The Pretend Boyfriend 3 (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male) Page 6

  His grades were incredible, and he seemed to coast along with hardly any effort at all. He didn’t feel the need to let you know them too. He had a photographic memory, incredible reasoning and analytical skills, and he was personable and charming when he chose to be.

  No one would have known that he was an abused child – emotionally, physically and sexually. He certainly wore his mask well, with all defenses up like walls and a moat he has built around himself. What they certainly didn’t know was that inside it all, underneath all that barbed wire, he was scared and insecure – and he made up for it by pretending not to care about anyone or anything.

  Just three days before April Fools’ Day, his best college buddy, Warwick, set him up on a dare. They were in the library, studying. Not pretending either, but really studying.

  “You see that girl over there?” Warwick said.

  Brian looked up to where Warwick was surreptitiously indicating. “The hot blonde who looks like she can eat men for breakfast?”

  “No, I mean the not so hot brunette beside her.”

  “What about her?” The brunette was nondescript. Certainly someone Brian wouldn’t notice in a crowd.

  Warwick grinned. “That’s virgin Adie, Goldie’s cousin from Detroit. Five hundred bucks says you can’t pull this off.”

  “Pull what off? Something involving my dick?”

  Warwick outlined what Brian had to do. Brian grinned. “You kidding me? I can do that in my sleep.”

  “Yeah, so go to it.”

  “Take a first row seat and kindly observe the master at work.”

  Brian detached himself from his chair and walked over to where Adie was sitting. He didn’t know her full name, of course; not that it mattered. The hot blonde, Goldie, looked up, smiling. She was probably thinking that he was coming to talk to her.

  But Brian ignored her and took the seat beside Adie instead.

  “Hi,” he said. He was gratified to see a funny look on Goldie’s face.

  Adie turned to Goldie, and then looked back at Brian. “Uh, you talking to me?”

  “Yeah. I’m Brian Morton. And you are?”

  “Adele,” she stammered, unable to believe that this incredibly hot boy – the most desired stud on campus, if the rumors were to be believed – was speaking to her and not Goldie.

  “We call her Adie,” Goldie put in. “I’m Goldie.” She held out her hand, refusing to be outdone.

  Brian shook it, and then turned back to Adie. “What are you doing tonight?”

  He was aware that she was shell-shocked that he would even be talking to her. She was unable to take her eyes off him, taking in his large brown orbs, his carelessly mussed-up hair, his sensuous lips. Out of the corner of his vision, Brian observed Warwick, who was trying very hard not to giggle.

  “Me? Doing?” Adie squeaked.

  “Yeah.” Brian refrained from mentioning something about whether she needed a hearing aid.

  Goldie dug into Adie’s side, and she winced.

  “Um . . . I’m studying. Here. No, not here. Back in my room. I think.” Adie blushed a bright scarlet.

  She wasn’t so bad-looking, really, he mused. A little make-over wouldn’t hurt, and a hairstyle change would be necessary. But she wasn’t that bad-looking for a plain Jane. Maybe it was her confidence quotient that made her ordinary. It didn’t rise above sea level.

  “Studying is so blasé,” Brian said. “So . . . if you’re not doing anything else tonight, I was thinking we could grab a movie . . . and dinner. Just the two of us.”

  “Movie? D-dinner?” Adie was still the color of beet.

  “Yeah.” Brian glared at Goldie, who was making faces, and directed this to her. “You got a problem with me taking your cousin out?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Good. Now where were we?” Brian flitted back to Adie. “Pick you up at eight?”

  “Yes,” Adie gushed, clearly unable to believe this was happening to her.

  “Where do you live?”

  Adie told him. She apparently shared a room with Goldie, the sophomore that Warwick was interested in but wouldn’t give him the time of day.

  “OK, see you later.” Brian gave her one of his patented smoky looks that was meant to say much more than it really did.

  He uncurled himself and got up, feeling the scorching gazes of both girls in his back. He wondered if his snub was having its desired effect on Goldie.

  *

  Brian arrived exactly on the dot to pick Adie up at her dorm room. He was pleasantly surprised to see that she had made an effort to doll herself up. She wore a green dress that reflected the overhead fluorescent. She had put on green makeup as well, and thankfully not green lipstick to match. Brian couldn’t abide girls who decked themselves out in strange colors.

  Goldie was also there, and more than a little surprised herself, as if she was hoping to see her cousin being stood up. She’s a right bitch, that one. He wondered why Warwick was so interested in her. But now, to earn his five hundred bucks and keep his rep intact, he had to play smooching lothario.

  “Wow,” he says engagingly, “you look great.”

  It wasn’t completely a lie.

  Adie stared at him. Like – really, really stared. He had naturally made an effort to look good himself. Sexy good, the way he knew he would if he put on just a black wife beater and blue jeans, and donned a simple white shirt over the former. And of course, with his height, he cut quite an imposing figure at the doorway.

  Goldie stared at him too, but with a tinge of envy. Right after he leaves with Adie, Warwick was going to call Goldie in her chagrined, lonesome state – a plumped chicken for the taking.

  For Goldie’s benefit, Brian proffered his arm to Adie. After a moment’s hesitation, Adie took it.

  “Don’t wait up,” Brian said cheekily to Goldie.

  He dashed Adie off to his car.

  Oh yeah, his car. It was a Corvette. Yet another iron filing to his chick magnet allure.

  Brian didn’t do dates very often. He usually got to first base in record time, and then on to the second, and the third with the rapidity of a freight train. So he found himself in an awkward situation after the movie – when he actually did have to try to make conversation . . . with a girl.

  He took Adie to this nice Italian eatery all done up in green, white and red. They ordered pasta and scampi, and Brian even broke out a bottle of red. It was nice . . . if he didn’t have to rack his brains to think of what to say next. Adie was as shy as a dormouse. So it was up to Brian to come up with the topics.

  He started with class, and the professors. After about an hour, he was down to classroom gossip – which he always found embarrassing. But it was easy to talk to Adie. At least, he talked, and she listened. She never took her eyes off him. She blushed every time he let out an expletive, which was often.

  After dinner, he drove her back to her dorm. This was the cruncher.

  As foretold, Goldie would not put out for Warwick. She had returned early to the room, and was in the midst of tweezing her hair or whatever girls did in the privacy of their rooms.

  Just outside their closed door, Brian slammed himself against Adie and kissed her. It was one of his voracious kisses – all tongue and hands around the waist and back and everywhere else. The first base kiss usually rapidly escalated to whatever the girl wanted – and it was usually everything he had to offer.

  Adie seemed surprised. Jettisoned out of her wits, more like. Stunned, she let him kiss her. As he came up for air, she seized his face and kissed him instead with a passion that astounded him. Just when he was all over her, she was suddenly all over him – groping, sliding, grabbing. She obviously wanted him more than she had let on.

  Brian managed to get a word in. “Your roommate?” he panted.

  It wasn’t completely an act. Adie’s fervor did get him worked up, and he could always get it up for anything young and female.

  “What about her?” Her eyes were bright and wide.<
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  “Think you can persuade her to go someplace else?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Adie unlocked the door and pushed it in. Goldie was sprawled on her bed, reading something on Anthropology. She looked up irritably.

  “You’re late,” she said, and added, “Oh” as soon as she saw Brian.

  Adie said to Brian, “Do you mind waiting outside while I talk to her?”

  He nodded.

  He waited while they discussed something – him – behind a closed door. The discussion escalated into an argument, judging from the raised voices. They were practically fighting over Adie’s right to fuck. He was right. Goldie was a bitch. Good luck to Warwick, who had a hard-on for her like no other. Brian wondered why. He would fuck Goldie all right – she was hot. And for him too, by the looks of it. But he wouldn’t have liked her.

  After ten minutes of this, Adie opened the door sheepishly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “can we go to your place instead?”

  Brian was nonplussed. Of course he lived off campus, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to make a big show out of it in front of Goldie, so that Warwick could zone in for the kill. Besides, this was interfering with his right to fuck wherever he chose.

  “Screw this,” he said, grabbing Adie and pushing his way through.

  He entered the room. Goldie glared at him.

  “You’re not turning me out of my own room,” she declared.

  “Why? Because it never happened to you?” he said. “Fine, then we’ll fuck right in front of you.”

  He began to strip, making a big show out of it. Adie was mortified. Goldie was fascinated. Brian was an exhibitionist. He didn’t mind showing his dick to anyone who cared to admire it. He had a magnificent body, and he was all a-OK for flaunting it in the locker rooms, the swimming pool, the beach . . . and hell, everywhere he could get away with it.

  He took off his shirt and flung it onto Adie’s bed. And then his wife beater. He began to unzip his fly, revealing his thatch of pubic hair – he rarely wore underwear – when Adie seized his arm and pulled him into the bathroom.

  “Not out there,” she said. Her face was red.

  Brian grinned. Before he shut the bathroom door, he espied Goldie’s baleful and extremely envious face.

  Inside the cramped bathroom, he pushed Adie against the wall and roughly kissed her. She gasped at his ardor. He fumbled for her zipper and started to pull off her clothes – her dress, her brassiere (which caught at her elbows) and her slip of sensible panties. She clawed at his hair, his face. She was so hungry for him.

  Finally, their clothes were in a heap upon the bathroom tiles. He cornered her against one wall – all fire and manly purpose – the way he thought she might like it. He was channeling a Harlequin romance. He left love bites on her neck, and when she didn’t protest, he rained them on her small breasts, and belly . . . and down, down, down the trail to her pubes.

  He knelt before her and tongued her pussy. He could tell that she never had a guy go down on her before, the way she reacted – all moans and shuddering excitement and intensity. He made a good job out of it. He found a spot on her clit that made her literally go weak-kneed, and he tongued it until she writhed spasmodically.

  She cried out again and again, and he grinned when he pictured the look on Goldie’s face on the other side of the door.

  Later, he stood up again.

  “I’m gonna fuck you,” he whispered, “right against the wall.”

  She clutched at him, frightened.

  “I’ve never done this before,” she confessed.

  A virgin. Of course. He had taken quite a few on this campus. He was always ready to be the great debaucher.

  “Don’t worry. There’s a first for everything,” he said. “Just relax.”

  He bent down to retrieve a condom from his jeans pocket. He always had a few handy. He ripped the foil with his teeth and handed the condom to her.

  “Go on,” he said, “put it on me.”

  She trembled as she took it from him. “I don’t know how.”

  He took pity on her.

  “Look,” he said, demonstrating, “you roll it on like this.”

  His cock glistened with the tight rubber. In a way, he felt like Henry Higgins, showing Eliza Doolittle the ropes. She stared at it, fascinated.

  “It’s so huge,” she said, and he caught the fear in her voice.

  “You’ll get used to it.” He was being unusually patient. “Don’t worry . . . I’ll take it slow.”

  He pressed her against the wall.

  “It’s cold,” she said, laughing nervously.

  “I’ll heat you up,” he suggested, smiling. He took hold of her hips with his strong hands. “Now put your legs around me. Like this.”

  She followed his lead and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, sensing her discomfiture, “I won’t let you fall. I’ve got you.”

  His cock strained at her really tight opening, and she squeezed his neck with her arms – afraid of gravity, afraid of his size. Without letting her pause to think too much, he pushed in. She cried out. He stopped, letting her get used to his penis inside her, and then pushed in again. Inch by inch, he speared her until he was all the way through. It was a nice fit – this little snug canal, holding him tightly, pressurizing his hard flesh from all sides.

  He allowed the pleasure to seep into him. This was why he loved sex so much – the tight clenching of muscles around his dick, the feel of hot limbs entwined around his body, someone else’s need spreading by osmosis to his flesh.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whimpered.

  He began to move, thrusting himself in and out of her with slow, measured strokes, using the wall as leverage.

  “It hurts,” she said.

  “It’ll get better. It’s just your first time, that’s all.”

  He felt her wet tears upon his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He had nothing to say to that. So he kept on pistoning in and out of her like a well-oiled tool. He didn’t think she would have an orgasm from sheer fucking – not the first time, in his experience. Besides, he had already given her plenty of orgasms when he got down on her. Her first orgasms ever given to her by a man.

  In, out, in, out – it was a rhythm he was so practiced in. It didn’t matter who the recipient was. One pussy was the same as another. He didn’t believe in feelings and emotions and all that crock of shit that came with relationships, so it was the sensations that he concentrated upon. The goal of slow orgasm. Making himself ride out each one longer, like an engine breaking itself in and learning precision as it went along.

  He reached his climax with a single gasp. Convulsions rattled his entire body. He felt her slowly sinking onto the floor, and he let her feet tread the tiles before he released her. She clung on to his neck, panting and all sweaty.

  “Thank you,” she said again.

  “It will be better next time.”

  “No, it was wonderful,” she avowed.

  He glanced at her face to see if she was kidding, and she was not. She was gazing at him with an expression in her glistening eyes. An expression he had come to recognize and dread.

  Oh no. Not again.

  But he had promised Warwick, and besides, he was never one to renege on a bet.

  So, instead of instantly cutting off the cord with a sharpened scissors, he swallowed the sudden lump that came to his throat and growled, “Wait till next time.”

  *

  There was a next time.

  It came later that night.

  He did it to spite Goldie, who didn’t pick up the phone and run after Warwick to prove her point – and why would she? Brian had tried to argue through Warwick’s frat boy logic, since women practically never did what you wanted them to do . . . for most guys other than him, that was.

  So Brian stayed the night. He stayed the night in
Adie’s bed, right across the room from Goldie. And they weren’t exactly sleeping either, the three of them.

  “Would you please keep it down?” Goldie fumed, making a show about tucking the pillow around her ears. Brian noticed that she hadn’t exactly closed her eyes.

  Both he and Adie were covered by her blanket, but he was totally naked. Adie wore her pajamas, and he had already wriggled her bottom off and was in the midst of Round Two fucking.

  It was better this time for Adie, as he predicted. But she was still staring up at him with that glassy, love-struck look he only knew too well. Gawd. He had to break this off before she gets ideas.

  In fact, he might be too late.

  She had already gotten ideas, the way inexperienced – in more ways than one – virgins did when they were fucked the first time. Ideas that this would continue beyond the first few fucks. Ideas that they were having a real relationship. Ideas that Brian Morton actually did relationships.

  But he went on fucking her anyway, just to put on a show for Goldie – who never took her eyes off them, no matter how disgusted she pretended to be. And the next morning, he fucked Adie again in the shower before he left.

  “When can I see you again?” she said breathlessly at the door.

  He was tempted to tell her, “Never again”, but he had promised Warwick that he would carry this on until April Fools’ Day.

  “Tonight, after class.” He ran his fingertip suggestively down the area between her clavicles.

  Her besotted expression disturbed him.

  That night, they studied together in the library. And then he took her to his rented apartment outside campus – in which he lived alone – and fucked her again. No . . . maybe it should be called ‘making love’. He was tender and giving and loving – to let her have a contrast to last night’s brutal fucking.

  He found himself enjoying her company, despite his misgivings. At the same time, Warwick managed to get Goldie to go on a date.

  “One more night,” Brian thundered. “If blondie doesn’t put out, you’re on your own.”