Breathless 3 (Breathless #3) (5 page)

“I mean, it’s an important game in the series, but
it’s almost over. If you can just wait a few more minutes you’ll have me all to
yourself.” The smell of the room — of the closely-packed, sweating, drunk boys
and their stale snacks — was making me as nauseated as anything else that was
going on. I shook my head.

“I guess I’m just not feeling as much better as I
thought I was,” I said. “I’m just…ugh. I should head back to the dorm and try
to sleep the rest of this bug off.” Johnny leaned in and kissed me on the
forehead.

“Soon as the game is over,” he promised. I nodded,
giving him one last little smile before I turned and left. I started back
towards the dorms, feeling irritable and annoyed. I knew that he was into the
game; I could even appreciate that he’d made plans with his boys. But it did
bother me a little bit that he had wanted so much to see me earlier and yet
when I came by, he was too preoccupied to talk to me, even when he himself had
noticed that I wasn’t looking well. I decided that I would just have to call it
a night and hope that he’d be interested in seeing me again the next day, that
we could finally have a chance to talk about everything — if I didn’t chicken
out.

Chapter
Six

When I got back into the dorm, there was a note on the
inside of the room door from Georgia.
Hey,
Beck! Achievement unlocked: second date! I’ll probably be out late. Feel free
to look over my notes for Math if you need to, I know yours are almost
certainly shit.
It was signed in her sprawling, sloppy hand and even if I
felt a little disappointed that she wasn’t there, at least I could take
vicarious pleasure in the fact that Gigi was enjoying herself with the guy
she’d had such a good time with.

I threw myself onto the couch, sighing. I had been so
anxious and worked up to talk to Johnny; it was hard not to feel depressed and
frustrated that he’d been more into the game than me.
Sociopaths don’t have the ability to empathize…
One of the bits
from an article I had read filled my mind with suspicion.
Good God, Becky, if being into a damned football game is a sign of sociopathy,
then every freaking boy in the frat should have his room tossed to see if he’s
hiding a corpse. It certainly reeked enough to cover up the smell of a rotting
body.

I shook my head and turned the TV on to have some kind
of background noise. I still felt nauseated and in spite of the shower I had
taken earlier, I felt weirdly grimy and dirty after the gross smell of the Phi
Kappa house. I sat up on the couch and decided that a shower couldn’t possibly
hurt; it might actually make me feel a little better.

I walked into my part of the dorm room and grabbed a
fresh towel from my closet. If Georgia for some reason came home from her date
early — and I could only think that it would be a failure of a date if she did
— it wasn’t like she would care if I was walking around in a towel. I brought
my phone into the shower room with me and turned on a Nirvana album. One of my
friends in high school, a member of the Creative Writing Club, had turned me
onto them. Lisa had been obsessed with Kurt Cobain and had said on more than
one occasion, “If there’s ever such a thing as a time machine, I am totally
going to go back in time to before he met that bitch Courtney and I’m going to
get him to knock me up and then I’ll have a little Kurt Junior to myself.” I
was pretty sure she was more than a little crazy, but her taste in music had
been worth following; she’d turned me on to a bunch of bands from that era:
Mudhoney
, The
Melvins
, Sonic
Youth,
Breeders
.

I started the water and flipped through my songs until
I came to “Lithium.” That seemed to suit my mood pretty well, and I turned it
all the way up on the speaker dock, stripping out of my clothes and slipping
into the steaming water. “And just maybe, I’m to blame for all I’ve heard, and
I’m not sure…I like it, I’m not
gonna
crack/I miss
you, I’m not
gonna
crack/I love you, I’m not
gonna
crack/I kill you, I’m not
gonna
crack…” I sang along, feeling a little shiver work down my spine every time the
chorus referenced “I kill you, I’m not
gonna
crack.”
It was weird to me to feel relieved when the song shifted to “In Bloom” on the
randomized playlist for the album.

Between the heat of the water and the bleakness of the
lyrics, by the time I finally shut the shower off, I was feeling worse instead
of better. “Well that was probably a bad choice,” I said to no one at all. I
took a deep breath; something about how little I had been sleeping, combined
with my less-than-sound diet in the past few days, had combined to make me
dizzy and lightheaded in the shower. At least I didn’t smell like drunk frat
boys and stale snacks anymore.

I wrapped a towel around my body tightly, smiling as
“Smells like Teen Spirit” came on. I leaned against the counter, unwilling to
turn the music off, singing along with the gritty, low voice. I decided that
the best course of action would be to just go to bed and hope for a better day
the next day. Maybe tonight I would get some decent sleep. Maybe tomorrow I
would talk to Johnny and everything would be cleared up as some big
misunderstanding.
And maybe you’ll run
into a winning lottery ticket on the ground and be a millionaire who doesn’t
have to go to college or work a day for the rest of your life.

I pulled my phone from the speaker dock as soon as the
song ended, holding it carefully to avoid letting my hair drip on it as I
opened the door to the bathroom and headed straight for my room. The dorm was
chilly as it always was at night. No matter what setting Georgia and I put the
thermostat on, it always seemed to be freezing by midnight, and we had already
discussed multiple conspiracy theories as to the probable cause for that.

I was just about to unwrap my towel and finish drying
off, debating whether or not I wanted to wear pajamas to sleep in, when I heard
a tapping at my window. “What the hell?” I turned to look and nearly jumped
backward into my half-open door: there was a face peeking in through the panes,
grinning amongst the branches of the trees. A second later, my brain unfroze
enough to realize that it wasn’t just “a face,” it was Johnny; he had climbed
up to my window and was hiding in the branches. He had been the one to tap.

I opened the window quickly, staring at him in shock.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, glancing involuntarily down at the
drop. Johnny laughed and pulled himself up off of the thick branch that he’d
climbed and over to my windowsill, squeezing past me into my room. My heart was
pounding with surprise and fear — Johnny could have really gotten hurt! I
quickly closed the window behind him; before I could form another question, he
had wrapped his arms around my waist tightly, and his lips were descending on
mine, sealing out any protest I might make or any question I might ask.

In spite of my shock and fear, I found myself
responding to him almost immediately, melting against him. I was already
lightheaded from the hot shower; Johnny’s lips on mine, his tongue sliding into
my mouth, tasting and probing, his hands beginning to stroke my body everywhere
through the thick, soft towel, were enough to make me nearly forget the whole
reason I had gone to find him at the frat house. I moaned softly, leaning up
onto the balls of my feet, my body humming with a mixture of contentment and
lust. Johnny broke away from my lips and I came back to myself in a flash.
“What were you thinking? You could have killed yourself!” Johnny chuckled
lowly, his hands moving up and down along the curves of my body over the towel.

“Nah, at worst maybe a couple of broken bones,” he
said, kissing me lightly again. “Totally worth it.”

“If the RAs catch you here-” Johnny silenced my
protest with another deep, hungry kiss, his hands moving along the folds of the
towel up to the spot at the center of my chest where I’d tucked one corner of
it in between the towel itself and my cleavage to hold it in place. The fabric
fell away all in one movement, pooling at my feet, and Johnny began to touch me
everywhere, cupping my breasts and letting his hands drift down to my waist and
hips.

“If you close the door and play some music,” Johnny
said, nipping playfully at my lips, “the RAs won’t catch me here.” I reeled
against him as he gave my hips a playful squeeze, brushing his lips against my
jaw.

“You-you’re closer,” I countered, pointing limply
towards the door. Johnny chuckled and broke away from me quickly, pushing the
door shut. He picked up my phone and handed it to me; I unlocked it and plugged
it into the speaker in my room, flipping it to random. Instead of Nirvana, The
Strokes came on, filling the room with quiet-hours-approved levels of sound.
Johnny wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close once more, and I felt the
hard ridge of his erection pressing against me, straining at his jeans as he
kissed me, his hands moving all over. He kneaded and rubbed my shoulders, down
along my spine, working away knots of tension I hadn’t even known were there,
somehow turning me on more and more by the moment.

He lifted me up onto the bed and quickly tugged his
shirt over his head, revealing the muscled chest and shoulders I had to admit
that I loved, the sexy abs with the wheat-colored treasure-trail shooting down
from his navel. Johnny climbed into the bed with me, kissing all over my face,
caressing me everywhere. He began to kiss a trail down along my throat, licking
and nipping my sensitive skin playfully, and I moaned, biting my lip to stifle
the sound.
Somehow,
I thought,
whoever was in the next room down would
almost certainly hear, and they would know. They would send an RA in.
Johnny’s lips dropped to my breasts and he kissed every inch, every curve of
them before claiming each one of my nipples in turn with his mouth, licking and
sucking until I cried out, arching up off of the bed.

His hands moved lower along my body, and I grabbed at
his shoulders and arms as his fingers brushed along my slick labia, touching me
so lightly I barely felt it. Then he was rubbing me, working his way down
between my folds, finding my clit with his fingertips and stroking the little
bead of nerves until I could feel it swelling and throbbing, tingles of
pleasure shooting through my body. “
Mmm
, Becky — God,
I love how wet you are,” Johnny murmured, bringing his lips briefly back up to
mine. I twisted and writhed, trying to keep my moans quiet, trying to keep
myself from crying out as Johnny stroked and rubbed me, bringing me closer and
closer to orgasm.

One of his fingers dipped down, rubbing along my inner
labia, teasing me for a moment before it slid slowly inside of me, pushing past
the initial resistance of by body. I squirmed as Johnny worked me with his
fingers, rubbing and teasing me, curling one finger and then two along my inner
walls, stroking me inside and out. My hips moved as if they had a mind of their
own; I kissed Johnny everywhere my lips could reach, trailing my hands over his
strong, hard back, kneading and massaging, caressing his velvety skin. Johnny’s
fingers brushed up against some spot deep inside of me and I cried out, every
muscle in my body going tense as he found my g-spot and stroked it again on
purpose, making me shiver. “I know this spot…” Johnny’s low, pleased voice
filled my ear, blocking out the music playing all around me. His thumb pressed
against my clit as he found my g-spot again and then he was rubbing both at the
same time; I bit my bottom lip, moans ripping through my throat, cries of
pleasure escaping through my teeth as I pitched and arched, so full of pleasure
I almost didn’t care if anyone heard me.

Johnny kept working me as I hit my orgasm, my nails
digging into the skin along his shoulders, my thighs tightening and my hips
bucking off of the bed to meet his touch as spasms of pleasure shot through
every nerve in my body. He barely missed a beat, rubbing and stroking as I
twisted underneath him, head thrown back against the pillows and my wet hair
soaking the sheets and blankets as I thrashed around helpless in the grip of
the climax shattering through me. He began to slow as the last of the spasms
began to abate, withdrawing his fingers slowly, giving me one last lingering
touch along my labia.

I sagged against the bed, panting and gasping for
breath, shivering from the force of the pleasure still zinging and tingling
through my body. Johnny kissed me everywhere, his hands stroking and soothing
me, and I knew he was murmuring something, though I couldn’t discern what it
was as the music played around us, swirling through my half-conscious ears. I
could still feel his hard cock pressing against me, digging into my hip as he
covered my body with his own. Johnny kissed me lazily on the lips and I wrapped
my arms around him, for the moment completely lost in how good he had made me
feel and how sweet he had been to get me off without any thought for himself.

His hands started to move on me more hungrily, teasing
my nipples into firm little nubs, stroking me not to soothe me, but to get me
worked up again and I gave myself up to it, kissing him eagerly, touching him
everywhere. I reached down and fumbled at the fly of his jeans with half-numb
hands, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of me. All of the panicked
thoughts about him being some kind of crazed psychopath were utterly gone from
my mind, along with even the name of the girl who had committed suicide. Johnny
chuckled and in a movement so fast I couldn’t follow it, his pants and boxers
both were off, his skin pressing to mine as he slipped down between my legs. He
rocked his hips up against mine and I moaned at the feeling of his hot, hard
cock rubbing along my soaking wet labia, the tip rubbing my clit in a steady
motion that drove me crazy. He finally shifted against me and kissed me
hungrily, swallowing down my moans as he thrust into me slowly.