Page 53 of He Hate Me

“So I’m not special,” I say. I keep my tone light, not wanting her to know how much what she’s saying hurts me.

“Am I?” she asks. Her voice betrays vulnerability, despite her attempt to sound flippant.

“I already told you that you’re mine, Deja,” I say. “You’re fucking perfect for me.”

“It feels different when you touch me,” she confesses, “more intense. Sexier. I don’t think anyone else could make me feel the things you do.”

She gives me a shy look and an almost embarrassed smile. “That means you have to give it to me when I want it. You have to be my boy toy.”

“Really?” I wiggle my eyebrows, grinning. “That sounds sexy as hell. But you know I was trying not to hurt you tonight, right?” I press down on her bottom lip and push my thumb into her mouth. “I’m not going to go so easy on you next time.”

Her eyes light up, excitement animating her features. She sucks on my thumb then bites it, nodding, letting me know that she understands exactly what I mean.

I pull her close for a deep kiss, savoring her warmth and the heady taste of her. We kiss for what feels like forever until our lips are swollen and I feel myself getting hard again. If this was any other time, I’d flip her over, and take her again, but she just lost her virginity and I know she must be sore. Reluctantly I let her go.

“You’d better go back to your room,” I say. “I wish we could sleep next to each other, but…”

“You’re right,” she says, stroking the side of my face. She adjusts her top and we dig around till she finds her underwear and shorts. I get dressed too, my mind already spinning ahead to when I can have her next. She unlocks the door and peeps out, checking that the hallway is empty before blowing me a kiss and slipping away.

Deja

I want to skip down the stairs the next morning. I mean the heart is certainly willing. I’m discovering that an orgasm—specifically one induced by Brandon—is the key to a great night’s sleep. I didn’t fall asleep until 3:00 am last night and yet I feel like a million bucks.

But you know, the flesh is weak. I didn’t want to let Brandon know because what we did last night was very wanted and intensely pleasurable, but it also hurt like a motherfucker, and I’m really sore both around my labia and deeper inside where his giant cock stretched me the fuck out. I feel it with every movement I make. My labia feel abraded and there’s a sensation like the shadow of him is still inside me, feeling both sore and deeply erotic. Every step I take I feel him, and I remember our intense coupling and I want it again. My panties are slick by the time I make it down to breakfast.

As soon as I sit at the breakfast bar Brandon excuses himself saying he’ll meet me by the car in a bit. I shrug and dig into my usual health-conscious breakfast, enjoying the special treat of chicken sausage links. My mother appears slightly nervous as she sits across from me, stirring honey into a small container of plain Greek yogurt.

“How are you this morning, Deja?” she asks. I wonder where Devin is. They’ve been joined at the hip lately, so it’s rare not to have him with us at a meal.

“Great.” Her yogurt looks yummy, but she’s just playing with it. I wonder if I can wheedle it out of her.

“I got the info back from my assistant about your dad’s college. It’s bad news I’m afraid. They ran out of funds a few years ago. They’re not accredited anymore. It’s so sad; they’d been around for over a century.”

“What college?” I ask.

“St. Joseph’s College.”

“Thanks, Mom. That’s kind of disappointing, but I’m sure I can find someplace else.”

My appetite has suddenly deserted me. My Spidey senses are tingling like crazy. First my mom wants to confirm they do legacy admissions and now they mysteriously went out of business. I’m smelling bullshit. I choke down the rest of my food and excuse myself.

As soon as we get on the road, Brandon reaches over and takes my hand. His fingers are cold, but I like it. It’s a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling around in my head.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, stroking my knuckles. “Regretting it yet?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” I respond. “No, I don’t regret it. It was awesome.”

“You seem kinda, I don’t know, off?”

“Not because of last night. Why’d you rush away from breakfast like that? You’re not regretting it are you?”

“Of course I do. I just hate when beautiful girls give me their virginity.” He’s being facetious, of course, but I play along.

“How many girls are we talking about here?”

“Just one. But she has the beauty and sass of ten grown women.” He turns his palms up like he’s cupping my ass when he says the word sass. If I wasn’t driving, I’d smack him on the arm. The thought makes me smile because I realize I feel comfortable enough to do something like that without worrying that he’ll take it the wrong way.

“Seriously, though?”