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Turn the page for a sneak peek into With These Hands, book 3 in the College Obsession Romance series.
With These Hands
(A College Obsession Romance #3)
© 2016 Daryl Banner
DMITRI
“Lower.”
I shift my weight a bit.
“Mmph. Lower.”
I adjust even more, grunting slightly in the effort.
“Lower.”
I suppress a shriek of pain as my calf decides to cramp up.
“Lower, Dmitri. Lower.”
“Seriously,” I mumble under my breath, “if I go any lower, I’m going to be fucking your knees.”
“What was that?”
“Is this fine?” I ask, louder.
Riley grunts in frustration. “It’s just that you’re breathing on my face,” she explains.
I stop fucking her. “Would you rather I not breathe?”
“Don’t stop!” she protests.
I resume, despite the cramp. I think I’m acquiring a throb in my head to match the one in my calf. “You want me to go down on you?”
“Ugh. Don’t ask. Just do it.”
“Alright.” I drag my mouth down her body, then recoil when I reach her pussy. “Um …”
“What?” she blurts, annoyed.
“It smells like me down here.”
“So?”
“There’s a whole lot of me going on down here.”
“Dmitri, are you gonna do me or not? I have a class in an hour.”
Well, I’ve had worse sexual experiences, like that time I jerked so hard that my balls went numb.
I plummet in with abandon, my tongue darting out, running the flat of it up her pussy lips. She moans her approval up above, which encourages me despite the offputting taste. I grip her thighs for support, teasing her with my tongue.
“Good, good,” she moans. “Yes, mmm … yes.”
“Mmm,” I moan, casting deliberate vibrations into her.
Her muscles tense in response.
Then I get an idea. I jut out my tongue and start to fuck her with it, pushing and pulling with a deep, steady rhythm. Her whole body rocks with me, pushed and pulled by my strength.
I hear a bang, then a grunt. I hear another bang, another grunt.
“Fuck, Dmitri! Stop!”
I rise up from between her legs. “What?”
“My head! Fucking! Hit! Your headboard!”
“Sorry?”
“Just go back to fucking me, please.”
I climb back up from the abyss of Hell—er, I mean, her pussy—and I bring my semi-hard dick to it. I give it a few hearty strokes, trying to revive it back to a fully hard state.
“Seriously?” she murmurs, watching.
“Sorry. I got a lot on my mind. What with trying not to breathe. And with giving my girlfriend a concussion. And—”
Riley’s off the bed in the next instant, gripping her pants with fury and pulling them up so hard, I hear something tear. Then she pulls on her bra, her top, and tucks her shoes under an arm, heading for the door with vigor.
“Riley?” I call out. “Where are you—?”
I hear the door to the apartment slam shut with such force, the walls seem to shake.
To my utter dissatisfaction, I find Eric lying on the couch when I make it out of the bedroom. He has his earbuds in and he’s staring at a tablet, so presumably he didn’t hear anything. Oh, who am I kidding? Eric is a worm. He hears every damn thing that happens between these walls.
I attempt to ignore his existence and the too-tight maroon pants he’s wearing, ambling to the kitchen to make myself a snack before class. Staring at the pantry, I can’t think of a single thing I want to eat. I smack my lips, still tasting her on them, which ruins my appetite.
“Just end it already,” moans Eric.
I smirk and give him side-eye. “Riley and I are fine. She’s just … particular sometimes.”
“The bedroom isn’t a place for particularity.”
“Says the homo with the revolving door for a bedroom. Dude, get your sneakers off the couch, please,” I complain.
He ignores me, swiping something away on his tablet.
Just when I return to the pantry, he adds, “Riley adores me.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course she does. She’s like … a gay magnet. And I’m sure you adore her. She sends every gay guy she meets your way.”
“Jealous?”
“Hardly.” I decide on a cup of Easy Mac, then feel my stomach roil disagreeably.