to you,” I tease, elbowing her in the side.
Kaye tries and fails to keep from smiling. “I thought you were leaving.”
I grab my shower caddy and the fluffy white towel hanging on the back of our dorm room door. “I am. Don’t miss me too much.” Then, I sneak out and head to the communal bathroom at the end of the hall.
For all the studious kids poring over dense textbooks and pounding energy drinks to stay awake, the bathroom is surprisingly empty. I grab one of the open shower stalls and undress, depositing the evening’s clothes over the rail that holds up the shower curtain.
Hot showers usually help me relax, but they aren’t doing the trick tonight. Despite the beads of water soothing the tension in my muscles, I still feel on edge. It takes me a few moments to realize why. Niccolo’s skillful hands brought me to the brink of orgasm and then coaxed me off the ledge before I had a chance to jump. My body is overcharged, and I need the release my stepfather denied me.
I peek outside the curtain to make sure no one is around. If I do this quickly, no one has to know what happened in the shower stall.
I lean against the cool tile wall and let my fingers glidethrough my wet, waiting center. I trace a seductive path around my swollen vulva, pausing at each lip to rub the sensitive tissue, caressing it until I gasp with need. My breath quickens as I explore myself, eyes closing to indulge in my fantasies. Niccolo’s face is displayed across the back of my eyelids, building up a powerful arousal within me. I remember his strong arms holding me tightly even though his touch was gentle and tender.
My body moves of its own accord, hips undulating in time with my thoughts as I’m brought closer to the edge of pleasure. I skim over my quivering flesh until I find my clit and use my middle finger to massage it gently, stroking harder and faster and then slower again in search of the perfect rhythm to bring me release.
I can still feel the anticipation he built up inside of me. The water from the shower invigorates my senses, working in time with my hands to erode the last of my willpower. My breathing grows heavy and urgent in time with my movements.
His face still swims in my head as an orgasm detonates without warning. A wave of satisfaction washes over me, coursing through my veins. With a small gasp of delight, I bite down onmy knuckle to keep from crying out as I arch against the wall and allow the sensations to consume every inch of me.
It takes a few moments to catch my breath, to remember that I’m in a college dormitory bathroom, and at any moment, another student could walk in and catch me. I push off the wall and slip under the shower head, allowing the hot jets of water to cleanse me of my naughty thoughts.
This is it,I tell myself.This is the last time I’ll think of my stepfather when I get off.
Chapter 8
Niccolo
Christine refuses to look at me during the next class and the half a dozen that follow. She studiously ignores my gaze for two weeks, making conversation with the girl beside her. Sometimes, she looks annoyed by her dark-haired seatmate. Other times, they laugh through discussion questions, and Sienna shoots curious glances my way as if she knows something that colors her judgment of me.
I’m no stranger to my stepdaughter’s thriving social life. In high school, she dated football players and brainiacs. I took her to Friday night home games and Saturday afternoon math competitions. When Christine wasn’t following a boy around, she was with Kaye or another of her little friends. I rarely saw her at the house because she had so much going on. It made parenting a teenager easier, which I appreciated because I had no idea what I was doing.
