Beneath The Skin (A College Obsession Romance) (23 page)

It’s almost beautiful until I notice that between their locked mouths, drool has gathered and slowly spills down their chins. Drips of their saliva pock their clothing and the plain, tiled floor at their feet. Once I notice that, I realize they may have been kissing for an exorbitant amount of time. Neither of them pulls away even for a second. The drool continues to pool, becoming more grotesque with every gentle smack and pucker of their lips.

“Ew,” I mumble when a drip of saliva loosens from the man’s chin and finds a home on the woman’s chest.

“It’s almost too much, isn’t it?” remarks Brant at my side, watching the show with awe.

I glance at him, pulling my eyes from the lovers. “This crap is what you wanted to show me?”

“It
looks
gross,” he agrees lightly, “but do you read their bodies? It’s beautiful, really. Their love is, like, totally gross. But it’s theirs. They’re into it. They want each other and they don’t care what it looks like, what others say … Right …? I mean, they’re totally into each other.”

I find I can’t look back at the lovers, suddenly hypnotized by the side of Brant’s face as his eyes shine from the light of the projected video, glimmering against the movements of the man and woman on the wall. He looks like a child watching the stars.

Has Brant ever truly been to an art exhibit? I mean, other than the last time when he
became
my exhibit. I wonder if he’s ever let art into his life. Is he doing this just to impress me, or is there something inside him that is being enraptured by the artistry he’s experienced tonight? Somehow, I don’t even mind that it’s Renée’s work.

“They
are
into each other,” I agree, staring at him instead of the wall.

“Can’t even look away,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

“Hypnotized.”

“They don’t even care that all their … love … is running down their mouths like that, all slobbery and stuff. They’re wet in each other’s unapologetic affection. It’s gross to an outsider, but …”

“Totally gross,” I agree, my eyes trailing down his body.

“I wish I could feel something like they feel … with that much abandon.”

He turns to me now, and when he finds my eyes glued to him, he appears genuinely startled. He lifts his eyebrows, observing me cautiously. Then, with the care of someone handling the most fragile piece of glass, he reaches and slowly draws a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“You do somethin’ with your hair?” he asks.

“Not really.”

Half a crooked smile appears on his face. “You look pretty tonight, Penelope.”

A part of me cringes inside at hearing my full name uttered by his soft voice. Another part of me melts. I think it’s my panties.

“I like your shirt,” I return.

“I feel a bit underdressed.”

“I’ve seen you even more underdressed.”

His crooked smile grows. “More like,
undressed
.”

The couple on the wall keep kissing each other at our sides. Their lips suck and twist and gently consume one another. Their love spills in steady streams from between their mouths.

He takes a step toward me. “Do ‘just friends’ get undressed in front of each other?”

“Brant …” I warn him.

“Because if I’m being totally honest here, I really want to kiss you right now.”

My heart jumps. “It would be a terrible idea.”

“I’m really happy to see you again.”

His hands slip around the small of my back. My fingers clutch the base of his shirt at the hips instinctively. Judging from the firmness I feel in his swelling pants as our bodies press together, I can tell just how “happy” he is to see me, indeed.

“Still a terrible idea,” I whisper.

“The worst,” he agrees.

His lips rush toward mine, hesitating only for a moment before our mouths collide.

Our lips battle with one another, wrestling for dominance as our hands grip each other’s clothes tightly. His cock flexes firmly through his jeans. He groans eagerly as I pull him against me, as if we can somehow get our bodies any closer than they already are.

My heart races so fast, I feel out of breath. My hands learn every contour of his lower back and quickly discover how perfect his ass really is as my fingers trace his firm cheeks, then grab hold of them, pulling him into me.

Oh my god, I’ve needed this.

He groans into me as he gently bites my lip, and I feel every inch of his cock pushing against my leg. He lets go of my lip just to say, “Fuck, what you’re doing to me, Nell …”

What I’m doing to him?
I haven’t even begun.

I slide my hand down his body, my fingers hopping on every bump of muscle, down his firm, cascading abs, until they arrive at his jeans. My fingers cup around his quickly swelling cock through the material.

“P-Penel …” he moans into my mouth.

“Got you,” I whisper back.

My hand massages him down below, leaving his jaw in a helpless, hanging state and his eyes closed with dreams of what I’m about to do to him. I give him one stroke up and down the outside of his jeans. Then another.

He holds his breath, his forehead wrinkling in agony.

Right where I want him.

I bring both hands to the waist of his jeans and give them one swift tug, and with as loose and low-hanging as they are, they drop without him even having to undo them.

He’s hard in his boxer briefs, his cock pushing against the material and grazing my thigh. I touch the tent he’s made of his underwear, which seems to stiffen him even more as his cock flexes and throbs. Pulling the waistband down, his cock pops out of his boxers, and when my hand wraps around the flesh, I earn myself a sigh of delight from Brant Rudawski.

“P-Penel … Pen … N-Nell …” he tries to say.

And then I stroke, slowly yet firmly, and all the words he might’ve said turn into a melody of grunts and elongated vowels.

It isn’t long before I feel his cock flexing with the impending threat of an orgasm. Jerking him with vigor, I aim his cock at the screen, my animal eyes leveling up with his. He gapes at me, eyes flashing open as he gasps in beautiful agony, reaching the edge in an instant.

When his jagged breaths turn vocal, his cock dances, and streams of his white cum shoot across the space, dressing the wall where the couple in the video continue to slobber over one another, only now, somehow, they’ve acquired handcuffs and are cuffed to each other, much like how my hand is cuffed to Brant’s wet and slippery cock, figuratively speaking.

“
Oh … my … god,
” he sighs, all his muscles relaxing in my clutch.

As my hand comes to a stop and we turn into two statues standing here in this room, we breathe slowly and observe our contribution to the room, which rests in squiggly ropes and coils of Brant’s seed on the video wall.

“A fine work of art,” I murmur quietly, bringing my chin to his shoulder and leaning into him.

“You’re very … very skilled with your hand,” he notes, out of breath.

“You’re skilled with your eyes.”

Chains have appeared around the couple, binding them and pulling them even closer to one another. Then cuffs appear at their ankles, locking them together even more. Soon, the lovers seem to kiss so deeply that their faces literally crush into one another in slow motion. Their display of love has quickly grown into some creepy avant-garde horror show.

Renée, you’re one sick duck.

“I should probably clean off the wall,” says Brant.

I scoff at that. “Your jizz is an improvement to this crap show,” I assure him, then give his sleeve a tug. “Pull up your pants. I’ve had enough of this insufferable woman’s work.”

The next instant, we’re out of the doors and another excited couple of people enter behind us. Brant and I share a look, then burst into laughter on our way out of the gallery.

BRANT

Her lips are so sexy, I imagine them consuming mine and kissing me without reprieve until I’m completely deprived of air.

What a beautiful way to suffocate.

“So … I don’t know if this is too soon, but—”

“But what?” she asks.

I smile. I love how enthusiastic she sounds. This isn’t the Nell who sent me on a walk of shame out of her loft the other night. “Well, I kinda got a text in the gallery before I found you. Turns out, my roommate Dmitri is going to some cast party with Eric and the others, so my place is kinda … unoccupied for the rest of the night. They usually stay over there until well past three or four, so …”

“So you have the place to yourself,” she finishes.

“I have the place to myself,” I affirm.

We make our way down the dimly-lit streets back to campus, where we cut across to make our way to
my
side of town. This late at night, the University Center looks almost creepy, asleep with its windows darkened and the trees so still, they could be fake props in another badly-directed play.

However, my present company makes the walk anything but scary. We laugh about all of the different exhibits we saw at the gallery, and although I thought most of them were pretty bad-ass, I give in to her cynicism on some of them, laughing at how desperately the works of art tried to shock us or make us cringe or unsettle our souls.

Nell’s done a good enough job unsettling my pants.

When we hit the courtyard of the theater where I’d just been earlier tonight, my phone buzzes. I bring it to my face and find a most annoying message greeting my eyes.

DMITRI

Creepers at the party.

Not fun.

So Eric & I are heading back.

Want us to pick up some Taco Bell for you?

I stop in my tracks. So much for that plan.
Fuck.

“What’s up?” prods Nell.

“Damn roommates are heading back already,” I gripe, then tap my thumbs to respond.

ME

Not unless they got

PINK TACOS ON THE MENU.

Thanks a bunch, cockblockers

>_<

“I have an idea.”

I lift my face from the phone. “Yeah?”

Nell smiles devilishly, then wiggles her eyebrows. “Follow me.”

Dmitri buzzes a reply, but it’s lost in my pocket as I stow away my phone and follow Nell back across the courtyard. In a minute, we’re heading around the back of the School of Art, opposite from the wing that houses the art gallery where certain school-sponsored showcases are held. Following a line of long windows that terminate at an inset in the building, we arrive at a door hiding in the shadows.

Nell grips the handle, lifts it up high with all her weight, then jerks it open. The hinges creak in protest. “Kelsey never locks it,” she admits.

“Who’s Kelsey?”

“Who cares?” She holds the door open. “After you.”

I pass through, coming into the back of a dark art studio. With the stray light from the pathway lamps outside washing in through the long windows, I see the creepy silhouettes of easels scattered around the room like a bunch of odd, pointy creatures in the dark.