Virgin in the Middle Page 2

  My eyes go straight to their crotches, unable to help myself. Vin and Anthony smirk, knowingly, almost in unison.

  “How’s the unpacking going?” Vin asks, his voice faux-casual as he casts a glance at my still-full bags.

  “Fine,” I respond, burying my face in my phone again. Though probably not before he’d have been able to glimpse my neon-red blush, as my whole face catches on fire.

  I think I might be more easily distracted than I thought, I add to Nita, deliberately typing as slowly as possible to avoid looking up.

  The boys strike up a conversation of their own, talking about practice schedules and their first match of the year in a couple of weeks against a tough rival school. I’m half-listening, half-pretending to read my phone waiting for Nita’s response.

  Then I realize, out of the corner of my eye, that they’re getting dressed. Not only that, but they’ve both just dropped the towels and started pulling on boxers—with their backs to me, sure, but they’re flat-out naked all the same. My breath catches in my throat, and my whole body feels like it’s on fire. I can see Anthony’s muscular, curved ass as he bends over to step into his boxers. The way Vin’s back muscles contract as he stands up and snaps his onto his narrow waist, right over those V-cut muscles on his abs.

  And that’s all out of the corner of my eye. Imagine if I actually dared to turn my head and look…

  No. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

  Opening that window did not help cool things off in here at all.

  The phone buzzes in my hand as Nita responds. Please, Cassidy, she texts, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes already. You are the least distractible person I have ever met. I’d like to see what could possibly get you of all people off-track.

  Yeah, I think, though I don’t type it. You would definitely enjoy seeing what has me distracted right now…

  Instead, I just sigh and type out a real answer. We’ll see.

  No, you’ll see, she says. This year is going to be great. I’m so excited.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I realize the boys have finally finished dressing. Or at least, they have shorts and T-shirts on now, which I guess is as much as I’ll be able to hope for this year. I cast a glance over at them, still in the middle of talking about their lacrosse schedule. Apparently, they have practice really early in the mornings, starting tomorrow. Sounds like hell to me. But Anthony meets my eye when I steal a peek, and he winks, a small smile lingering on his perfectly-curved mouth.

  I’m not so sure excited is the right word, Nita, I think, my stomach coiling with dread.

  Crazy boy roommates or not, I manage to survive my first day of orientation. It was actually pretty enjoyable—I met a couple of girls who would be in a few of my bio classes, as well as some really cool professors who spoke to us a bit about what our first week would be like. There are some after-dinner activities out on the lawns, just general stuff like ice-breaker games. And, of course, a few of the partiers in the dorms have already identified themselves, staking out a corner cluster of rooms for a less-than-legal welcome-freshmen party. I can smell the booze from down the hall as I pass, on my way up to bed for an early night after spending a couple hours trying to be social by pretending I like lawn bowling. (Who even knew that was a sport, anyway?)

  But the moment I open the door to the room, I’m reminded of my real dilemma here. The boys aren’t here, but I see evidence of them everywhere, from the clothes strewn around the place (I can already guess those must be Anthony’s; Vin is way too tidy to leave his stuff on the floor) to the lacrosse sticks out of their cases and propped against a wall. There’s even a Playboy magazine on the floor beside their bunk beds, and my face flushes as I catch a glimpse of the page it’s spread open to—a completely naked woman.

  Who are these guys? Are we going to have anything in common? Are they going to do anything but torment me all year?

  I shower as fast as I can and dress in the narrow common bathroom stalls before I head back to the room. I hope to beat the guys to bed so I can at least have one night of peace before I figure out how to handle living with them. Luckily, there’s still no sign of them, so I climb into my bed and pull the covers up to my chin, sighing.

  Here goes nothing, is the last thought I remember having before I drift off to sleep.

  When I wake up again, it’s still dark. For a moment, I stare at the ceiling, confused and disoriented, wondering where I am. The memory floods back slowly, along with the sound of other people breathing. Two other people, to be exact.

  One is deep and measured, the sound of someone fast asleep. The other is faster, interwoven with sharper breaths. It sounds like someone working out.

  For a moment, I just pause to appreciate the fact that the guys managed not to wake me up coming home. I’m a pretty light sleeper, so the fact that they both got ready for bed and passed out before I even noticed they were here is impressive. And probably means they were trying to be quiet on purpose, for my sake.

  I don’t have time to be impressed by that, though, because I shift a little in my bed, peering out from a gap in the covers over my face, and feel my breath catch in my throat. Any softening feelings I might have felt toward the guys fly out the window as I realize what’s happening in the top bunk, the one directly across from mine, of which I have a perfect, bird’s-eye view.

  Anthony has the covers pulled down to his thighs, his head tilted back, teeth gritted in the dim light. It’s dark enough that I can’t make out much of his expression—only his teeth are white enough to show in the midnight room. But I can make out the shape of his arm, the muscles tense and tight. And his hand, folded up over his waist. Wrapped around…

  Oh, god.

  He’s jerking off, I realize, my eyes widening at the sight of his thick, gloriously hard cock. His hand slides along his own length, his breath speeding up as he moves his hand faster, curving his fingers along the tip.

  I should look away. Close my eyes. Pull the blanket back over my face and try to fall back asleep until he’s finished. I know that’s what I should do.

  But there’s something impossibly hot about the strain on his face, the tension in his strong arms. The way he arches his hips, curses under his breath, pleasuring himself completely. That must have been what woke me—the uneven sound of his breathing, and the occasional gasps he lets out when he gets nearer to his peak.

  Without thinking, without even realizing what I’m doing exactly, my hand strays to the waistband of my PJs. I might be a virgin, but I’m not a saint—I sure as hell know how to make myself feel good when I’m in the mood. I have to if I want to stay on track and away from other distractions.

  The sight of Anthony right now is definitely putting me in the mood.

  I slide my hand under my pajamas, straight past my underwear. I run my finger along my slit, realizing with a start of surprise that I’m already wet. I circle my finger in my juices, coating my index finger, then my middle finger too, all the while picturing Anthony’s hand where mine is, tracing the outline of my pussy lips, feeling how wet he makes me. I slide a finger inside myself, curl it to stroke my inner wall, and imagine him doing this to me instead. What if that thick arm of his was wrapped around my hips instead? What would he make me do; how would I feel if he took me the way he’s taking himself right now?

  I watch his hips arch off the bed again, and imagine him thrusting inside me as I push my finger deeper into my pussy. I slide my middle finger in too, watching Anthony’s thick cock, knowing how he’d stretch my walls tight if he fucked me. I circle my thumb over my clit, my own breath speeding up as I hit all the right spots. Anthony is panting now, near his climax. I hope the heavy sound of his breath will disguise my own, as I stroke myself faster, circling my clit, quickly bringing myself close to the brink as well.

  He shifts in bed, onto his side, facing toward me, and for a moment my whole body freezes, muscles frozen, terrified. What if he sees me watching him? What will he think if he knows I�
��m touching myself, turned on as hell by watching him masturbate?

  But his eyes remain closed tight, his lips parted in distraction, his ab muscles on full view now, tense as he strokes himself off, right to the edge.

  I press harder against my clit, thrusting my fingers into my pussy at the same time, and part my lips, gasping without sound as the orgasm hits. At the same moment, across the room, Anthony comes too, groaning faintly as his cum pumps across his knuckles, drips along his arm. I stare at it, still rubbing my clit, the orgasm jolting through my limbs, electrifying my brain. I feel like I can feel his cum on me, slicking my body. I imagine him coming on my stomach, my chest, or deep inside me, coating the walls of my pussy, marking me as his.

  When Anthony rolls over and reaches for a towel, I quickly drop the covers back across my face, sliding my hand out of my PJs. My body still feels limp and relaxed, my pussy tight and twitching from the orgasm. I roll over in bed, away from him, and curl up facing the wall, wondering if he could hear me. Wondering if he guessed what I was doing at the same time as him. I hope to god he didn’t because I don’t know how to explain what the hell just came over me.

  I told myself that coming here, I would remain completely focused on school. On my work, on classes, and not on guys. Now, less than 24 hours later, I’m already masturbating over one of them?

  I grimace and tighten my grip on my pillow. How the hell am I going to survive an entire semester with these guys so close to me?

  2

  When I wake up, the room is empty again. Thank god for early morning practices, I think as I get dressed. At least it means I’ll probably have the room to myself every morning since I tend to just roll out of bed as soon as possible before I need to actually be somewhere. And, I really do appreciate that the guys are quiet about getting ready, too.

  I shouldn’t complain. There are way worse roommate situations I could have been stuck with. Someone loud or annoying or who blared music and tried to keep me awake all night.

  This will be fine, I tell myself as I stuff my books into my backpack. It’ll just take some getting used to. Hell, maybe it will be good for me—if I can learn to ignore my own attraction to these guys, then I’ll be well set for ignoring any other hot guys I might stumble across this year. Making it through any other tests of willpower will be a cakewalk after this semester.

  A little bit more cheerful after that thought, I head out of my room, chewing on a breakfast bar as I make my way toward my first class. The campus is already bustling at this hour, people crossing it in all different directions on their way to classes. I have bio first, which I’m actually excited about. But I get about as far as figuring out which of the towering glass structures surrounding me is the science building and then I completely lose my place. There’s a zillion different corridors inside the building, each one branching off a different direction, some upstairs, some down… The numbers don’t seem to be in order, either.

  I walk at least five minutes down one hallway before it dead-ends and I realize I’ll need to turn around and go a completely different direction just to get back to another option.

  Crap, crap, crap, I think, hurrying my steps. I left with plenty of time to spare, but if I stay lost in this maze much longer, I’m going to be late. On my very first day of class, no less. Way to make a great first impression on the professor.

  Not to mention, I’ll probably miss some important introductory explanations of how the class is going to work…

  I’m so busy beating myself up that I don’t even notice the person standing directly in my path until I nearly walk headfirst into them. I stop myself just a foot short of collision and look up to find Vin grinning at me, eyebrows lifted. “Lost?” he asks, and part of me wants to deny it just to wipe the grin off his face.

  Because that grin is too irritatingly sexy.

  But I don’t have time to play games right now, so I just sigh and admit defeat. “Totally turned around. I’m trying to find room 305, but…”

  “Yeah, this building is a complete maze. C’mon, I’ll walk you.”

  I fall into stride beside him, trying to ignore the fact that there’s only an inch of space between his arm and mine. I can almost feel the heat radiating off of him, and I can definitely tell that he went home and showered after practice—he smells mint-fresh, with a hint of cologne, and something else underneath, a scent I recognize from our shared room. The scent that’s all him, pine and dark woods and mystery.

  His dark eyes cut sideways to find mine as we walk, the ever-present smile still lingering on his narrow mouth. “Excited for your first day?”

  “I guess so. More nervous than excited, probably,” I admit, sighing as our steps speed up.

  “Not what you expected?” he replies, quoting our conversation the day before.

  My cheeks flush. “At least now I know I have no idea what to expect, actually,” I reply, trying for a smile. It’s an olive branch, and he takes it in stride, his smile widening.

  “Don’t worry. Between the three of us, I think we’ll do just fine here.” He comes to a halt, and I nearly walk straight past him because I was distracted thinking about what he meant by between the three of us.

  Then I realize we’re standing outside a classroom. My classroom. 305. And not a moment too soon, either. The bell sounds overhead, signaling the start of the hour, and of my bio course.

  “Thank you so much,” I gush as I step inside. But to my surprise, Vin follows me in, his grin widening. I swallow hard as we slide into the only two remaining seats at the back of the 80-odd person lecture hall, side-by-side. “I didn’t know you were taking bio,” I whisper as our professor turns on the screen at the front of the room.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, Cassidy,” he replies smoothly, winking as he pulls a notebook from his bag, then assumes a jaunty lean in his seat, eyes on the board.

  Even with his gaze directed elsewhere though, it still somehow feels like he’s staring at me. The space between us feels almost physical with weight.

  As I figured, it’s difficult to focus on the professor, when all I can concentrate on is the feeling of him beside me. Wondering what he’s thinking. Why he’s taking this class, too. Is he also planning to be a Bio major, or is he just filling a science requirement? What does he want to do with his life, besides playing lacrosse?

  There’s a break in the lecture as the professor tries to make his slideshow keep advancing, and Vin scribbles something on the corner of his notebook. Slides it sideways so I can see, and I have to stifle a laugh when I read it.

  Might be a Bio pro, but he’s no techie, huh?

  Vin offers me his pen, and with a reluctant glance at the professor—still lost in his laptop—I accept it and lean over his notebook.

  Got to admit, I expected a little more from this class than just a PowerPoint presentation.

  Don’t worry, he writes back, his letters long and looping. Prof. PowerPoint here is just the main lecture. The bio labs themselves are supposed to be pretty epic, and we have a better prof who runs those. So I’ve heard.

  I cast another long sideways glance at Vin, again reappraising everything I thought I knew about him. If I had to guess, I’d have taken him for your standard jock, here on an athletic scholarship, willing to blow off classes, not actually interested in learning much aside from how to win at his chosen sport.

  Clearly, I was way off the mark.

  Something about the way I’m staring at him must tip him off that I’m surprised, because Vin leans across the desk between us to whisper in my ear, his breath hot against my cheek.

  “What’s the matter, surprised that a jock actually gives a damn about class?”

  He’s so close to the mark that my cheeks, bright red, answer enough for him. But I lean back over to whisper a reply all the same. “It’s a pleasant surprise, don’t worry. I’ll stop pre-judging you now, promise.”

  Now it’s his turn to smile in surprise, eyes widening. “I knew I’d
grow on you,” he replies, smirking. “It’s inevitable. Side-effect of the jock super-powers.”

  I punch his arm lightly, but he catches my hand and squeezes my fist once, fingers curled around mine for a breath of a second, before he lets go and turns to face the front of the classroom.

  The professor is talking again. Crap. I didn’t even notice.

  “You should take your classes more seriously, Cass,” Vin joke-scolds me, even as he plucks his pen from my fingers and goes back to taking diligent notes.

  For my part, it takes me a few breaths to recover before I can hold the pen again without shivering, a telltale sign of just how much he affects me.

  Dammit. This is exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid.

  And yet, Vin is so much more than I pegged him for when we first met. He’s quietly serious, watching the professor with a steadfast gaze that’s almost as distracting as the warmth radiating off his skin or the faint whiff of his cologne that I keep catching when I turn my head to steal glances at him.

  Toward the end of the lecture, our professor takes a break to fiddle with the PowerPoint again, and the class fills with chatter. I steal a sideways glance at Vin, feeling bad for pre-judging him. “Are you interested in this as a major?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “I’m considering it,” he says, leaning toward me easily, so fluid in his movements. “I want to study sports medicine. Too many people get injured playing sports; if I can help people avoid that, keep them on the path to their dreams…” His eyes catch mine, and my breath hitches in my chest. “I think that sounds like a pretty good career choice.”

  “It does,” I admit, my cheeks flaring red from his attention. “I was thinking about going into medicine too. Not like, directly, but research in the lab. Working on developing new medications. Discovering cures.”

  “You want to heal people too,” he guesses.

  I nod, unable to tear my eyes from his.

  “That sounds like a pretty good choice too, Cassidy,” he replies, and the sound of my name on his lips is hotter than I can explain.