Tousle Me (6 page)

Hunter dips his head to press his warm lips to my neck. I sigh outwardly, very outwardly, as he trails his tongue along the thin tendons at my throat. Jeez, I thought I’d at least get a little peck on the cheek before we moved on to the really naughty stuff.

“Gosling,” he breathes. “Take me inside.”

“I, uh. Um.” I glance at his crotch, which is tented like Glastonbury.

“Inside your
room
.” He chuckles. “You dumb bitch.”

I whimper. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

My inner monologue goes into overdrive as I lead Hunter into my dorm room and close the door firmly behind us. So this is it. We’re alone, just the two of us. Nothing to stop us doing whatever we want because like I helpfully pointed out on page one, my parents are conveniently absent. For a moment, I consider asking Hunter to join me in a celebratory selfie, but it feels premature. Maybe I’ll wait until after we’ve made the beast with two backs and then I’ll hashtag it with something clever like #babygottwobacks.

Hunter sits on my bed and pats his lap. “Come hither, gosling.”

Slowly, I do as he asks, thinking about how much I melt when he talks like Mr Darcy. When I’m sitting firmly on his lap—and the large chorizo running down his left pant leg—I give another big outward sigh.

“I’ve had a wonderful evening,” he says. “Haven’t you?”

“Yes, Hunter.”

He presses the back of my neck to bring me in for a kiss. It’s confusing, wet, and tastes like barbecue sauce—which is just how I like my von coffee, thanks for asking.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He throws me back on the bed and lands atop me, arms bracing either side.

As he pants, I stare up at his red pallor and bulging eyes. He’s got a real Rabies Maddox look about him when he gets all horny and primal. Then he yanks off my jacket and tears my dress right down the middle. I can see now why he paid for it—the last thing a guy wants after a night of sexy truncheon dunkin’ is a bill for alterations.

“Oh,
Hunter
.” I pant right along with him, feeling helpless beneath his bulk. I’m finally going to get laid by an alpha anti hero. I can’t wait to text Enid! And Archer—he’ll be so happy for me.

I’m finally going to get laid.
The enormity of it hits me while Hunter rubs his denim-encased erection against my hipbone.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts as I lie there, completely motionless. “You know just what I like.”

But I don’t. I have no idea what he likes. I mean, technically, I’ve read about 899999 sex scenes, so I know how it all works…but I can’t recall any of them. Sure wish I’d read some memorable sex scenes right about now. God damn you, genre fiction.

Hunter moves up for another kiss, and at the same time, he palms my crotch through the lace panties I put on earlier. My girlcore goes all warm and peanut buttery. I feel like a book longing to be opened, pages needing to be flicked, spine about to be split right down the middle as my innocence shatters against the wall.

When he puts a single finger under my panties, I squeal. And then I freeze. For a second, I’m even tempted to call on Captain Purity. Hunter peers up from between my thighs, his hair tousled with almost-sex. I’ve never seen him look so scrummy.

“Is everything okay, gosling?”

“I…uh…” PANIC! SOUND THE VIRGINITY ALARM! “Stop! Octopus!”

He frowns. “You what?”

“Octopus,” I blather. “I have…a pet octopus…and I need to go pick him up.”

“That’s a euphemism, right?” he says hopefully.

“Er…no.”

“You have a pet octopus.”

My eyes dart left to right. “All book bloggers have them. It’s, uh, a thing.”

He leans on one elbow, his erection still bobbing in his jeans. “I see. And exactly where is this octopus now?”

“At the vet,” I blather on. “The aqua vet.”

“Right. O
kay
then.” He chews on his pouty bottom lip. “Does this mean no trip to the Vaj Mahal?”

God, why does he have to be so strangely alluring? “Vaj Mahal is closed.” I pause. “So’s brown town.”

He switches to lean on the other elbow in a feat of gymnastic skill. “Huh. Well this doesn’t usually happen.”

“I really need to pick up my octopus,” I insist. I almost believe it myself.

“Should I ask Labron to take you?”

“Uh…no. I can get there by myself just fine.” I try to smile. “I’m a pretty independent kind of girl.” Who wants to bawl her eyes out because she’s so pathetic and terrified. But not a slut, so hey—winsies.

“You know,” he says darkly, “I could just insist that you have sex with me anyway. I bet you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“I thought that was all a bit 2012,” I mumble.

“Oh.” He gives a defeated sigh. “Dagnammit, you’re right.”

I take this opportunity to wriggle out from underneath him and yank my dress back down. It still gapes open at the front where he tore it, and I have to pin it together with my fingers.

“So I guess I’ll be going to see the vet now,” I say slowly, backing toward the door.

Hunter sits on the edge of the bed and ruffles his delicious hair. “The one that’s open at one in the morning?”

“Oh, aqua vets are pretty flexible.”

“So I gather.”

“I’ll be seeing you.” I grope around behind myself for the door handle.

He raises one eyebrow. “You’ll be seeing me, all right.”

“But not before I…see my octopus.”

Then I hurry out of the door and run down the corridor, resolving to hide around a corner until Hunter von-leaves the building. It’s not long before I realize that:

1. I’m alone in a dark hall, dressed like a baby prostitute.

2. I didn’t bring any keys.

3. I didn’t use keys to get into my room in the first place, so that one’s a red herring.

4. I OWN GOODREADS

So I guess tonight isn’t such a lost cause, aside from the abject humiliation. And the fact that I have about sixteen hours to purchase a pet octopus. They do those, right?

The following morning, Enid barges into my bedroom and dumps a bunch of packages on my desk.

“Good morning, mecha whore!” she trills, sweeping the curtains open.

I wince, shielding my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Time you gave me the skinny on your date with Hunter, that’s what.”

“Do I have mail?” I blink at the packages.

“Yeah. But first…” She lands on my bed in a flurry of blond hair and boobs and cheap perfume. “I want to know where you went, what you did, everything.” Her upper lip twitches. “Jeez. Why does it smell like random exploding weasel in here?”

“I need…caffeine…” I manage to mumble. My head feels like it got gangbanged at Pi Pi Beta Pi. I waited over an hour in the hall for Hunter to leave, and when he finally did, I collapsed into bed with my clothes and make up still on. Which means…

“Oh my God!” Enid yanks on my torn dress. “He went caveman on you. So hot.
So. Hot
!”

“We, uh, went out for dinner,” I say, carefully omitting the McDonalds part. Enid just wouldn’t understand. “And then he came back here.”

“And boned you like your hoo-ha was going out of business?” Enid lifts her crotch and does a few air thrusts.

“Ah…um…” For someone who didn’t want me to date Hunter, Enid sure is enthusiastic about my apparent deflowering. “We had a nice talk.”

“A talk? A
talk
?”

“Lips moved. Words were exchanged. That sort of thing.”

“I can’t believe you. Hunter von Styles doesn’t have dates without sex. Actually…he doesn’t even have dates.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You must be seriously special.”

Special
is a good way to describe me, true.

“So when are you seeing him again?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, he said he’d be seeing me, but who knows what that means.” I motion to my packages. “Gimme.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Enid pulls the two boxes off my desk and plants them on the bed. “You get way more mail than me. S’not fair.”

“One of the many benefits of reviewing books,” I say with an air of feigned-but-not-really superiority. Then I tear the brown paper off the smaller package to reveal a publisher’s logo. “Oh, sweet Lord. This had better be what I think it is.”

Enid cocks her head to get a better look. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“It’s…oh yeah. Come to Mamma.” I lift the book out of the box and hug it to my chest. I draw the line at giving it a kiss, though; these lips belong to Hunter. “It’s my advance copy of the new Juniper Armenseabass.”

Enid snorts. “Is she the chick that has a new book out like, every three days?”

“Eight days, Enid. Every eight days.”

“Boy, her wrists must be sore.”

“You mock all you want, but this book is supposed to be amazing.” I brandish my beautiful copy of
Half Hood
at her. “I mean, sure, plenty of new adult authors have tackled inexperienced heroes. Even virgins. But Juniper Armenseabass is the only one brave enough to write about a hero with a botched partial circumcision.”

Enid presses her lips together and looks away. “Riiiiiiight.”

I’m busy stroking the gorgeously ambiguous cover when Enid thrusts the other package at me.

“So what’s in this one?” she asks. “Please tell me it isn’t more books.”

“I’m not expecting any, I guess.”

“It’s heavy. Can I open it?”

“Knock yourself out.” I’m too distracted by the lure of Juniper’s strangely addictive prose.

Enid brings the parcel close to her face and frowns. “You realize this one has a post mark from Belgium, Cammie?”

“Whuh?”

“Oh, I give up.” She tears into it, peeling open a card and then splitting the lid of the box. She falls silent for a moment. “So this one’s from Hunter.”

I snap up. “Hunter?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What is it?” I say eagerly.

“You should probably take a look for yourself.” She passes the box to me with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.

I look inside.

HOLY FAKE PET OCTUPUS.

“He wants you to call him when you get it,” Enid goes on, still looking as stunned as I feel.

I scramble around for my cell, and dial his number. He picks up after three rings.

“Good morning, gosling,” he purrs.

“Uh. Morning.” God, I hate making phone calls before I’ve brushed my teeth. My stale cheeseburger breath keeps blasting back at me.

“I take it you got my package,” he says.

“I did.”

“And do you like my package?”

“Um…what
is
it, exactly?”

“It’s an advance review copy.”

“It is?”

Hunter clears his throat. “Of my penis.”

I choke down the phone.

“Hand-crafted in the finest Belgian chocolate,” he goes on, a wicked tone taking his voice.

“That’s very…very thoughtful,” I manage.

“Do you like the veins?” he asks. “They’re flavored with a hint of lavender. My idea. I’m especially proud of the big one that winds around the top.”

“Oh, it’s something.” I stare inside the box at the thick chocolate rod. “Is it, uh, life-sized?”

“Of course.” He puts on an accent from somewhere in Europe. “With zis Ferrero Roger, I am really spoiling you.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Hunter sighs. “Gosling. I understand what happened last night. You…want to wait. For the right time for us. And this is my way of saying that it’s absolutely fine with me.”

My heart flutters, and my pulse begins to twerk. “Oh, Hunter. Really?”

“Really. You know how much you mean to me.”

I break into a smile. “Your dick does look pretty yummy.”

“I get that a lot.” There’s a rustling sound over the phone, as if Hunter is tossing his hair.

Enid gapes at me; I giggle like a school girl.

“So,” Hunter goes on, “I’ll be picking you up tonight at eight.”

He knows exactly what he wants. I love it. “Eight’s great.”

“Have a wonderful day, gosling.” Without waiting for my response, he hangs up.

I sink back against the pillows, holding my cell against my heart with a contented sigh.

Enid points to the box. “Is that what I think it is?”

I hum to myself. “An advance review copy. Of his cock.”

“Smells like chocolate.”

“It is chocolate.” I purse my lips. “And life-sized.”

Enid traces a finger along one of the bulgy veins. “Hubba. Choc-cock. He should take this on a blog tour.”

I start giggling again. “I could review it. With GIFs.”

“Can I try some? It just smells so creamy and sugary. Ugh,” she moans.

“Oh, go on then. We’ll both eat it.”

While we much our way through Hunter’s hand-painted helmet, I tell everyone on Facebook that me and Enid are having Hunter’s cock for breakfast, and we both snigger with our mouths full while the campus’s greatly exaggerated rumor mill goes into overdrive.

His cock tastes pretty damn good.

* * *

One shower later, I’m covered in expensive body cream instead of chocolate, and on the hunt for a pet octopus so Hunter won’t know that I lied when he arrives later. I mean sure, he insinuated that he knew I was lying, but his implied understanding of my flaws isn’t the most important thing here. Being right
is.

There’s only one man who can help me snare an animal. Well, one besides the guy who’s actually called Hunter (whose wing of the frat house I carefully avoid when I go in).

“Cam-Cam.” Archer beams from ear to ear as he opens his bedroom door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He’s wearing a full suit of armour, except for his bare feet, and his messy hair is even more handsomely messy than usual.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” He steps aside with a creaky bow. “Make thyself welcome, fair maiden.”

I love it when Archer talks like Chaucer. It’s so hot. If only he was less normal, and more emotionally damaged.

Archer’s bedroom is decked out with all of his re-enactment gear, including tapestries with coats of arms on the walls and a big tub of Schaffer’s Helmet Polish on his bedside table. The furniture is worn, but in an antiqued way (Archer always has money, but since his parents have a little farm, nobody knows how. Huh). He closes the door and cradles a huge prick.