Page 227 of Hide and Keep

She leans down, opening up her asshole to me even more and allowing me to get my second knuckle in.

“This is mine. That’s mine. You’re mine,” I chant to her as I work different spots of her body all at once. “You’re mine. You’re. Mine.”

Her pussy squeezes my semi as she convulses, making me wish I had the power to decide when to come. I’d come with her in this moment, then again in a few minutes after getting another orgasm out of her.

It’s pretty fucking special to get to witness her climax though, knowing my cock—even at only half-mast—my finger, and my words make her feelthatgood, enough to soak us both.

I let her ride out the spasms, then the aftershocks, before lowering myself to the mattress. Almost instantly, she collapses on top of me, our heartbeats identically erratic. There’s so much moisture between us, it feels like we’re back in the shower.

I wanted a mess. I got a fucking mess.

And I couldn’t be happier about it.

I kiss the top of her head.

“You’re mine, Ever Munreaux.”

So soft I wouldn’t hear it if it wasn’t dead silent in here, she whispers, “I know.”

Surveying Lit U’s quad, I inhale some much-needed fresh air after a long weekend full of sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Technically, there was no rock and roll. What evenisrock and roll? Anyway, the sex waswitha drug, the only one I’ve ever allowed into my system. Except he hasn’t just affected my nervous system. He’s impacted most of my body’s eleven systems—reproductive, respiratory, cardiovascular, probably even my immune system considering how much fluid we’ve been exchanging.

Goddess, Crue Brantley is addictive. We spent more time wet this weekend than we did dry. I wouldn’t be surprised if his tattoo doesn’t heal properly. He probably should’ve gotten it done after…

After…

After.

It’s that word and those kinds of thoughts that keep this little bubble of ours from being impenetrable.

My eyes automatically lift to the university’s focal point, the giant hands on the clocktick, tick, tickinghigh above our heads.

That choking sensation returns.

I squeeze my throat, willing it away. Please. Not while Crue is beside me.

Crue is beside me…providing immeasurable comfort in our small, precarious bubble. In it, I can breathe.

I can breathe.

I. Can. Breathe.

Feeling my airway opening up, I slowly lower my hand.

I can’t afford to think about what happens after. Instead, I need to focus on the here and now.

Right here, right now, I have to go to class.

Walk.

My feet begin the trek across the quad.

Like the carbon copies they are, the clones all look over at me at the same time, expectant. Desperate.

It’s not me they’re desperate for. It’s my name. My connections. My status. My “aesthetic.” They wouldn’t know what to wear if it weren’t for me. They wouldn’t know how tobewithout me.

I deliberate for all of ten seconds before coming to the conclusion I wish I’d realized sooner—I don’t have to be around them. Nobody’s here to make me.

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