Page 13 of Best Man on Campus

“One of my many talents. Care to sample my others?”

“What else could there be? You sing like an angel, look like a sex kitten with the bite of a tiger. I might have to make you mine if you’re witty and smart too.”

“Not happening. Not even for you, unicorn boy. I belong to no man and I never will.”

“Somehow I guessed that.” He gives me one of those we’ll-see grins that all confident boys, especially super jocks, seem to dish out.

“I know your Achilles’ heel.”

“Now I am worried.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

He leans in, nibbles on my ear, and whispers, “What are the chances we can ditch our clothes and turn this couch into a bed?”

I laugh because I have him. But he’s undaunted by my laugh as he pulls his shirt over his head, then stands and pulls off his jeans. His cock is tenting his boxers hard and high and my eyes are drawn, my mouth watering.

“How can a girl resist an invitation like that?” I stand and he helps me undress whether I want him to or not, but I don’t truly mind except for my general prickliness and penchant for being disagreeable, my need to sass and fight everyone at all costs.

Except when I’m singing. Or eating Majiski’s cooking. And now except when Ben, the man-boy unicorn, undresses in front of me, baring his soul, unashamed of his goodness, unafraid to be kind and undaunted by whatever hissing idiocy I throw at him.

Stepping out of my panties, with nothing but goose bumps to decorate me, I finger the waistband of his boxers as he kisses me. He nibbles and tastes every part of my mouth and I bite back, sinking my teeth into his lower lip. He flinches and then fights back with a long soothing kiss, his tongue caressing, licking the seam of my mouth as I move from his lips to his chin and his jaw and his neck, lowering myself and pulling down his shorts as I go, releasing his steaming hot cock so that it bounces against my belly.

Then I go to my knees and he runs his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp as I take the tip of his cock into my mouth, sucking hard.

“Jesus,” he groans. “That feels so good. Take it easy, Jaz. You have me hot and ready.”

Those are fighting words. Now I want to conquer him, to gain the upper hand, to make him crave me, want me, need me whether he can have me or not. I’m at a disadvantage with only one hand, but I use my fingertips to play with his balls as I lick him from top to bottom, scrape my teeth on his shaft and squeeze his tip, savoring the juices that leak from him as his breathing goes from heavy to panting. He holds onto my hair with shaky hands, no pulling, no pushing, no mindless greed like other guys.

Squeezing my hand at his base, I shove him down my throat until I gag, then do it again and again, feeling the excitement rise as he loses control and finally that moment of triumph as he yells my name in a wild jerk of agonizing pleasure, streaming into my mouth. I take it all, drinking him down, licking off every drop until he pulls me up to a stand and wraps me in his arms, kissing my hair, my temple, my forehead, and then my mouth.

Resisting him is useless as I feel his cock pressed against my belly between us, still upright. He breaths into my ear.

“You are so good, Jazzy. Unbelievable. I—”

I push him away then and he collapses onto the couch. Then I push him off onto the floor.

“Never mind the shit talk. Get up and help me pull this out. I only have one hand tonight.” I take the cushions off, throwing them at his head.

“You are so unbelievable,” he says on a half laugh, half groan as he stands and pulls the rusty old metal-spring frame from the couch, unfolding it into a queen-size bed with a less than robust mattress, made up with my white sheets and the bright pink blanket Majiski gave me to annoy me. I get the two pillows from my closet as Ben tests the mattress, looking like he expects the whole bed to collapse under his weight. He’s very fit with ropey muscles rippling and bulging in all the right places, especially his perfect ass. And his pecs. Not to mention his biceps. Fuck. I could stare at him all night as he spreads out on the bed, all six-plus feet of him taking up the space, filling out the formula for any girl’s dream man perfectly.

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to join me?”

“You got what you wanted, what does it matter?”

“Don’t start that again. We’re oh so far from finished here tonight.”

I take my time coming to him, sitting on the edge of the bed, and then he pounces, grabs me by the waist and hauls me against him, my tits slamming against his chest in an exciting crush.

Moving his hand down my belly, raising the tiny hairs in a rush of heat as my heart bounces against my rib cage, he reaches my pussy. I stop breathing and blood thunders in my ears. He touches me, his expert fingers honing in exactly where the most sensitive places are, making me wet until I squirm.

Until fear rears up and I can’t stand it, the pain excruciating. I’m not sure if the pain is in my soul or if it’s real physical pain twisting my gut, but I shut down, pushing his hand away from me.

In spite of his heavy breathing, he leaves me be, or at least he leaves my pussy alone and miserable. Instead, silent and catching his breath, he plays with my breasts. It feels good, but I don’t say so. I don’t look at him.

He turns to me. “You okay?” I feel the hard length of his cock up against my thigh. Fuck, he is a manly man after all. The kind of guy who can go again and again. I don’t want him near my pussy, but I can’t leave him this way. Since when do I care about leaving a man hard? It’s not the first time this shit has happened.

Facing him, I grab hold of his cock and he flinches, but then smiles, his face close to mine, his scent killing me. Some oddball cinnamon-mint thing combined with man-sweat.