“You’re sure you don’t want me to take care of you?” Tara asked politely.
“Nah, I get taken care of too much as it is,” DJ replied. “Today, I’ll do you.”
“If you say so,” Tara said, sounding perplexed by the shift in routine. There were the clacks of plastic bottles being opened, the squishes of soap being worked into a lather. She could just barely catch the shlick-shlum sounds of DJ’s hands rubbing the body wash on Tara’s curvy body. Brittney desperately wanted to look; to see what he looked like. How interested he was. How hard he was.
If he was as hard as he got with her.
She didn’t really get her own curiosity—DJ screwed around with so many women these days, she didn’t know why she should take an interest.
Truth was, though, she always took an interest. She’d been telling guys she had a boyfriend ever since fall break to keep them away from her, to let her spend more time eavesdropping on the variegated moans coming from the RA room down the hall. Mercedes nagged her, though didn’t really have a defense when Brittney pointed out that she’d technically cheated on her boyfriend with DJ over and over, so maybe she should ease off the accusations. Not that she blamed Mercedes
DJ was a predator, a monster. It shouldn’t matter to her what he did.
Surprisingly soon, only a few minutes later, the other shower stopped flowing. She still hadn’t finished her own shower, and she’d been trying to be quick.
“You’re sure you’re good?” Tara double-checked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Under the stall door, Brittney watched the feet shuffle back out of the shower area. She rinsed the shampoo from her hair, and resumed her slumped pose. Somehow, those few minutes had drained her of all the rest she’d gotten the night before.
Then there was a knock at her stall door. “Brittney?”
She jumped in surprise. “DJ? Um, hang on, I’m…” Naked? Crying? Freaked out to have a guy knocking on my shower stall like it was the front door of my house?
“Sure, take your time.”
Brittney soon realized she didn’t really know what she was waiting for; sheepishly, she fidgeted to and fro, stalling, feeling like a fool. “How’d you know it was me?” she asked.
“I smelled your shampoo.” He came right up to the stall, plainly looking over, a smile touching his eyes. Caught red-handed doing nothing, Brittney smiled back awkwardly and opened the door. He came in, latching the door behind him.
There they were, alone together for the first time in over a month, since they took that nap together. He was in a towel; to reduce her disadvantage, she folded her hands delicately over her nether parts.
He looked at her, still smiling. It was infectious, and she found herself smiling back. It wasn’t a leer, wasn’t a smirk; he was glad to be seeing her, and enjoyed what he saw. She didn’t know how much time passed, jets of hot water splashing into her back, running down her shoulders, and nothing at all between the two of them.
“I got your text.”
She blinked. “Text? I didn’t…”
“Last month. Right before Halloween? I didn’t respond, but I wanted you to know I got it.”
Brittney laughed, flushing with happiness that he remembered it. That it was the first thing he wanted to say to her. “I wondered.”
“I didn’t… Ashley wouldn’t have… You just…” He stop-started, and Brittney waited patiently. She’d waited almost two months to talk to him. She could keep waiting.
Instead of finishing his sentence, he dropped his towel, stepped into the stream and kissed her. It was a perfect kiss—needful, insistent, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other on the back of her head, to keep kissing her until he was done.
Now’s your chance, said that little nagging voice. Seduce him. Take him back. You were made for this.
Brittney wrapped one long, wet thigh around him and kissed back.
It was a perfect shower. They didn’t have sex—she would have, even wanted to. (She didn’t have a strong sex drive, but going from sex nearly every day to nada in six weeks… She was ready.)
DJ, however, just wanted to touch her, to kiss her and hold her and wrap himself around her in the steamy shower. To be wet and naked against her wetness and nakedness. It was perfect the way it was, and she still wanted more.
You need to do more, said the voice.
It was true. DJ had gotten worse and worse with Ashley, and if she was going to get him away from her, this was her best chance. All she had to do was sink down to her knees and take him into her mouth and…
Except that’s exactly what Ashley had done. She would happily go down on him, or have sex with him—but doing it for manipulative ends made her feel disgusted with herself. But was it worth it, to sacrifice herself in such a way?
Of course it’s worth it. Now get on your knees and make him forget that other girl. Make him yours again!
Her knees had just started to buckle when DJ stepped away from her. He didn’t seem to have noticed. “I should go—Ashley’s waiting for me.” His smile faded. Oddly, his reticence to leave made it hard to stop herself from grinning.
DJ began to towel himself off, handing Brittney her own towel so she could do the same. There was a tense silence as he wrapped his around his waist, she slipped back into her robe. He kissed her again, but this time on the cheek, and only for a moment. Then he turned to leave.
“I still miss you,” she said. That voice told her to say it, but she would have said it anyway. She thought.
He stopped. “I miss you, too.”
He was about to go again when she pressed. “So do something about it.”
His shoulders tensed. She knew what she was asking crossed a line he’d been told—or maybe even volunteered—not to cross. Still, every day there were fresh victims, people used and humiliated and violated. Days mattered.
The voice on her shoulder said that. Her heart had told her to say the same, but for reasons she still didn’t understand.
“Let’s meet here, same time next Thursday.”
She spun him around and kissed him again. “Next Thursday.”
Well done, the voice in her head said. Or maybe it wasn’t coming from her head, but from her shoulder.
But which shoulder?
Chapter Nine
It was the Monday before Thanksgiving break, and Ashley was dreading the long weekend. She’d agreed to go home with DJ to see his step-mom and step-sister. All the craziness from his last trip home was a familiar story by now—he still got those weekly pictures from those high school bitches, and grinned like an idiot every time. They were hot, for being three months out of being jail bait, but still. It was going to be five days with just DJ and a bunch of other random bitches.
The only thing she was really looking forward to was giving her poor jaw a rest.
In hindsight, she wondered if she’d over-done it in the early days, convincing DJ how eager she was to give him a blowjob any time he had half a desire for one. Now, he just seemed to take it as a matter of course that she loved it, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him how tedious she found it.
Damn his power.
Well, not really. The power was amazing. She was twenty-one years old and had her own personal slave, for crying out loud. That fucked-up little slut could be trying on her patience, but there was no denying she was handy, to say nothing of being Ashley’s most amusing toy. She never tired of using and abusing the little bitch.
Beyond the convenience of having DJ’s slave on permanent loan, Ashley had already gotten to the point where she just took it for granted that his power would make everything OK. Last week she’d had to stop herself from slapping her waitress when her order got mixed up when she remembered DJ wasn’t there and she might actually get in trouble. Not much; if she ever got arrested, he’d be her phone call and he’d take care of things—and she’d have her fun with anybody at the jail who fucked with her before she left. Shit, they didn’t build jails that could stop someone like him, because jails were run by people, and people were idiotic, weak-willed tolerant chumps.