Page 61 of Deep End

“And you know what girls who did good get?”

His thumb, the same that was in my mouth moments ago, taps faintly against my clit through my soaked underwear. I’m so swollen, so oversensitive, my whine echoes throughout the lab.

“You’re really wet, Scarlett. Aren’t you?”

I hide my moan in his neck, but he pulls me back, forcing me to meet his gaze. I know that my face is red and blotchy. I felt the tears sliding down the corners of my eyes as he came. I am mortified. Also, trembling with want.

And he knows it.

“You did so well. Youdeserveto come. I would love to make you come. I would pay a not insignificant amount of money to go down on you. Though you could probably come just from this.” Another slow stroke, this time against the drenched seam of my underwear. I lean in, whimper, sink my teeth into the hard muscles of his lats,but he doesn’t mind. His palm cradles the back of my head, gathering me into his skin. “The problem is, I’m not sure you want it enough yet.”

I shut my eyes and barely,barelystop myself from begging. I’m not sure I’ve earned the right to dothatyet.

“Come on.”

He pulls me down from the bench. Adjusts my shorts. Straightens my tank top, pausing to swipe a finger over my hard nipple, where it sticks out against the ribbed cotton. When my breath hitches, he presses a kiss to my cheek. “So sweet,” he murmurs, and then, “let’s go.”

“Where—” I have to clear my throat. “Where are we going?”

He smiles and takes the USB out of his pocket.

“Did you forget? We have a project to work on.”

CHAPTER 26

I’M FAWN-LEGGED AS WE WALK DOWN THE MAIN QUAD, WOBBLIERthan after a week with the flu. The fresh air does little to clear out the haze, or to ease the throbbing between my legs.

I lift my chin, trying to look like I’m not still processing the ins and outs of what just happened, like it wasn’t a bit of a religious, existence-defining experience.

Scenes, that’s what people call what we did. Pockets of time in which power is exchanged. They have a beginning and an end. They can be broken with safe words. They can be structured and formalized as much as their participants like—in my case, not too much, at least for now. Words likedomandsubfeel a little cumbersome. Unwieldy. I wrote on my list that at this stage I’d rather explore than constrain, and Lukas seemed . . . eager. For now, we’re just two kinky people, checking in with each other and figuring it out.

I wonder if something like this birthed the expressionfuck around and find out.

I take deep breaths, squinting at the glare of the late-afternoon sun, until a pair of sunglasses is pushed up the bridge of my nose. Lukas looks formidable against the suddenly dark sky, but his eyes are very much bare.

“You—”

“That way,” he instructs, tapping my nape and taking a right turn.

My lips are tender and pouty. Earlier, in the elevator, he traced them with his thumb over and over, the soft hint of a pleased smile obvious in the creases at the corners of his eyes. He took my hand and held it—out of the lab, the hallway, the building, until I wiggled free.

It’s disarming, how a five-minute walk through campus results in several eyeballs slipping in his direction. But Stanford is the alma mater of dozens of Olympians, many of whom end up medaling, and Lukas is by no means unique.Basically a public figure, Pen said, and maybe she wasn’t wrong.

“Do you mind?” I ask him. I am slowly winding down. Not quite steady yet.

“Mind what?”

“Just, you know, the people. The attention.”

He gives me an empty look. “What attention, and what people?”

A laugh bubbles out of me, and I picture bringing this up with Pen.He doesn’t realize! I told you—constantly unfazed!

“You still doing okay?” he checks in, and I nod.

I feel used, deliciously so. But not like one might use a thing, only to discard it. I feel precious, something able to bring pleasure, a product of enthusiasm and instructions well carried out. And that, really, is the crux of it. When I’m following commands, my shoulders are bare of any weight. I’m sure there are many reasons people like what I like, but for me—this is it. The quiet. The grind, stopped. Knowing that for a brief moment, someone else has me. No decisions, no responsibilities.

When that’s over, though, reality seeps back in. Classes. Practice. Projects.

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