“Anything?” He raises one eyebrow. “That’s quite a promise. You can’t even imagine all the ideas I have in my head about what I could make you do.”

I’m sure I couldn’t imagine them. I’m not sure anyone at the college is doing things like this. I can’t imagine the frat boy-esque Brandon role-playing this way.

“I’ll be good,” I say.

“Show me your tits.” The word tits comes out crude in the dark room. He used it on purpose. He wants this moment to be slightly dirty. It adds to the authenticity.

It also makes my sex wet. I reach for the hem of my shirt. My hands fist in the fabric. “Are you sure I have to do this? Couldn’t I just suck you off?”

His lips quirk. “Is that how you’ve been getting those A’s in school?”

My cheeks heat. It’s so wrong, this game. So why does my body feel inflamed? It’s like the very fact that it’s forbidden makes it hot. “Maybe. The boys on the basketball team like it, too.”

“I bet they do. Show me your tits, young lady. Be a good girl for me, and you might get off with a warning. Otherwise I’ll spank your ass until you can’t sit down.”

I make a small sound of denial, refusal, but then I pull up my shirt. My bra comes off with it. The tangle of fabric hits the floor behind me. And then I’m exposed—to the stars and the sea. To Beau Rochester.

“Nice,” he says, reaching up to cup the weight of my breast. To rub his thumb across a hardened nipple. He teases me with a casual detachment that makes me burn. “What else are you going to do for me?”

“Isn’t this enough?”

He smiles, his teeth white in the darkness. “No, sweetheart. It’s never enough.”

I start to climb down to the floor, to suck him off. My mouth already waters at the prospect. Maybe it’s wrong to enjoy pleasuring him that way. The taste of his salty musk is better than my fingers in a dark room have ever been.

“Not your mouth,” he says. “Though maybe later, now that I know you’ve been practicing. Right now I want that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock. I want you to milk me.”

There’s a hard clench between my legs. “Are you sure?”

“No condom,” he says, which throws me for a second.

It’s part of the game, I realize. We don’t use a condom. I’m on birth control. We’ve both been tested. We never use a condom, but he’s saying that to make it explicit. To make it clear that we’re going to be skin on skin in this illicit fantasy. “But it’s not safe.”