One Hot Fall Term (Yardley College Chronicles Book1) (15 page)

“I really have to go.”

Jonathon’s green eyes glow like lamps. He’s obviously horny. Yet he hasn’t touched me. He just says, very controlled, “Mia, exploring this side of yourself—”

“I can’t. It would be cheating on Ryan. It would.” I’m close to tears. I’m so aroused I can’t stand it. A part of me wants to give in. A part of me wants to grab Jonathon and jump on him. But that’s selfish. I love Ryan, I really do. What I want is Ryan here, right now.

“Would you play these games with what’s his name…Ryan?” Jonathon asks.

Sometimes it is like he can read my mind. “Yes.” I say it instantly. “But that question is never going to come up.”

“You don’t know that. As I said, he could be exactly like me.”

“He’s not.” But my confidence in that statement is shaky. I don’t really know. Ryan could have secrets too. He could jerk off to a fantasy of tying me up and putting nipple clamps on me. Anything here could be his thing. He might not even know it yet.

“When he and I have been together a long time, maybe I’ll ask.” I sigh. I don’t think I ever could. Or maybe I could pretend I read about it in Cosmo. “I suppose I should get a cab to the dorm.”

“I will drive you home.”

“But you didn’t get what you wanted, Jonathon. I assume you hoped I would get so aroused by the club that I would be willing to play?”

“No, that wasn’t my intention. I wanted to introduce you to the world. I’ve spent a fascinating and enjoyable evening with you. That’s enough.”

“I don’t believe that. How could it be enough?”

***

On the way out of the club, I meet some of the regulars. They recognize Jonathon and look at me with interest, assuming I’m his partner. Jonathon has a quiet word with some of the women, then they speak with me. It’s a testament to his power that they reveal fairly personal things—they tell me whether they have ever known abuse in their lives or not.

He is correct—not every member of his club is there because they have abuse issues in their pasts. Some do, and they are surprisingly candid. Without giving any details, I explain I know a little of what they’ve gone through. But maybe I haven’t. I’ve known sexual abuse, but I was never physically abused. I feel there is a huge difference. I never lived in fear of pain or broken limbs. I don’t know how I would have survived that.

Jonathon takes me home and walks me to the door of my room. I’m worried Lara will see us. Not that we’re doing anything wrong, but I don’t want her to think I’m the kind of roommate who would move in on an ex-boyfriend. I’m not.

“Goodnight, Mia.” Jonathon lifts my hand to his lips, kisses it gently, and leaves.

He never answered my question.

Chapter Eight

All the time I was in Jonathon’s club, I kept my phone turned off. When I step into my dorm room, I discover Lara is tucked in her bed, fast asleep. I lock our main door, slip into the bathroom, close the door so I can put on the light, and check messages.

I don’t know why I’m so driven to do it since I don’t expect there will be any.

But there is one from Ryan. My heart’s pounding as I read it. I feel guilty to have spent the evening with Jonathon, even though nothing happened.

Ryan’s text reads:
Mia, I’m worried about my dad. He got drunk and he’s been missing for two days. He’s not at the places he usually crashes. I need to go find him.


Oh no. I quickly send back a message. I don’t know what can happen to Ryan if he ditches school. I assume it’s more intense for him—wouldn’t it be like going AWOL or disobeying orders? I type:
Ryan, you can’t. You have school. Let me call my mom. She’ll help.


All I can do is pray he didn’t already leave because he didn’t hear from me.

I can’t call mom until morning. I can’t focus enough to do any work, and it is 3 a.m. anyway. I slip into bed quietly and lay there awake. Guilt grips me. I was checking out a kinky club while Ryan has been going through a crisis. What kind of girlfriend does that? While I don’t have to tell him the truth, this isn’t about just not getting ‘caught’. I should have been there for him.

Around five, I must fall asleep, then I jolt upright in a panic at nine. Lara’s already gone, since she has a class at 9:30. Mine is an hour later but I don’t care if I get there. I call my mom. Today, she doesn’t work until the afternoon.

When I hear her voice, my throat aches. I haven’t told her that things at Yardley are going badly. I want her to think this is working for me, that I’m being successful.

“Mia, I’m so glad you called,” she says, cheerfully. “How are you?” Then her voice drops a little. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

“Not with me. I’m fine. But I got a message from Ryan. He’s worried about his father.”

Mom tells me that Ryan’s dad, Steven Taylor, had an accident. He was drunk and crashed his car into a tree. He didn’t hurt anyone and he got off lucky, with only minor cuts and bruises. Taylor was taken to the hospital for observation, then was released. But he was charged with a DUI.

I let out a sob of despair.

“Mia, it’s okay. Perhaps this is going to be a wake-up call for him.”

“I doubt it.” My voice is shaky. It’s just going to be hell for Ryan.

“Tell Ryan not to worry,” she says. “I will keep an eye on his father for him. I know Ryan’s father is seeing Lorelei Mason from the Snip ’n Style, and I know Lorelei. I’ll tell her to watch his drinking. If Ryan wants, I can take his phone number and I will call him right away about anything he needs to know. But I won’t bother his studies if it’s not necessary.”

I
love
my mom. “Oh Mom, thanks. Thanks so much. I just don’t want Ryan to leave college to look after his father.” Then my temper flares and all the anxiety inside bursts out in a resentful rush, “Why does his father have to do this to him? All he has to do is keep out of
trouble
until Ryan gets finished. Does he want Ryan to fail? Does he
want
Ryan to have a dead end life like his? It’s not even like he doesn’t care about Ryan, it’s as if he’s deliberately trying to ruin his son’s life.” What is it about fathers? Why do some them try to actively screw up their kids’ lives?

“Maybe he is afraid of losing Ryan,” my mother points out softly.

“He is going to lose Ryan if he ruins Ryan’s life,” I counter bitterly. “How can he think Ryan will stick around if his dream is stolen away?”

“Ryan’s father has an addiction problem,” my mother says.

“That doesn’t give any father the right to destroy his child’s dreams.”

“Mia, I know you’re angry. But Ryan can’t control what his father does. He can only control what he does.”

That’s true. It’s like my life. I can be emotionally manipulated by my circumstance. I can feel anger, bitterness, pain. But I don’t have to if I can fight it. The only reaction I can control is mine.

I almost say that, but then I stop. I don’t want to bring up the past. I don’t blame Mom. Not in any way. And nothing happened after she found out and we made the pact with my stepfather: she would stay but he had to keep away from me. Talking about it will only hurt us both and that’s just plain counterproductive.

I chew on my lip until I taste the coppery tang of blood. So I funnel my frustration into words. “But there’s fallout from what his father does. You know Ryan. He’s decent and noble. What happens when his father is found guilty? He will want to come back and take care of his dad’s garage business.”

“We will do everything we can to stop Ryan from doing that.” My mother uses a steely voice I’ve rarely heard her use. And I believe she can do it.

“Thanks. I’d better call Ryan.”

As soon as I hang up on Mom, I call him to make sure he knows.

“Mia?” Ryan’s husky voice, sounding sleepy, makes me tremble to my toes. I imagine him sitting up in his dorm bed. He wouldn’t be sleeping naked, but maybe bare-chested, wearing only sweatpants.

Ooooh…

This is serious. Not a time for desire.

I sit on my bed, carelessly dressed for class in sweats of my own—I’m tired of trying to impress professors who have already labeled me as not appropriate for the program. This is serious and Ryan will hurt when he knows about his dad. “I talked to Mom.” I tell him about his father. “Mom told me to assure you she would keep her eye on him. She really doesn’t want you to worry.”

“Mia…thanks. It means so much to know she’ll watch over him, but it should be me who’s there. He needs me to look after him.”

No. No. No. “Ryan, please don’t think that.” I try to talk him into staying at the college.

He listens to me then sighs. “Mia, it’s complicated. I should go home.”

“Don’t.” I’m sick with fear that he will quit.

“It’s a lot harder here. I was prepared for it to be tough, but not like this. My grades are dropping and I could get kicked out anyway if they go any lower.”

That can’t happen. He would never go back.

“Have you talked to your professors?” I don’t even know if they are called professors in a military school. Maybe they go by their rank. “Or to a guidance counsellor? They need to understand what you’ve been through—”

“No, they don’t. There are no special exemptions. I should be able to handle this. You showed me how.”

But I now doubt my expertise in the area of scholastic success. I am barely passing myself. Since I’m scared of the shops, I suspect my C minus is going to look like an Enstein-ian accomplishment compared to the zero I will get if I don’t build my model. But I am not important here.

“Ryan, you are so distracted by your father’s problems how can you concentrate? It’s not your fault.”

“Mia, I’m concentrating. I am trying. I study every night. The stuff just doesn’t go in. My dad says it’s because I just don’t have book smarts. He says I’m stupid that way, just like him.”

“Your father is not in a position to make any kind of judgment. I agree he is stupid—he’s the one who drinks and drives, which is not exactly a sign of brilliance. You are
nothing
like him.”

Ryan is quiet. Then he says, “I know he looks like a mess, but he’s got his reasons.”

Ryan defends his father loyally every time. It frustrates me, but, deep in my heart, I admire him for it. I’ve kept my family’s secrets. Not so much out of loyalty to my stepfather, but because I was afraid of the outcome if people knew about it. I had just wanted it to stop—I didn’t really want to ruin anyone’s life.

I know Ryan is loyal, but I still fear that loyalty won’t extend to me. When he finds out how screwed up I am, I’m scared he’ll want out.

“I wish I could go there and help you out,” I say. It is so tempting. I could get a plane ticket online. Getting to the airport… a little harder but not impossible. By late afternoon, if I were lucky, I could be with Ryan.

“You can’t, Mia. I have to handle this by myself.”

“They have to understand!” I say, sounding very plaintive. He could barely read when I met him thanks to his father’s hopeless parenting. And Milltown schools just kept passing him. Partly because I don’t think they failed students anymore, but mainly because no one wanted to get on the bad side of Steven Taylor, a notoriously mean drunk.

“They want to make their students strong and tough. No excuses.”

“I don’t care what they want. ‘Suck it up’ doesn’t work in the world anymore.” I’m so scared, I’m sputtering. I don’t think I’m making sense anymore. They have to help Ryan and make allowances for what he’s been through. I don’t care—they do.

“Where are you right now?” he asks. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’m sitting in bed in my dorm.”

“Me too.”

I don’t want to argue with him. I want to reach out and touch him. I want to hold him in my arms and love him. And I want to do something naughty to thrill him.

I lower my voice and ask in a sultry tone, “Are you alone?” My attempt at vixen makes me want to giggle in sheer embarrassment.

I expect him to laugh. He doesn’t. He lets out a pained groan. A sound filled with the torture of sexual arousal. “Yeah, I wish you were here.” Then he adds, “In bed. With me.”

Ryan has never been a talking dirty kind of guy. I think that’s why he abandoned our earlier attempt at sexting.

I giggle. I want this but I feel kind of awkward. “I really want you. I’m…uh…taking off my sweats right now. I’m reaching down into my panties and playing with my—” I really have a hard time with this. I could go to the club, though I did chicken out on a few things there. I definitely have a tough time talking dirty. “My pussy.”

Go for it, I tell myself. “I’m rubbing my clit which makes me so wet for you.”

Ryan takes over. “I pull down your panties, Mia. Then I lick your pussy. I’d run my tongue all over your clit.”

I’m whimpering.

“Oh God, yes.” I moan into the phone. My fingers do slide down into my sweatpants. Is he doing that? Did he put his hands down inside his pants, then into his briefs? Has he wrapped his hand around his cock?

I remember the delectable smell of his hard-on on the dock, the way it filled my mouth, and the sweet taste of it against my tongue.

I want him. Want him.
Want
him. Want him so much it hurts.

I flop back on the bed, spread my legs wide, my hand in my panties. Aggressively, I rub my clit. Almost viciously. Frustration and anger make my fingers scrub it hard.

“I want to eat your pussy, Mia, and make you come on my face.”

Oh god. Suddenly I have a wild fear that this conversation is being recorded. How much privacy does military college give its students? Surely they don’t tape conversations. They must have to listen to a lot of kinky phone calls if so.

Blushing and playing with myself, I say, “Then I want to suck you. I want to suck you deep and hard. I want to take you right down my throat.” It was supposed to sound hot. It came out a bit squeaking.

But am I revealing too much in everything I say? Talking is dangerous. Doing is not.