Page 7 of Single Malt

I opened the door behind the driver’s seat, pausing only to get out my wallet and retrieve the condom I always kept there. We might not have actual intercourse, but she’d said that she fucked. Better to be prepared.

I got into the back seat and then slid across to the passenger’s side of the car, where I had more leg room. I’d barely gotten settled when the door closed, and she was climbing onto me.

Everything dissolved into groping and kissing, tongues tangling. Hands over and under clothes, tugging and shifting and unzipping. I honestly didn’t know which of us rolled on the condom because, as soon as she sank down on me, all I could think was,holy fuck so tight hot damn how fucking lucky so fucking gorgeous tits bouncing ride me fuck…

The words poured through my mind, chasing out everything that wasn’t her and here and now.

Our coupling was fierce and quick, bodies coming together hard and fast, our breathing harsh. She’d drawn blood with her nails before, but I had a feeling both of us would end up with bruises after this. I was determined to make sure she didn’t regret any of them.

One hand between us, I found that slick wet spot where we were joined and rubbed my thumb over her clit. She cursed, and her head fell back, her expression twisting up in such a way that I knew she was already close.

The pressure in my balls said I wouldn’t be far behind, but she was going to come first if I had to mentally recite the name of every brand of alcohol I knew to hold it off.

Fortunately, it didn’t come to that.

Less than a minute later, she cried out, and her body tightened around mine. I pushed up into her, holding her tight, and came.

Stanford.

Fuck.

Four

Freedom

Brody wasn’tthe first guy I’d had sex with more than once, but he was definitely the one who’d made the biggest impression. I was halfway home before my body finally stopped throbbing, and I knew it’d be a while before memories of him wouldn’t be enough to get me off. I had fantasy fodder for the near future, and that made my smile widen.

My final semester started on January fourteenth, and that meant that I needed to start narrowing my focus on what I would be doing after graduation. Aline and I hadn’t discussed anything seriously, but we wouldn’t be able to put it off much longer. Our schedules were set, and we already knew our graduation date – June first – but I didn’t think any of this was real for Aline yet.

At least her degree pretty much determined what she’d be doing once she finished school, as well as the usual schedule. She could continue her education and pursue a doctorate, but if she’d intended to move right into that, she should’ve already been planning it.

She might have been a genius graduating with honors, but this was Stanford and far more competitive than other universities. She’d never expressed any interest in doctorate work, so I felt safe in assuming that she’d spend the summer deciding which of the prestigious private schools, either in Palo Alto or back in Los Angeles, she would apply to. Her future was a matter of where, not what.

That wasn’t the case for me. My degree in International Policy left multiple avenues open to me, and I had yet to make any definite decision. Dr. Ipres, as my advisor, had talked to me about several possibilities, and the one she seemed to think would fit me best was working for an embassy.

Being able to converse in more than half a dozen languages would make me quite a valuable asset, and it would be a way to facilitate better relations with other countries. I wasn’t political, exactly, but governments had to work with each other, and an embassy seemed like a good way to be involved without being affected too much by a change in political party power.

I locked the car and headed inside, shivering as cool air blew against my bare legs. The sun was almost down, and the heat was going with it. The forecast said we’d be hitting a record low tonight, and for someone raised in L.A., that meant bundling up at home and kicking up the heat.

When I entered the apartment, I found that I wasn’t the only one thinking along the lines of staying warm. The temperature was already higher than it had been when I’d left this afternoon. And it smelled amazing. Aline had been baking bread. She didn’t do it often, mostly because of how busy she was during the school year, but every so often, she’d get the urge for fresh-baked rolls.

I loved those days. I could make decent bread, but Aline had a real talent for it.

“You have anything specific in mind to go with that?” I asked as I went into the kitchen to see Aline turning over the pan to get the rolls onto the rack. “I think we have what we need for spaghetti.”

If she would’ve told me earlier that she was baking, I would’ve made sure to have something ready instead of trying to figure it out now, and I wouldn’t have been thinking about whether or not the leftovers in the fridge would keep for another day. Still, it would be worth a little trouble to have such a good meal.

“I already have the soup on the stove.” Aline pointed at a pot. “That’s the last of what Mom sent with us.”

I frowned at her voice rather than the words. I didn’t mind her having taken the initiative to defrost and heat up the soup. No, what I was thinking was that she didn’t sound right. Congested.

“Are you feeling all right?” I asked, reaching out to put my hand on her forehead. “You don’t sound well.”

Aline rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. “I have a cold, that’s all.”

“You were sneezing earlier this week,” I reminded her. “And you’re burning up now.”

“Your hands are freezing,” she countered. “And I told you the sneezes were from dust.”