The Deal (Off-Campus #1)(69)

He’s still wheezing like crazy. “It totally is.”

“You know what? We’re not doing this. You’ve officially killed the mood.”

“Me?” he demands between laughs. “You did that all by yourself, baby.”

I sit up with an annoyed grumble. “Seriously, this was a stupid idea.” Sighing, I search the mattress for the remote control. “Let’s just watch the show.”

“No way. We’re already in this deep.” His voice becomes gruff. “Give me your hand.”

I eye him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because I think if you get better acquainted with my man monster, you’ll see that you don’t have to be afraid of him.”

I snort, but the humor dies when Garrett takes my hand and puts it directly inside his boxers.

The mood I killed? Roars right back to life as I gingerly wrap my fingers around his shaft. He’s long and thick and pulsing beneath my fingertips, and that’s all it takes for my body to tingle again.

I give him a tentative stroke, and he groans softly. “See? It’s just a regular old penis, Wellsy.”

My throat closes up with laughter. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence I don’t even know where to start.” I pause. “Exactly how old is your penis?”

“He’s twenty, like me,” Garrett answers seriously. “But he’s way more mature than I am. What about your lady canal? Is she wiser than her years, or is she—”

I shut him up with a kiss.

It isn’t long before I’m shivering with pleasure again. Garrett’s hand returns to where I want it to be. Somehow my panties disappear, and one long finger slides inside me, making me gasp. My inner muscles clamp around him, and a bolt of heat sizzles up my spine.

Garrett’s tongue fills my mouth, his erection rocking into my hand. I’ve never felt more in control, more desirable, because I know I’m the one responsible for those rough sounds he’s making. He breaks the kiss to nibble on my shoulder, and the spark in my body burns hotter, so close to detonating that I’m moaning louder now.

But the arousal extinguishes when I open my eyes to find him watching me.

The tingles disappear, and I stiffen beneath his touch.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs.

“Nothing.” I swallow. “Just…kiss me again.” I yank his head down and part my lips to welcome his tongue.

Garrett strokes my clit with dexterity that awes me. It’s like he knows exactly how much pressure to exert, when to rub faster, when to slow down. I grind into his talented hand, but when he groans again, the arousal fades once more.

I groan too, frustrated.

“What’s going on, Wellsy?” His fingertips skim over my sex. “I know you’re into this. I can feel it.”

“I am. I…” My throat constricts as helplessness rises inside it. “I get close, and then it…it goes away.” I’m mortified to feel the sting of tears. “That’s what always happens.”

“How can I get you there?” he says intently.

“I don’t know. Just keep touching me. Please.”

He does, and oh my God, he’s so good at it. As two fingers move inside me in a slow glide, I shut my eyes again, but it doesn’t matter. I can still feel him watching me.

Just like Aaron did when he took what I didn’t want to give.

I was fully conscious during the rape. Sometimes, when I’m depressed or wallowing in self-pity, I actually curse the drugs for not knocking me out. Date rape drugs are supposed to knock you out, damn it. I’m not supposed to remember what happened to me. I wish I didn’t remember.

But I do. The memories are hazier than normal memories, but the sight of Aaron’s wild eyes has been branded into my brain. I remember lying there on Melissa’s parents’ bed, feeling his heavy weight on top of me, feeling him thrusting inside me, hard and deep and painful. But it was like I was paralyzed. My arms and legs didn’t seem to work, no matter how badly I wanted to hit or kick him. My vocal cords froze so I couldn’t get a single scream out. All I could do was stare up at those smug brown eyes that were laced with pleasure and flashing with lust.

The vicious memories swarm my mind like a bee attack, stealing away the last traces of desire inside me. I know Garrett feels the change in my body, that I’m no longer warm and wet and pliant. That I’m stiffer than a board and colder than ice.

“This isn’t working,” he says hoarsely.

I sit up, fighting hard not to cry. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…you’re…you’re looking at me… and…”

He offers a crooked grin. “Would it help if I close my eyes?”

“No,” I say miserably. “Because I’ll know you’re still picturing me in your head.”

With a sigh, he slides up and rests his head on the bed frame. He’s still hard—I can see his erection straining beneath his track pants—but he seems oblivious to his own state of arousal as he slowly meets my eyes. “You don’t trust me.”

I’m quick to deny it. “I do trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Fine, I’ll amend that. You don’t trust me enough to fully let go.”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but a part of me doesn’t think he is.