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My cock is still hard, but I hope falling asleep will finally make it relax. But sleep evades me. Lying in my dark room, I toss and turn with no consolation.
Eventually, I give in. Reaching into my boxers, I fist my cock and let out a moan of relief. Her name lingers on my lips as I stroke myself.
“Fuck, Sadie,” I whisper to myself as I fuck my fist, imagining it’s her tight cunt or warm mouth. I replay her moans and cries in my head, imagining she’s in the room with me.
I lift my fingers to my nose, sniffing them for her scent. It makes me feel like an animal, but where she’s concerned, I’m no longer a man with a complex mind. I’m a beast for her—feral and wild.
“Mine,” I growl, licking her arousal from my fingers.
With my feet pressed down to my mattress and my legs open wide, I pump my hand over my dick, imagining the most depraved and dirty things I could do with her. My neck is strained as my head hangs back when my orgasm finally crests and my cock releases.
My own cum flies so far it lands against my cheek and neck, and I groan loudly. I hope she hears it. My ears are ringing, and my balls are tight as the onslaught of pleasure continues.
By the time my balls are spent, I collapse in exhaustion on my bed, covered in my own release without an ounce of remorse or shame about it.
The fantasy of Sadie in my head is the hottest vision I’ve jacked off to. And I know sex with her will stay a fantasy forever. It has to. Because eventually she’ll have another man’s baby and I’ll be moving to England. So our relationship has to stop here, and any prospect of us has to remain in my head. Where she’s safe. Because I can’t break a fantasy’s heart.
Second Trimester
Nineteen
Sadie
“What about this?” I ask, running my finger along the line on my laptop. “In The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway masterfully employs his signature writing style to explore themes of perseverance and resilience, ultimately showcasing the power of the human spirit in the face of adversity.”
When I look up at Luke across the table of the library, I bite my bottom lip and wait for his response. His eyes narrow as he contemplates my thesis statement.
“Make some mention of the iceberg theory, and it will be perfect.”
I smile to myself as I nod. “Okay, I will.”
Turning back to my laptop in the middle of a mess of open books and printed articles, I find a way to add the theory to my statement. Our last paper of the semester is due in two weeks, and I’ve been researching it since before Thanksgiving.
I got such a good grade on the last one I want to make sure I do this one justice. Luke has offered to help me. I don’t know if that’s allowed, but at this point, I don’t really care. I’m going to pass either way. But if I can write something good to impress him, then that’s just a bonus.
Glancing up over my laptop, I stare at him for a moment across the table. He’s wearing that brown tweed jacket and blue button-down underneath. He’s clean-shaven and staring down at a book through his round tortoise-shell glasses. His hair has grown out a bit since I met him too, and I like how long it’s getting on the sides, although I know he’ll be cutting it soon. He keeps everything neat and trim.
I wonder if Lucas even realizes how handsome he is. He certainly doesn’t bother with caring what others think about him, and he’s already said he gets laid plenty, but I doubt he’s had sex even once since I moved in two months ago.
Ever since that night when he found me in the club and fingered me over the back of the couch, we haven’t touched each other. Even the spankings stopped. I think we both knew it had to stop. We were getting in too deep.
But I won’t lie—I miss it. I miss him.
Now, the only things we talk about are school and Ernest Hemingway. He doesn’t put me over his knee and tell me what a bad girl I am anymore. Who knew I could miss something like that?
I glance back at the computer screen and read over my first draft again, finding little things to tighten up throughout. It makes me wonder if it’ll ever be perfect.
As I stare at the Word document, I feel his gaze lift from his book to me. He stares at me for a moment in the same way I had stared at him.
Then, he puts his book down.
“Why don’t you get an English degree?” he asks.
I pause midsentence and look up at him. “What?”
“I know you’re getting a business degree so you can open your own club, but you’re so smart, Miss Green. Why don’t you consider changing? It suits you so much better.”
“What the hell am I going to do with an English degree?” I reply with a laugh.
