Delta Tau Tau, and what I envision in my head is true. The frat is known for its athletic and good-looking members. I don’t think they can legally have an attractiveness requirement during recruiting, but somehow, they ended up with all the tall, hot men at Remington College.
Then again, I’ve never spoken to a single guy in DTT. Well, aside from the casual “hi” in passing if we see each other on the sidewalk. If I tried to say anything more, I just know it’d come out as gibberish because I’ve never been good at talking to hot guys. I always end up sweaty and red-faced, with my armpits feeling damp.
A tall figure forms in my mind. There’s this guy in the frat, Mike, who I’ve seen a couple times. He’s got to be about six foot four and his hair is black and swept off his forehead. His piercing blue eyes stop me in my tracks every time I see him, and he’s got the most amazing body. I wonder if he’s a varsity athlete. It would explain the sports bag I see him carrying sometimes.
Then, there’s another DTT brother, Brent. Last winter, I saw him outside chopping wood and I thought I was going to die. I get it: this is Vermont, so people actually chop wood, but still, Brent looked like a Viking come to life. It helps that Brent also has a fantastic six-pack that I’ve been lucky enough to see a few times. The DTT guys love to walk around half-naked with gym shorts hanging about their hips. Not that I’m complaining. My only substitutes are the male models on the covers of my romance novels, so seeing these guys in 3-D is a treat.
A few of the DTT guys I’ve seen float around before my eyes as I lie in my mattress. They’re tall and muscular, with charming smiles and knowing gleams in their eyes. Sighing a bit, my hand dips into the front of my pajama shorts. I’m soaking wet, and my slit is puffy already. The men’s images, coupled with the sounds coming from next door, are enough for me to begin stroking my clit.
I start off gentle, teasing myself. This is one of my favorite things to do. I like to imagine a guy kissing me and grinning slowly as he trails his thumb over my nub.
Tonight, it’s Mike whose massive bulk is between my thighs. I easily imagine his hands in place of mine. I bet they’re rough and calloused, not to mention big. He’d feel so good entering me with one finger, stretching me out and preparing me for his cock.
I moan gently, my eyes falling shut, as I slide into myself. It’s nowhere near as good as it would be with Mike, but it’s good enough for now. I bite my lip and moan out Mike’s name as I plunge my fingers deep in my pussy with a wet sucking sound.
“Fuck, that feels good, Mike,” I whisper. I can’t be too loud or someone in my house might hear. I’d never live it down if someone overheard me masturbating because the people in this house are very square and very ordinary.
My eyes close again and my back arches as I reach deep.
“Oooh,” I breathe, tingles going through my pussy. “Mmmm.”
I stroke my clit with my thumb as I penetrate myself with more fingers. The pleasure builds and builds but I can’t quite bring myself over the edge. I try again, reaching deeper while spreading my legs. My thumb is rapidly strumming my clit now, and I’m so close, and yet I can’t get there. My body strains again, praying for climax, but it just won’t come. I collapse, sweaty and flushed on the mattress, unhappy and desperately frustrated.
This happens sometimes. No matter how turned on I am, I can’t make myself finish.
I try touching my nipples as I work on my pussy, thinking furiously of the men next door. If anything, the sex sounds outside my window crescendo, and I can hear a man groaning with exertion. But nothing helps. My body can’t get over the edge I so desperately want to reach.
I snatch my hands from my shorts and huff. I’m so horny that I’m tempted to run next door and throw myself at one of the DTT brothers. There has to be someone willing to sleep with a virgin like me, right?
But I force myself to stay in bed. First of all, sex with random strangers isn’t me. Second of all, I have to work in five hours. The last thing I need is a hookup keeping me awake all night. I’d fall asleep at the espresso maker and end up fired, which would have serious consequences. Getting laid is not worth being kicked out of school, no matter how desperate I am.
I lay back and curse myself for dreaming of the men next door. Am I being creepy? I hope not. Don’t people imagine celebrities and porn stars all the time when they masturbate? What’s the difference between that, and picturing guys I’ve seen in real life?
I close my eyes tighter and hope that I can rid my mind of these dirty fantasies, but it’s no use. If anything, it gets even worse because instead of one man, now I fantasize being surrounded by a group of them. Yes, I’m taking off my clothes for a bevy of alpha males, who look my curves up and down with appreciation before satisfying me the way I need.
Holy fuck! What am I thinking? Group sex? A gang bang? Now, things are really getting out of hand. But I’m so far down the road that I can’t stop. My hands shift over my curves, pulling at my nipples before stroking my little bud. I imagine satisfying each man in turn, even as they satisfy me. The pleasure is immense, and this time, I reach my peak. With a delirious scream, my back arches almost painfully as my toes curl and lightning bolts shoot through my pussy.
“Mike!” I scream. “Brent! Justin! Peter!”
It doesn’t matter that neither Mike, Brent, Justin or Peter know who I am. I just found ecstasy at the hands of my fantasy men, but the thing is that they’re not quite fantasy because these gorgeous men are real, and they live next door.
* * *
To be continued …
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About the Author
Cassandra Dee is a bestselling author of dozens of hot and steamy contemporary romances. She started out writing erotica but transitioned to romance after falling for one too many book boyfriends.
When she’s not tapping away furiously at her laptop, Cassandra can be found drinking gallons of coffee and watching lots of reality TV. She also enjoys taking the neighbor’s dog for walks, aimlessly wandering the local grocery store, and of course, reading too much about the lives of her favorite celebrities.
Cassandra is living her own HEA with her husband and a beautiful baby boy.
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