“Salty sweet like caramel sea salt ice cream,” Billy says out of nowhere.
Alice looks around. Billy’s the cute guy from Poli-Sci 101. Alice is the shy girl who’s not comfortable in her own skin. Can’t be talking to her?
“Or maybe bacon shortbread,” he says.
“What?” she asks. Billy’s pale blue eyes and easy smile unnerve her. Heart pounding. Neck blushing carnation red.
“You are,” Billy says with a look no guy has ever given Alice before. Hungry. Dirty even.
“Me?” Cheeks burning. Butterflies. Blood roaring in her ears like Niagra Falls. He couldn’t mean... No way. Not at two in the afternoon in the middle of campus.
“You,” he says, arm encircling her waist, steering her towards an old brick building on the end of the grassy Quadrangle. “I bet you taste like bacon shortbread.”
This can’t be happening. Frightened. Aroused. Alice’s heart stops. Time stops. Her blood flows backwards.
“This way,” he whispers. “My dorm.”
“But I have...” she starts. Can’t finish. Skin ablaze where his fingers touch her waist. She can only follow. Walking on air. On grass. A concrete sidewalk. Glass door. Dim corridor and a dorm room. Not much different from her own room. But with guy stuff. Band posters. Electric guitar. Football on the desktop.
“Cherry Chapstick,” he says, her books falling to the floor. Her body tumbling after. Down a rabbit hole of conflicting desires. Tongues touching. Twitching. Wet. Hot. Bodies pressing. Hard. So hard.
Yes, she’s wearing cherry chapstick.
She looks into his eyes. Strong. Dominating. Hungry. It’s not like she hasn’t thought about this. Or something like it. Fantasized about it. Read about it. But there was always a long tease. A witty conversation. An elaborate seduction.
Not now. Just raw heat. Hot and wicked. And as irresistible as gravity.
“Take off your pants,” he says from across the galaxy. Then he adds, as if it’s her name, “Salty Sweet.”
“I can’t...” she starts. Her body betrays her, melting like wax in his arms. Her fingers betray her. Weak and trembling as they undo the snap. The zipper. Wiggling. Even the denim betrays her, swishing effortlessly down her thighs. Only stopping at her ankles.
“Nice,” he says leering at her panties. Their bodies tumble onto the bed.
Hot fingers spread her thighs apart. Can’t be happening. Hot tongue says it is.
Panties still on. Warm and wet. Wet from him. Wet from her. His lips encircle her tingling pussy. Tongue pressing into her groove. Can’t be happening.
But it is.
Sopping wet and horny. He sucks her juices through the soggy cotton. Slurping. Swizzling. Pleasure radiates outward. From her pussy lips. Her clit. Her cunt. Yes. From her cunt. Such a dirty, unspeakable word. So much pleasure.
She’s on fire now. Not just her cunt. The whole girl’s on fire. Every knot and thread of her. Her tits. Her nips. And she’s still wearing a push-up bra underneath a blue cardigan. The first time a guy, and a hot guy at that, ever kissed her down there. On her cunt. And she’s wearing a fucking cardigan.