Beneath The Skin (A College Obsession Romance) (2 page)

It is still recommended to read
Beneath The Skin
beforehand, as the bonus epilogue takes place after the events of the second book – and you
won’t
want to miss it. Also, make sure to continue reading for an exclusive sneak peek at book 3 of the College Obsession Romance Series!

And as always, happy reading!

~ Daryl

BRANT

They call me a player, but really I’m a lover.

I fall in love seven days a week.

Give me a few minutes and I’ll charm my way into any woman’s heart. Give me a few hours and I’ll have her flat on her back, headboard dented, panties on the lampshade, and begging for more—guaranteed. It’s all a game, and when I play, everyone wins.

Until the day I’m knocked off my feet by Nell, the bangin’ chick with the killer bod from the art school.

No, it isn’t some love-at-first-sight kind of thing. In fact, I hate how she looks at me with those sharp, gorgeous eyes and suddenly I’m tripping over my feet, my swagger lost. With just a flick of her long, dark hair, she deflects all my advances. She doesn’t laugh at my jokes. She makes me feel like
I’m
the joke. She’s playing the same game I do, but all the rules are different—and
not
in my favor.

What is it about this woman that drives me crazy?

I want to slip beneath her skin the way she’s so deftly slipped beneath mine.

Now, she’s got her hands on a new art project.

I’d rather she had them on me.

BRANT

Every chick who passes through my bed, I love her so hard.

So, so,
so
hard.

“You look pretty today,” I would tell the girl straddling me … if only her hand gripping my neck let up any.

“Harder!” she cries out, her hair thrashing everywhere as she twists and writhes atop me as if some ancient sex demon were possessing her. I’d happily take credit for her otherworldly pleasure if I thought I had anything to do with it. This crazy chick’s in another dimension.

“I can’t breathe,” I try to tell her through the chokehold.

“Oh, God, I’m so close,” she moans for the eighth time since she ripped off my favorite shirt—which I will mourn later—and threw me onto the cold, tiled floor of the art studio. If it weren’t for the privacy screen we’re behind, we’d be in full view of the empty studio, which I’m pretty sure is about to hold a class in less than ten minutes.

It’s okay; I’ve handled worse time constraints. “Keep it down,” I rasp through her clenching hands. “Someone will hear—”

“Harder!” she commands anyway. This crazy woman has the brute strength of a she-monster with eight vaginas.

Am I fucking her, or is she fucking me?

But I’m not one to back down from a challenge, even if I’m being slowly strangled to death. I make do, gripping her hips and performing a series of thrusts that beat any ab workout I’ve ever done. I’m getting close, too. I don’t know what the hell kind of flying horny mantis yoga position we’re in, but this shit’s not for beginners. Seriously, I think I’ve already herniated my spine in three places.

“Oh, GOD! Brian! Oh, Brian, fuck!”

“
It’s Brant
,” I choke out.

When she comes, her grip on my throat tightens so much, I feel veins popping, and tears of exasperation flood my eyes. And as my face becomes a roadmap for the blind, the woman emits an inhuman shriek (of pleasure, I hope?) that might have just rattled the privacy screen and made every nearby brush quiver in its jar.

We just exorcised a demon here.

“
Thank
you,” she murmurs vaguely, eyes closed. Then she mercifully lets go of my throat and I suck in my first breath in an hour. “Oh, that was so good. That was so, so, so good.”

I’m still moving my hips, trying to get myself there now that I have a supply of oxygen to my brain. “I’m pretty close myself.”

“So,
so
good,” she finishes, then slides off my body.

My hard, wrapped cock pops out of her, wagging desperately in the open air. “Baby … You’re not gonna leave me hangin’ here, are you?”

“It’s just that this class is about to start, and I need to be down the hall for my own,” she complains after giving her phone a smirk. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late, too.”

She slips on her top, but only pulls up her jeans halfway before I’m at her back, gently running a finger down her arm.

“You gonna be so cruel to me, sweet thing?” I murmur in her ear, feeling her arm prickle at my touch. “My big guy’s feelin’ all left out. Don’t you want him to cross the finish line too? Hear the whistles and the roar of the crowd?”

“We’re about to hear the
roar
of a classroom.”

“My
big guy’s
still excited to see you,” I point out, poking her with it.

She giggles, then peers down, as if needing to check. Yeah, all eight inches of my “excitement” are pressed firmly against her thigh. I can see her eyes counting them.

She turns to me, that crazy hunger filling her face again. I smile back, despite a sudden concern that she could legitimately turn into a savage cat and pounce on me for lunch. “You didn’t come?”

I suppose it’s tricky to come when all your energy’s spent resisting a fight-or-flight response due to a very genuine fear of being fucked to death
. “A real man always gets his lady off first,” I tell her instead, bringing my lips to her ear for a nibble. “A real man makes sure his lady is satisfied, smiling, and all full-up.” I know just how to work her; I could talk her right back out of those clothes and into round two if I wanted.

“Your lady?” Her eyes glimmer with hope.

I give her my signature crooked smile, slipping even closer to her, and our hips reconnect. “All mine.”

“And you make sure your ladies are … all full-up?”

“All full-up of me,” I amend.

The next instant, her hands clutch my bare ass cheeks and she pulls me against her. Message received. I reach under her thighs, lifting her up and slipping myself inside in one smooth motion. And it’s against the wall behind that rickety privacy screen that I empty myself inside her as her wails fill the room yet again. After I’m finished, I keep going, ensuring she gets her seconds.

She does.

“Y’know, you’re not as bad as they say,” she says when her clothes are, in fact, completely on.

I pull off the condom and tie it off, looking around for somewhere to dispose of it. Then I suddenly realize what she just said. “Wait a sec. Bad?” I ask, leaning against the wall, still naked, and folding my arms.

“Tammy warned me about you.”

“Tammy?”

“Yeah.” She smooths out her wrinkled top as she goes on. “As did Lindsey and Laney and Mira and Mark.”

“Mark?”

“Your ex Nicole Pressley. He’s her brother—and a friend of mine.”

I squint.
Who the fuck is Nicole Pressley?
“Ah, I see,” I say instead.

“They say nasty things about you. You’re a player. You use women. Nicole’s brother told me how you broke his sister’s heart right after you broke her foot. Y’know, when you dropped a bowling ball on it.”

Oh.
That
Nicole. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

“But you’re sweet,” she says, smiling so tight that her eyes scrunch up. She runs her hands through her chin-length auburn hair, trying to make an arrangement of it. “Do I look presentable?”

“Angelic,” I answer, still trying to remember Nicole’s face.

After giving me a shrug and a blushing smile, she sweeps out from behind the privacy screen, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Even as my heart rate slows, I already feel horny again. My sexual appetite is insatiable; it’s like going out for dinner, eating the whole menu, then leaving the restaurant hungrier than you were when the hostess first greeted you with her big eyes and saccharine voice.

You know it’s bad when you’re bored not a minute after you come.

I’m drawn out of my thoughts when I realize my clothes aren’t in front of me. Then it hits me: She tore off my favorite shirt by one of the easels. That’s also right about when I feverishly kicked off my pants and underwear. It was all done in a scuffle while we were on our lip-locked way toward the privacy screen.

At the same moment that I realize where my clothes are, I hear a pair of innocent footsteps in the room. A student has arrived.
Fuck.
Then I hear more footsteps, followed by more voices. Two students have arrived.
Double fuck.

Don’t worry. This isn’t some extraordinary situation I’m in. Really, it’s just another day in the life of Brant Rudawski.

I look for my phone, then realize it’s in my pants, slapping my bare thigh in the discovery. I breathe slowly, listening to the commotion on the other side of the screen as it steadily grows with the accumulation of more and more students. Gnawing the inside of my cheek and staring at the wall in front of me, I wonder at which point I should start to panic or calculate some way out of this.

“Pencils at the ready,” comes a voice, echoing through the studio.

The chatter seem to cease at once, replaced with the shuffling of pencils and scraping of stools and chairs along the floor.

Class has started.

This is a great day.

I try to picture the room as I strategize my way out of this. The easels all faced me when I got behind the screen, if I’m recalling correctly. That fact leads me to assume that, currently, everyone’s back is to me. Right?

With a silent breath and at the precise speed of paint drying, I creep an eye around the edge of the privacy screen.

Confirmed: Everyone’s back is to me.

Also confirmed: My discarded pants are squished against the wall not five quick, booty-shakin’ paces away from me.

Do I risk it?

One of the students in the back of the class tosses her long, dark hair, which catches the attention of my eyes, widening at the sight of her. As my eyes trail down a perfect, hourglass backside, she now earns the full attention of my dick.

I’m not the timeliest fellow, but when I see a pretty girl, my mental list of priorities rearranges itself accordingly. My situation is forgotten and the shape of that bangin’ babe is all that fills my unblinking eyes.

I’m already getting hard again. I get an
A+
for timing.

She squirms a bit on the stool, her tight ass filling those jeans and enticing me.
Damn, girl
. Her black shirt clings to her perfect, supple frame but doesn’t quite meet her jeans, giving me a wink of her smooth, creamy skin.

I already imagine myself teasing my fingers under it and slipping that thing right off.