“Jesus, Rex,” she croaks, music to my ears.

Jesus Rex, Jesus Rex…

I suck through her panties, feel her thighs on either side of my head tremble. Quiver. Hannah’s hands grip first for my shoulders, then my hair, then finally fisting the bedspread.

It’s a white comforter—a bold choice for a student without a washing machine—surrounded by white pillows and white curtains, and despite her legs being spread, Hannah looks serene laying there.

“I don’t want you to give me oral,” she whines. “I want you to fuck me.”

I shake my head, still lapping her up through the nylon of her underwear. Hook the silky end with my forefinger and pull it aside. Lick up her slit, up and down the middle, pushing my tongue inside.

“Please.”

Another shake. No.

“Rex, please. Please.”

My mouth finds her clit. Worships at it. Rolls it.

I moan into her, the vibrations send her hips bucking. “Please, please just stop and fuck me, Rex. I’m begging.”

Begging? That has my attention, I pause, my dick in my boxers throbbing. I can literally feel the blood pulsing through my veins, leaving my head and traveling straight to my cock.

It actually hurts.

Hurts so good…

She doesn’t stop begging. Pleads with me one more time before her head lifts offs the mattress so she can watch me, teeth biting down on her bottom lip. Jaw clenched, nostrils flared.

It looks like she’s in pain, too.

“You want me to fuck you?” It’s a damn miracle I’m able to get the words out, there are no functioning brain cells in my head.

“Yes.” She’s desperate, I can hear it in her voice. And honestly, my dick is so hard, giving in and giving her what she wants instead of finishing her off with my mouth won’t be a hardship.

Condom, condom, condom, my brain begins shouting. Condom. Where is it?

I may or may not have thrown one in my wallet a few weeks ago—yeah yeah, I know you’re not supposed to fucking do that, but I did, and it’s the only one I have, so stop judging me.

I remove my mouth from Hannah’s pussy, lips wet. Move across the bed, reaching for my shucked jeans, digging for the pockets to find my wallet. Wrestle it open with shaking hands and retrieve the foil wrapper.

Toss my jeans back to the floor.

In the time it’s taken me to do that, Hannah has removed her bra and I stare at her boobs. The sight of her laying on her white covers, stark naked. Glorious. Perfect tits. Dripping wet vagina. Smooth, flush skin.

Her arms rise behind her head and she stretches out as I tear off my boxers.

“Calm down or you’re not going to last,” she manages to tease.

Right. Calm down.

Easy for her to say, I haven’t had sex in a fucking lifetime. I could count on one hand how many partners I’ve had—though not for lack of trying.

Just, with my reputation before I graduated and left school, girls weren’t banging down my door, even when I was hanging out with wrestlers, some of the most popular dudes on campus.

Didn’t matter—no one wanted to fuck the team manager. They wanted to fuck the players.

Dweeb. Nerd. Dork.

That’s what they saw standing next to the big guys. So, my dick stayed dry and in my pants.

But Hannah wants me.

Hannah is beautiful.

Amusing. Clever. Interested.

Her knees part, eyes straying to my cock when I slide the condom on. The package was warm, so I send up a prayer that it doesn’t break, and climb up her body, kissing her skin along the way.

“Mmm.” Her fingers thread through my hair, lips reuniting with mine when our faces meet. “You feel so good.”

She slides a hand over my back, over my ass. Caresses my hips, slowing rolling hers as my mouth latches onto the slope that connects her neck and shoulder.

“Mmm is right,” I whisper, lining up our bodies. Feel around for the right hole to push inside of.

Hannah flinches when I push. “Wrong one.”

She guides me until I’m home, sinking in. Deeper.

Deeper.

“Oh god…” we both groan.

Silently, I thrust, in and out. Silently, we kiss. Silently, I hope she fucking still wants to see me in the morning.

6

Hannah

Was it my intention to have sex with Rex Gunderson the first time we meet in person? No. But he wasn’t supposed to be so funny, likeable, and dorkably adorable.

He’s not my type, he’s not my type…

I wasn’t drunk. Neither was Rex. And maybe he is my type.

So why did I sleep with him?! What possessed me to climb into bed with the guy? I mean—what possessed me to invite him back to my house in the first place?

My grandmother’s voice echoes in my brain—her many lectures about propriety and virtue (which I’ve all, but ignored)—scream loudly in my brain: “Why would a young man buy the cow, Hannah Beth Peterson, when you’re giving the milk away for free? Keep your legs closed if you want to find a decent beau.”

“First of all grandma,” I’d said. “No one calls them beaus anymore. Secondly, everyone is having premarital sex these days. It’s not like when you and grandpa were young—people from your generation didn’t bang before you got married. But Mom told me about how you dried marijuana in the oven when she was younger—so you can’t tell me you were a virgin when you married Grandpa.”

I was such a smartass, I’m surprised I hadn’t gotten my ass chewed out. Grandma isn’t that much older than my mother—maybe by nineteen years—so it’s almost like having two moms nagging me when I do something stupid.

Which is all the damn time.

I get in more trouble than my older brother Justin ever did. He was always better about following the rules, not questioning authority, and keeping his trap shut to avoid conflict.

Me? I’m always the one who “started it”.

Well. I’m done being the girl who argues with a guy just to get his attention—a lot like a little boy on the playground, pulling at a little girl’s braids because he likes her.

Teasing someone and being a dick because you like them? Such a dick move and so fucked up.

I stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom, back in my yoga pants and shirt, after walking Rex to the door then going straight back to my room, dumping myself on the bed I had sex on a few hours ago.

The spot between my legs where Rex Gunderson made me come—twice—still tingles. Every nerve in my body sensitive. Sore.

I’ve never felt like this after casual sex.

Have never laid here dwelling on it.

Was it just casual sex? Or was it something more?

I flop to my side so I can stare out the window at the tiny, white house next to our dingy, little yellow one. Throw my arm down into the empty spot his body once occupied beside me.

Missing him, just a bit?

He’s not my type, he’s not my type.

“Keep telling yourself that Hannah,” I mumble out loud, hating the habit of speaking to myself out loud. Sheesh, I sound like a wacko. “He might not have been your type yesterday, but he’s your type today.”

How about you stop talking to yourself before Skylar hears you and pounds on the door to see what’s wrong? My roommate hears everything, misses nothing, and always has her nose stuck in my business—because that’s what best friends are for.