My scowl doesn’t stop her from twisting hair around her finger and giggling. “I can’t believe it. Mr. Gage Weston himself in my dorm room.” “Yeah, Stella,” I grit, bitterly, wishing I had a fifth of whiskey in my hand. “Lucky you.” “Oh, I’m not Stella,” she laughs, as if it was a wild assumption.
“It’s okay,” I say, gently as possible. Her chest starts to rise and fall quickly. “Should I not have made her leave? Are you scared to be alone with me?” When she only continues to watch me like a timid rabbit, I have no idea what comes over me. I have no idea, but I kneel. I kneel down and slowl
How am I supposed to concentrate on the development of human civilization in Ancient Greece when this man is looming in front of me? Why won’t he sit down? He started to take a place beside me on the thin mattress, but made a sound and started pacing with clenched fists. Yes, I really should have G
A line moves in his cheek and for a moment, he looks almost amused. But only for a moment. Then he’s deadly serious. “I’m going to need a lot of tutoring, Stella. Day and night. For years. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” “No,” I whisper, honestly. This happens a lot. I was raised in a qu
Something hard is pressing to my bottom. I wiggle around on the large object, trying to discern its exact shape. When Gage grits his teeth and curses, it dawns on me. It’s his hard penis. He’s…aroused? I’ve read about male sexual response in my health class, though I admit I skimmed a little, it mad
When I wake up, she’s gone. It’s like having a claw hammer buried in my skull. I dive out of bed with a bellow, clutching at the sheets like I’m going to find her hidden in there. Where the hell did she go? Where the fuck did she go? The anger has returned with a vengeance in her absence. I scra
I’m in the front row of my political science class, head bowed forward so I can create a little world of my own inside the safety of my hair. It shields me from the rest of the class and stops me from getting too overwhelmed by the sheer number of people surrounding me. If I think about it too much,
“Stella,” he says. I’m standing before I realize what I’m doing, my small hand locked inside his much larger one. He picks up my books in the opposite hand and guides me out of the classroom to a renewed chorus of hoots and whistles. My face burns at the attention and I have the impulse to bury my