Tristen’s muscular arms cradled my body under the throb of the multicolored lights of the club. He was warm, like a drug. Once he touched me, I wanted so much more than the rough pulse of his jean-covered hips against my ass. One song bled into the next, and the people around us faded into the hum of white noise as his hands drifted from my waist to my hips. My body against his, the bump and grind of our bodies against each other mimicked what we really wanted.

What I really wanted.

Time suspended itself, each press of his fingers against my body, my skin an indelible mark that touched something deeper inside me, something more primal. I ceased to exist. I was drunk on tequila and his aftershave, the rasp of the fabric of his dress shirt against my sweaty neck.

Images of him, of us, bled together until suddenly we were back in the stale light of the dorm hallway.

“Bye,” I mouthed, pulling my hands from his.

“Bye, Kenzie,” he replied, his own voice little more than a whisper. It was almost like he knew one loud noise outside of the club would shatter the glass of this night.

I didn’t want to break anything, least of all him.

What I wanted was to invite him inside. To peel off his shirt the way he’d peel off mine and fall into the narrow dorm bed giggling and groaning until we were spent and twisted around each other like the best, most delicious pretzel.

But I knew I couldn’t. Not until the week was out, and maybe not even then. I wanted something real between us, not something fueled by test tubes of glowing alcohol and music that made us think we needed to fuck.

But my body wouldn’t cool, even in the shower with lukewarm water running in frustrated rivers down my skin.

            “Argh!” I slapped the tiled wall. I needed him. I needed… something.

            I closed my eyes and tried to synchronize myself with the frantic thump of my traitorous heart. But there was a throb inside of me that was coming from much lower than my chest.

All I could see in the darkness of my own mind was Tristen.

Tristen, blinding me with his even, white smile in the library. Tristen, walking through the snow with me to make sure I was safe on the way back to the dorm. Tristen, whose rock-hard body touched mine in ways that were both innocent and so damn dirty. What would he feel like, late at night, his long, strong fingers exploring the way mine were now?

            I leaned my head against my arm on the smooth tile and let my fantasy take over. Tristen would join me, stepping over the lip of the shower with a smirk and a devil-may-care flip of his blond hair. His eyes molten, he’d reach for my body, cradling me against him even as he couldn’t help but press a sizzling, open mouthed kiss to my neck.

            I gasped, my fingers circling my clit in rhythm to the phantom method of his imaginary lips.

            “You like that?” His voice would pitch low, rough, like maybe it wasn’t enough for him. “I want you.”

            I nodded against my arm.

            He’d stare at me through the water raining down on both of us, and then drop to his knees, already spreading me apart, like he meant to…

            My breathing quickened. God, what it would be like to be touched by him, to be tongued by him. Sparks shot through my legs as I imagined that first, slow lick, his fingers probing inside me, my fingers probing inside me to find that special place where…

            “Fuck!” I hissed, pleasure coursing through me in waves.

            “You’re so hot, Kenzie. I’d love to do that again.”

            I’d love for him to do it in real life.

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