Page 7 of Sacred Vow

TILLY

S taring down at my phone, my thumb madly moves across the screen, typing out a new message to Chloe as my professor makes his way around the auditorium, recapping everything he’s just spent the last hour and a half lecturing about.

Tilly: It’s been two days already. You’re killing me! Just tell me what happened.

Chloe: No. It’s too embarrassing.

Tilly: You made me walk away from what could have been the best sex of my life. YOU OWE ME!!!!!!!!!! Besides, it’s probably not even that bad.

Tilly: Promise I won’t even laugh.

Chloe: Liar!

Tilly: Pinky promise!!

I hit send and watch the little text bubble appear and disappear a million times over, and honestly, I’m feeling frustrated.

Not at her, of course, but walking out of that club on Saturday night without scratching this intense itch has left me more than irritable, and apparently, no amount of toys in my bedside table are able to do the job.

Chloe: UGH!!!!! I hate you.

Tilly: You love me. Don’t try to deny it.

Chloe: Fine!

A wicked grin creeps across my face, and I wait with bated breath as the text bubble appears at the bottom of the screen. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, the moment I find out why she so desperately needed me to give up the best night of my life.

Chloe: I sneeze-farted, okay. Right in his stupid Italian face.

He had me bent over like a goddamn pretzel and was eating my pussy from behind when the urge to sneeze came out of nowhere.

It just happened. I sneezed and BAM! Fart right to the face.

I didn’t know what to do. I was so mortified, I grabbed my bag and ran. I probably gave the guy pink eye.

A loud snort rips from the back of my throat, filling the auditorium, and I quickly try to conceal it with a cough, but I’m apparently not as discreet as I always thought.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the group, Miss Bardot?” my professor demands, all eyes falling on me.

Ahh fuck.

“No. I apologize, Professor,” I murmur, resisting the urge to slide down in my seat. “Just something caught in my throat.”

He gives me a blank stare that seems to singe me right where I sit. “Mm-hmm.”

I blow out a breath and make a show of waiting for him to continue as though I’m so overly intrigued with what he has to say.

Though, I suppose that’s not fair. I’m more than interested in what he has to say.

He’s a great professor and actually gives a shit about the course content and ensuring his students actually understand what he’s teaching.

After all, this room is full of future psychologists, and with the work they’re planning on going into, there’s no room for error.

The professor finally takes pity on me and shifts his attention back to his lecture, and as he’s trying to wrap up this portion of his lesson, he gets in a heated debate with a girl about the ideologies of what’s socially acceptable when using mental health as a scapegoat for neglect.

I zone out. This isn’t a new debate in this auditorium.

Our professor and this one particular student haven’t seen eye to eye all semester, and judging from past debates, this could go on for a while.

Clutching my phone, I drop my gaze again and finally begin to reply to Chloe’s message.

Tilly: Holy fucking shit!!!!!!!!! Tell me you’re lying. Are you for real right now?

Chloe: YES, I’M BEING FOR REAL! WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THIS?

I’m not sure you’re fully understanding the magnitude of my situation, Tilly.

I. FARTED. IN. THIS. MAN’S. GODDAMN. FACE.

The hot Italian mob boss guy had his face RIGHT UP IN MY STARFISH, AND I BOOTY BELCHED IN IT!

He’s probably still bleaching his eyeballs.

Chloe: What if I legit gave him pink eye?

Chloe: OMG! I’m mortified.

Chloe: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?

Tilly: You know, some dudes have a fart kink. You could shoot that shit straight into an air-tight bag and sell it on the internet. You’ll make a killing! Then we can both retire early and live it up on the beach with cocktails and shirtless waiters.

I grin to myself, all too proud of my response, when I sense the eyes of someone on me from across the room. My brows furrow, and I shift my gaze, searching the faces until I find the culprit. His dark, penetrative stare is locked on mine, and it somehow reminds me of the older man from Vixen.

His stare is dark and alluring, but it doesn’t hold the same overwhelming intensity as the other guy’s did.

He’s attractive. More than attractive. He’s gorgeous with a head of thick hair.

It’s dark and scruffy as though he just rolled out of bed this morning and left the house without bothering to look in the mirror.

His brow arches as if to ask, “What’s up?” and in response, I simply shrug a shoulder, not really sure what kind of message that conveys, but he seems to approve.

There’s something cocky there, something playful in his grin, and it more than has my attention. Do I see myself falling madly in love with this guy? Not even close. But can I see him potentially being able to scratch the itch that Mr. Vixen left behind? Maybe.

And for that, he’s more than worth my time. After all, I think it’s time I start to realize that my fantasies with the silver fox aren’t ever going to happen, and if I’m going to get any kind of relief from this desperate pulsing deep in my core, then I need to get railed.

Hard.

The guy indicates between us, gesturing to me first before pointing back at himself. “You and me,” he mouths before making a circle with one hand pointing his other finger through it. “Wanna fuck?”

My gaze sails over him one more time. He looks tall and broad, just like the Vixen guy. Maybe I could even pretend it was him. “You and me?” I mouth back, pointing between us the same way he had.

The guy nods, and the second that cocky grin comes out to play, I’m a goner.

“Right now?” I question, noticing his friend sitting beside him, watching our exchange with a deep scowl that I instantly ignore.

That seems like a him problem, and I’m not interested in discovering what the hell that’s about.

I’m only in need of one thing right now.

Though, I suppose if it’s a jealousy thing, I could take them both.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Not even the second, third, or fourth.

But I’ve come to learn with college boys, when it turns into a party, the guys are too busy wanting to be the best performer that they forget all about what I need or want.

The cutie with the dark stare shrugs a shoulder as if to say, “Whenever works for you,” and I glance down to the professor, realizing the debate on mental health is still in full swing.

It will no doubt run past the end of class, and that’s not exactly how I anticipate spending the rest of my Tuesday afternoon, not when I could have seven or eight inches of dick crammed inside of me.

At least, I’m assuming he’s got that much.

That cockiness only comes when you know you’re a sure thing, and this guy, he seems like a sure thing.

Throwing caution to the wind, I shrug right back at him as a dorky smile flitters across my face. “Okay, yeah,” I mouth, and with that, we both start packing away our things.

I shove my laptop into my bag, and when I go to put my phone away, I find a new message from Chloe.

Chloe: You’re an asshole.

My dorky smile morphs into a wicked grin as I finish packing away my things, and as I sling my bag over my shoulder and get to my feet, I get busy typing out a response.

Tilly: Says the one who suggested I could go into porn after my unfortunate live-waxing incident over the weekend.

Chloe: HOW IS IT MY FAULT THAT YOU HAVE A PRETTY VAGINA?

I mask a laugh as I make my way up the stairs and to the back exit of the auditorium and just as the big door closes behind me, my new friend steps through the second door. His gaze immediately comes to me.

“You sure, baby?”

A sultry smile creeps across my face as I make my way toward him, realizing just how tall he is. “I’ve got an itch that’s in desperate need to be scratched.”

His brow arches, reading the hunger in my eyes as he meets me in the middle. “Well, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t help a woman in need?”

“That’s the spirit,” I laugh.

His hand immediately falls into mine to pull me along. “Come on,” he mutters, his deep tone filled with need. “I know just the place.”

Within seconds, he pushes through the door of the deserted female bathrooms and into a small stall at the end of the aisle. “Seriously?” I question. It’s not my style, but it’s also not the worst place I’ve been screwed.

That same cocky grin stretches across his face.

“Nobody uses these bathrooms. They’re deserted ninety percent of the time.

Plus, I figured it was better than the men’s rooms. Not to mention, you don’t strike me as the kind who’s looking to be wined and dined first,” he tells me, locking the door behind us and grabbing my waist.

He throws me up against the stall wall, and my pussy immediately clenches with approval. “Fuck,” I breathe. “I’m not.”

“Good. Neither am I,” he rumbles, his dark gaze sailing over my body and lingering on my shirt before reading out the words. “ Tattoos, pretty eyes, and thick thighs. Baby, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think this is your shirt.”

I grin as his knee pushes between my thighs, and I reach for his shirt. “You don’t think I have pretty eyes or thick thighs?”

“Fuck no,” he says, taking the front of my jeans and popping the button.

“How would you describe them?”

“Which ones? The eyes or the thighs?”

“Eyes.”