Archive of Our Own ^beta

The overhead lights are blinding and Beth scrunches her face and rubs at her eyes when she steps inside, nervously glancing over her shoulder as the door snaps shut behind her, the sound echoing against the tiles of the deserted bathroom. 

It’s not that she’s not supposed to be here—she’s a Couzens Hall resident, after all, and the bathrooms are obviously accessible to them twenty-four hours a day—but she probably shouldn’t be here for the reason that she is. 

If it wasn’t outright against the rules, it was at the very least highly discouraged. But Beth hadn’t bothered to check the rule book. Ultimately, she’d decided she didn’t care. 

Sliding one hand into the pocket of her silk robe (she had a half dozen, but this one was her favorite—dark emerald and decorated with peonies and butterflies, something Beth had spoiled herself with when she’d sold a watch her ex, Dean, had left behind in her dorm after she’d caught him cheating on her), Beth fingers her new silicone bullet vibrator as she walks past the empty stalls to the familiar one at the end of the row that she uses every morning. 

(Sure, she had the place to herself now, but even though she knew she was actually sharing it with dozens of other people, she thought of this one as hers.) 

Flicking on the water to the highest heat setting, Beth sets her towel on the bench of the small, cramped changing area just outside the stall, separated from the outside world by a thin teal curtain. She sets her vibrator on top of the towel, then unclips her hair, shaking it out so her curls fall around her shoulders. 

It’s ridiculous, she knows, to have set an alarm for four thirty a.m. to sneak off to the showers for an orgasm, but the fact of the matter was that she was desperate. 

She had two midterm papers coming up, plus a killer test in chemistry. Her editor had just slapped two extra article assignments on her desk that others had dropped the ball on, and one of the girls had just quit at the café so she’d had to pick up extra shifts. The money was good (good enough for her to splurge on this new vibrator at least), but the stress was getting to her. And look—she’d have liked to be able to get off in the comfort of her own bed and to be able to sleep in on a Saturday, too, but that just wasn’t happening. 

Between her roommate Lauren’s uncanny ability to throw open the door within minutes of Beth getting home to the empty dorm, her single status stretching into its fourth month, and the fact that she hadn’t hooked up with anyone since—

No.

She cuts that thought off at the root.

She’s not going to think about him.

(Even if it was good. Really good. Like toe-curling, next-day sore good.)

But after what happened? There was no way.

He was an asshole. She hated him, and every time she’d seen him since, whether it was the lounge or the student union or god forbid at the pool on one of those early mornings that Lauren dragged her to one of her own boyfriend’s swim meets where Beth was forced to see him all wet and glistening and half-naked, she got all hot and tingly and irritated. So no. Absolutely not. Beth was not going to think about him right now, because if she did, then she might slip up and think of him in the shower, and that was not happening.

(And so what if the half-formed, barely-developed thought of that night they’d spent together instantly makes her squeeze her thighs together?) 

The point is, it’s been a while, and Beth had had to get innovative, and she was nothing if not good at coming up with creative solutions to problems. So here she was at this ungodly hour, having carefully timed it so she was too late for the night owls and too early for the early birds. She had at least a solid chance of getting thirty minutes to herself, maybe more since it was the weekend, and she was going to use them—and use them well, which meant she wasn’t going to let him get into her head. 

Flicking her hand under the water and finding it at the right temperature, she slips off her robe, hanging on the hook outside of the stall where it will be safe from moisture. Then she steps underneath the cascade of steaming water and luxuriates in the euphoria of being totally and completely alone. Almost instantly, the tension in her spine starts to unspool.

Sighing, she presses the button on the bullet and the vibrations furiously buzz to life. 

Beth stiffens. It’s louder than she expected. 

Ears pricking, she listens for the sound of someone opening the door—footsteps against the floor—a yawn—but nothing’s there. She waits a second, just to be sure, and then she relaxes, leaning against the shower tile and propping a leg up on the opposite wall.

Slowly, she traces the vibrator over her nipples, imagining it’s someone else’s fingers before she trails it down over her soft, blonde hair and against her clit. Electricity sparks at the base of her spine and as the water runs in rivulets over her skin, she feels a warmth spread throughout her. 

Her eyes flutter closed and her usual fantasy—tried and true—springs to mind with the same details as always: a nameless man with a blurry face kisses down her body until he pries her legs open and pays attention to every tender spot except the one she wants until—finally, at the exact moment her need pushes over into desperation—he goes down on her. 

(Once, ages ago, when she and Ruby were drunk on wine, Ruby had confessed when she wasn’t imagining her boyfriend, Stan, she thought about Idris Elba. It was bizarre to Beth—she’d never thought about Dean, and she felt too weird to fantasize about any other specific person, even a celebrity—but when Beth admitted she thought about nobody in particular, Ruby was baffled. 

“What? It’s not weird,” Beth had insisted, color rising to her cheeks. Ruby has looked at her like she didn’t think that was true. 

But what was weird about conjuring up someone who knew exactly what you liked? Who teased just long enough to get you begging—not too quick that you weren’t there yet or too slow that you got bored, both of which Dean had been prone to doing—but someone who instinctively understood the perfect amount of time to wait so that when you finally felt their tongue inside of you, you were ready to fall apart? Someone who didn’t fuss when you wanted to be on top, who let you be in control, and who met your rhythm with equal power? Someone who you didn’t even have to tell yes, there, harder, deeper, because they just knew? Knew you in a way that, for once, required nothing of you? 

Beth had thought that was impossible, that it didn’t exist, so she’d made it up for herself. Only then she’d found out she was wrong, that someone could run his hands over her goosebumped skin and read her every thought like Braille, that someone could pull her over the edge again and again and again like it was nothing, and that it was somehow hotter to look down and see—instead of a vague outline of a face—someone smiling up at her sharp and sure and—) 

Gasping, her eyes fly open, and she yanks the vibrator away from her cunt clenching around nothing. 

No. 

She said wasn’t going to think about him. 

Squeezing her eyes shut again, she ratchets up the power, the buzz getting angrier and noisier. She listens for a second and, deciding she’s safe, returns to her fantasy.

She focuses very hard on the feel of the silk sheets she’s imagined underneath her—the way her back arches off of them when she feels two long fingers slide inside of her. Shutting out everything else—the tile underneath her feet, the water splashing down her chest—it’s just her squirming against those sheets, moving away from the mouth sucking on her swollen clit. There’s nothing else now, only her and a bed and a tongue and two strong hands locking her hips down against the mattress. The only evidence that this is not her reality is the aching throb in her wrist as she moves it in small, concentric circles as she presses the vibrator against her clit. 

Her orgasm builds and builds and builds and everything pulls taut. She’s close—so close—almost there, but not yet—needing more, something more—just a little bit more—

She ratchets up the vibrator the next level, chasing after it, hovering on the edge—

And then she imagines him pull off of her to blow on her wet clit gently—only that’s new, not something usual from her fantasy, something she didn’t know she liked until—

Suddenly, her orgasm crashes over her and she comes with a strangled moan. 

Except her dream-self doesn’t tangle her fingers in the sheets, but instead grips them against the porcelain of the sink as she falls backward and collides into the solid surface bathroom mirror, her orgasm pulsing and pulsing as Rio curves his fingers inside of her and disappears underneath the skirt of her dress to latch his mouth back onto her cunt with an obscene grunt. 

“Shit,” Beth whispers under her breath, aftershocks sparking. 

She wets her lips, blinking her eyes open, realizing that, boneless, she’s slid two inches down the shower wall. There’s a complicated mix of feelings swirling inside of her, but the truth is she mostly just… wants another orgasm.

She hated him, but god, that hadn’t stopped her from stumbling into the bathroom with him at the Phi Beta Sigma Christmas party to which Stan had invited her and Ruby last semester. 

It had been fun until she’d run into Dean and his new Barbie girlfriend dressed as Santa and a sexy elf. After that, things were a blur until he had found her in the hallway with a sledgehammer (who knows where she’d found that, but she had been pretty drunk). He’d seemed all too interested in seeing what she might do with it, and she’d been surprised that he recognized her, what with his general air of being an egotistical jock with girls (literally) lining up outside of his dorm room. 

“You’re Elizabeth,” he’d said, gaze trailing down her body to linger on the sledgehammer with a lazy sort of curiosity. “You interviewed me for the school newspaper, yeah?” 

“It’s just Beth,” she corrected, eyeing him suspiciously. Sure, that was true, she had, but it had only been for one quote about the new multimillion-dollar state-of-the-art Academic Center exclusive to student-athletes—a quote which he’d given, but not without being a conceited jerk who acted like the whole university should bow down and kiss the feet of anyone who could kick a soccer ball or do the butterfly stroke. 

“Not what your name tag said,” he said, taking a drink out of a red Solo cup. “Not your byline either.”

“You read the article?” she asked, heat prickling her cheeks. 

“Yeah, of course. I was in it, yeah?” He grinned wide, and it wasn’t smug so much as—amused? “What was that fancy word you used for me? ‘Vainglorious’ or somethin’?”

“It wasn’t for you specifically,” she corrected. 

“Right, right. Just used generically. One sentence before you introduced my quote.” 

Okay, so he’d remembered it well, then.

She straightened, fingers flexing around the sledgehammer. “I’m not responsible for implications.”

“Nah, don’t get it twisted,” he said, inching closer so she had to tilt her neck to look up at his sparkling eyes, his lips curving mischievously. “I ain’t mad when girls describe me as glorious.”

She rolled her eyes but—well. She sort of laughed, too. More of a scoff, really. But when he redirected the conversation to the weapon in her hand, trailing his fingers over the wooden handle (“Now what are you plannin’ on doing with that?”) and she’d confessed her plan (“My ex’s Corvette needs a facelift”) he’d told her he had a better idea to get back at Dean. One that involved less police but the same number of witnesses. One thing lead to another and then…

Flashes of the night come back to her, mostly jumbled, out of order: him sinking to his knees in front of the sink he’d propped her up on—her, bent over the same counter, face flushed, staring at herself in the mirror because his big hands had yanked her hair back and demanded that she look. Her eyebrows were creased, her mouth open in a silent, half-choked moan, each heaving breath calling attention to the fact that she was nearly spilling out of her bra, the skin around her nipples bitten and bright. The sound of her heartbeat in her throat only just drowned out the thump of the party on the other side of the thin door. 

Beth’s hand curls tighter around the vibrator. 

Is she really thinking about doing this?

Then, another flash: his fingers deftly undoing half the buttons of her dress in a single swipe to reveal her lacy emerald bra. His tongue in the hollow of her neck, his teeth sinking into the pale flesh of her breast, leaving red marks (“Now you’re festive,” he’d hummed). 

Running her free hand through the slick pooling between her thighs, Beth sucks in a sharp breath when she swipes over her sensitive clit. 

She’s close, already on the verge of another orgasm. 

It really wouldn’t take much…

Closing her eyes, she presses the vibrator against her core again. 

Flash: him, shoved him against the wall; her, slotted against him sucking a hickey just under the wing of his neck tattoo. Panting in her ear, his hips jerked against her hand palming his cock through his pants until he’d hastily unhooked his belt and unzipped so she could get her hand wrapped around him. Then his own hands had disappeared up her dress, sliding underneath her panties to squeeze her ass. She bit him. He hissed, then dipped a finger into her wet cunt so that she’d gasped. He’d pushed her away from him. She’d whined until he’d hoisted her up on the counter, dragging her panties down her trembling thighs as he got on his knees, his own pants still yanked halfway down his hips. Then he’d kissed and tongued and sucked and blew on her clit until she was crying out and he was grunting into her center, his own hand jerking himself off as she came on his lips. 

Now, in the shower, she comes again—harder than before. It doesn't sate her. Instead, she’s wired, wild. Desperate for one more. 

But the rest of the memory bubbles up before she can do anything about it. 

Afterward, a glowering Dean had watched them both slip out of the bathroom, her dress rumpled, his buttons misaligned. And Rio—he’d caught the look, seen Malibu Barbie at Dean’s side, and seemed to piece it all together. Without a second glance, he’d reached down to kiss Beth. It wasn’t sloppy or ostentatious, though. Not even obvious. It was more like he was sneaking something private in the middle of a crowded room, and Beth had felt strangely gooey when he’d pulled away and tucked her hair behind her ear, whispering, “Come back to my place?”

She thinks Dean watched them leave together—thinks that might’ve been Rio’s intention—but she can’t be sure. At that moment, it’d felt real, and she’d been entirely wrapped up in him, in the weight of his hand on her hip and the warmth of his body pressed against hers as they weaved through the crowd and out into the crispy, snowy night. 

She remembers thinking he wasn’t what she thought. 

Something twists low in her belly and Beth pushes the memory away. 

If thinking about him was going to get her the orgasm then—fine. Whatever. There was no good reason to keep fighting it, not when the clock was running down and she had unfinished business. 

But there was a line that couldn’t be crossed. There had to be boundaries. So she could think of their time together in that bathroom, maybe even in his bed, but that was it. None of the banter beforehand, not a second of that cozy walk back to campus, and the morning after was completely off-limits. 

Just the sex. 

Just the mind-numbing, toe-curling, jaw-dropping sex. 

That’s it. 

And so she presses the button so that the bullet reaches its maximum intensity and she thinks about the moment Rio had bunched up her skirt and she could see his reflection absorbing the sight of her panties twisted around her knees, her bare ass pushed out, waiting for him. She’d already felt the long, hard length of him pressed against her ass as he’d buried his face in her hair and scraped his teeth against her neck, and she’d squeezed her eyes shut when she felt the head nudged against her throbbing cunt, anticipating the way he was going to stretch her. Fill her up. Make her taste him in her throat. 

But then he hadn’t moved. He froze there, one hand fisted around the fabric at her waist, the other trailing up her spine to the base of her neck. 

Wriggling back against him, she’d just started to ease herself onto his cock, mouth falling open and then suddenly snapping shut when he’d yanked her hair. 

She liked it. But she gave him a dirty look in the mirror. 

“Well?” she’d asked impatiently. 

He’d smiled at her, sharp and pleased, his fingers still fisted in her hair. “Yeah? You want it?”

Clenching around the head of his cock, she’d refused to answer. 

“So fucking tight. When’s the last time you were fucked right?”

He’d pushed an inch deeper and her eyes fluttered closed again, her teeth sinking into her lip. He felt so good. 

“You know what I want?” he’d murmured, voice like gravel in her ear. 

She moans, remembering his next words. The leg propped up against the wall begins to tremble uncontrollably. 

“I want to watch you watch yourself take me. Want you to see how easy I can make you come.” He’d tugged her hair again, not hard—just firm. “Look at yourself, Elizabeth.”

The image is seared into her mind: her smudged lipstick, her puffy lips turning into an O as he’d eased into her inch by inch. Her eyes big and dark and blue watching her own face contort in pleasure, feeling his gaze locked on her as tightly as his fingers twisted in her hair. She looked a mess, but she’d never felt sexier. 

Then, the second he bottomed out, he pulled out of her only to slam back in, dragging a sound out of her she’d never made before. One she wanted to make again and again and—

“You want help with that?”

It takes her brain an extra second to catch up and realize those words aren’t from her memory. Rio had never said them that night. He was saying them here. Now. 

His voice was unmistakable. 

Beth squeaks, nearly slipping in the wet shower. The vibrator drops from her hand, clashing to the floor. It clatters around on the tile, bouncing around like an angry wind-up toy, echoing horribly. She drops down, fumbling around for it, heartbeat thundering in her chest as she presses it off. She wants to die. 

“Nah? Prefer to go it solo?”

Her brain frantically scrambles for an excuse, a lie, some alternate interpretation of what she was up to—but nothing comes. Instead, she just stands there, the water cascading over her, cheeks hot, silent. 

She can see his sandaled feet underneath the curtain and she imagines him standing there, a towel hung dangerously low on his hips like always, grinning at her mortification. He would. 

Only—only he doesn’t even know it’s her, she realizes. He’d just walked into this bathroom and made that offer to whoever happened to be naked on the other side of this shower curtain. 

God, he was a pig. A gross, disgusting pig. 

She can’t believe she ever— 

“Not gonna say anything, Elizabeth?” 

Her eyes go wide, her mouth gapes. 

“That’s cool. I’ll take a page out of your book and pretend this never happened, a’ight?” 

She can hear the amusement, the satisfaction in his voice. There is the sound of knuckles rapping twice against tile and then his feet disappear. 

“How—?” Beth chokes out. 

His feet reappear. A pause. Then:

“Recognized your moaning, darlin’.” 

She hates him. She really, truly hates him. 

“Surprised you could place it considering you’ve slept with, what? Half the building at this point, haven’t you?” she spits.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and Beth feels triumphant. But then he says, voice oozing with smugness: 

“Yeah? You been paying attention?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffs. “I have eyes, and you aren’t exactly subtle.”

“And we both know subtlety’s real important to you, huh?”

She knows exactly how he’s looking at her right now: one eyebrow popped up in mock curiosity, and she’s sure he’s thinking of her crying out in that bathroom, of her moaning in this one. Her blood boils. 

Shutting off the water abruptly, Beth steps into the changing area and wraps her towel around her naked body. Her hand darts out from the curtain and she yanks her robe off the hook, but the thought of pulling it on and stepping in front of him makes her burn. 

“I’d like you to leave so that I can get out of the shower.” 

“You do realize we’re in a public space?”

“So?” 

“So I’ve seen you in your li’l silk robe a hundred times. Seen you in a lot less too, if you remember—“

“Well, I’d really rather not see you right now, so—“

“Yeah, coz if you see me afterward you gotta admit that this happened, right? Harder to pretend it didn’t?”

He tries to pass it off as teasing, but the words are too loaded. She knows he’s not just talking about catching her here, now.

Rolling her eyes, Beth tosses the vibrator into her pocket and draws the bow tightly at her belly in a huff. 

“I’m not pretending anything.” 

God, what was wrong with him? After what he did, he really had the audacity to be mad at her for ghosting him the next morning? What was she supposed to do?

“No? That's why you stonewalled me that day in the caf?”

Snatching back the curtain, Beth discovers she was right: Rio’s wearing nothing but a white terry towel tied low enough that she can see the definition in his sex lines. She tears her eyes away to look at his face, but god, it’s almost worse. Now that swim season’s ended, he’s let his beard grow into a five o’clock shadow, and her brain must still be melted from her shower because she can’t help but think about what it might feel like against her inner thigh— 

Beth shakes her head, loosening the image from her mind like a piece of rotted fruit from a low-hanging branch. 

“How did you expect me to act?”

A couple of weeks after she’d slipped out of his room, and after—just after—Rio had tried to sidle up to her in line at the salad station when she was dragged to get lunch in Mo-Jo with Lauren. While Beth focused on scooping tomatoes onto a bed of romaine, he’d started asking her about her plans for the weekend, checking if she was free, almost like he was the one pretending their night had ended differently than it had. Feeling the weight of Lauren’s curious, prying gaze—Beth hadn’t mentioned anything to her, and certainly didn’t plan to—she hadn’t been able to come up with an answer beyond slowly turning to Rio and asking, “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” 

Maybe he’d never been rejected before. Maybe that was why he was still so fixated on it. 

“How’d I expect you to act? Honestly?” He grins like he’s won something, eyes trailing after a water droplet that runs down her neck into her cleavage. “I sorta thought you were gonna come knocking for round three since I gave you so many orgasms you could barely think straight.”

Beth folds her towel with an exaggerated flourish. “Yeah, well, I don’t sleep with guys who have girlfriends.”

The discovery had been brutal. 

The morning after the party, Beth woke up entangled with Rio on his extra-long twin bed, their clothes strewn across his otherwise spotless floor. She looked around—noting his goggles hanging off a key hook by the door, a photo of him post-meet in his hoodie and sweats with his arms around what looked to be his grandmother posing in front of a swimming pool tacked up above his side table—but she had no idea what she was supposed to do. She’d never hooked up with someone before. All the movies suggested she should tiptoe around pulling her clothes back on as quietly as she could before she snuck out of there. But as wild and out-of-character as her night had been, she wasn’t quite ready for it to end. When he woke up a few minutes later, Rio seemed to agree. 

“You cold?” he asked, squinting at the bright light of morning illuminated by the fresh coat of snow outside. 

“A little.”

Rio burrowed them, pulling his plain black comforter up to their shoulders. Then, with his hand trailing up her goosebumped skin, he’d kissed down her neck, her clavicle, her sternum—dipping below to the blanket to pause at her breast and say, “I can think of a few ways to warm up.”

Beth was hungover and sore and she desperately needed mouthwash. But the second he ran his tongue over her peaked nipple, she arched her back and gasped, any semblance of a protest dying on her lips. 

“You and your ideas,” she’d hummed, running her fingers over his close-cropped hair. 

“Somethin’ tells me you like ‘em,” he’d said, sliding his hand down between her legs to find her already wet and wanting. “You like ‘em a lot, huh?”

Pushing two fingers slowly into her, he’d felt her clench around him as he lifted himself up to kiss her—completely unphased by her morning breath. No, instead his tongue found hers at the same time that his thumb found her clit, and she’d moaned into his mouth softly. 

“They’re not the worst ideas I’ve ever heard,” she’d conceded once he’d worked her to a first, small orgasm. 

“You got better ones?”

“Maybe I do.”

“Careful now,” he’d warned quietly, pushing his fingers deeper into her. “Someone might mistake that confidence for somethin’ else. Might write up something rude about you in the school newspaper.” 

“Well, all the other articles were going on and on and on about all those meets you were winning and PRs you were smashing”—she’d gasped again as he’d refocused on her clit—“I had to do something to balance it all out. Wouldn’t—ah—wouldn’t want you getting a big head.”

“Right, right. That was you being considerate.”

“Exactly—oh god—yes—and now I think I deserve a thank you.”

“Oh, you do, huh?”

She nodded decisively and Rio laughed. “What do you call this?”

“I call it… a good start.”

“Damn, you ain’t even nice when you get a good morning orgasm.” Clicking his tongue, he shook his head and smiled. “What’s a guy gotta do to impress you?”

“Rumor has it swimmers have really good lung capacity.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he’d agreed, flashing a smile. 

She placed her palm on his head and started guiding him down, down, down. 

“Then prove it.”

And he did, eating her pussy first torturously slowly and then like he had something to prove, licking, sucking, and fucking her with his tongue until she was wailing, flailing, trying to kick him away because it was too much. Only he wrapped his hands around her ankle and locked her into place and kept going, only pulling back to blow on her clit and pull her over the edge—again—with a long strangled moan. 

“Get what you deserve yet?” he asked from between her legs, looking up at her with lips glistening with her come. 

Panting, she shook her head on his pillow. 

“Fuck, mama, you’re something else,” he muttered, struck between annoyance and delight as he lowered his mouth back down to her cunt. 

“No—“ she gasped. “No, I want—I want—“

“Tell me,” he demanded. 

“I want—you. Inside me. Now.”

Grunting, Rio swore, pulling himself up to slide his fingers into her hair and kiss her deeply, furiously, the sweetbitter taste of herself exploding on her tongue like pop rocks. 

Rio’s hand reached for his bedside table—knocking off an old-fashioned alarm clock that fell to the floor with a crash.  

“Shit,” he’d hissed, but it wasn’t about the alarm clock at all. “I’m out of condoms.”

Her face fell. “Oh.” 

“Got any in your room?”

Beth shook her head and for one insane second, she considered telling him to just pull out. But the empty box in his hand was a stark reminder of how stupid that would be: she knew how many girls had been in his sheets. She’d known about them since before she’d slipped into that bathroom the previous night. Only she hadn’t cared then, not like she did at that moment, reality crashing over her and reminding her that whatever this felt like, it was a hookup, nothing more. 

“That’s okay. I should—I should probably get going anyway—“ 

“Nah, come on. I got the morning free. I could run down the block and get us a new box, pick up some bagels or somethin’ too?”

The throb between her legs told her the offer was tempting, but with the clear light of morning drifting in through the window, she knew she wasn’t that girl. And the longer she played pretend, the more she was going to hate herself. 

Rio read the hesitation on her face. 

“You headed home for break?” he asked before she could say no. 

And if he really thought he could convince her with some last-opportunity offer, he was delusional. 

“Yes.” 

Home wasn’t far—just Detroit—but he didn’t need to know that. She lifted herself on her elbow, eyes scanning the room for her underwear. She spotted her emerald bra tossed on the bed of his roommate (who, she had checked last night when they’d started getting naked, had already gone home for the holiday). 

“Wanna get together when you get back?” He dragged his finger down her arm. “Wanna see you again.”

Her eyes snapped to his face. He looked up at her, his eyes warm. Her resolve melted. 

“Yeah… okay.”

“Cool. It’s a date.” 

He kissed her again, his hand sliding to her hip to squeeze gently. With a pang in her stomach, she pulled away. 

“You know, actually… a bagel sounds kind of good.”

He perked up. “Yeah?” 

She fell back onto his pillow and pulled him to her by the chain on his neck. “Yeah. I’m hungry.” She pressed her mouth to his, slipping her tongue between his lips. “Ravenous, even.”

He rolled off the bed and yanked open his dresser to throw on a pair of black joggers and a hoodie emblazoned with MICHIGAN SWIMMING. She could still see the outline of his half-hard cock through his sweats as he picked up his phone, frowned, and threw it on the charger instead. 

“I’ll be quick,” he promised, sliding his key card into his pocket. “Bagel and lox, no capers, yeah?”

She sat up. “What? How do you—?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s been a minute since you caught my attention.”

Then, before she could respond, he slipped out the door. She blinked, a smile playing at her lips, and then flopped back. 

The night before, she’d thought he wouldn’t even remember her. Instead, he’d remembered her name tag. Read her article. Noticed what she ate for breakfast every morning in Mo-Jo. All while she’d been oblivious. 

Unfortunately, the answer to the question of what else she hadn't noticed came too soon. 

She was still naked in his bed, her thighs slick with her come, when his phone vibrated on the wooden side table. Twisting her neck, she glanced at it, curious. Considering. Then, a minute later, it vibrated again. Checking the door, she bit her lip. Then she reached over for the phone. 

[Image ID: A screenshot of a black iPhone lock screen at 10:42 a.m. with a 6% charge features a background of a black and white photo of water in a pool. A text message preview from 2 minutes ago from “Gretch” says: “Flight delayed by two hours because of the snow. Adjust your schedule accordingly.” Below it, a preview from Instagram alerts the account “goodstroke_rio” about accounts that have recently added to their stories, including rhea.alma.nza, slickmick736, and xoxo_dylannn_.]

Beth stared at the alert. Someone was coming to visit him. No. A girl was coming to visit him. Was flying to visit him. For Christmas. 

The text was strangely formal, Beth thought. Maybe it was just a sister or a cousin? Even an aunt? It didn’t necessarily mean…

Something gnawed at her, though, and before she even realized what she was doing, Beth was reaching over for her own phone, unlocking it, pulling up Instagram, and typing in Rio’s embarrassing username. 

His profile was full of photos, but they were mostly shots of swim meets and shiny medals. Artistic, newspaper-worthy snaps with blurred backgrounds and him standing at the edge of the pool, fixing his cap, his googles still sitting above his brow, his wet, tattoed body lean and muscular and beautiful. Underwater action shots of him gliding through the water. Reposts of official posters advertising his sharp, angular face from the University of Michigan Swim profile. 

He had a few photos of him playing other sports—a sweaty jump shot in basketball on a concrete court in the hot sun, another of him with a tennis racket—and then a few with friends. One with Mick at a house party, the solo cups carefully cropped out. Another with his teammates all wearing swim trunks and sitting together on some sort of roof. 

She had to scroll back a few months to find it—one that looked vaguely familiar. She glanced back at the photo tacked to his wall and she was right. It was him and the same older woman at the same pool in the same outfits, but this time there was someone else with them, a girl with long brown hair. Rio was in the middle, smiling wide, his arm around both of them, and the girl had her hand splayed on his chest. He’d captioned it “my girls.”

Beth felt hot all over.

It was easy to find “Gretch” from there. She’d liked the photo because she was in it. And when Beth pulled up her page, her stomach dropped.

Rio was all over it. In between photos of Gretchen’s own medals and action shots (for debate and tennis, respectively) were photos of them: cozied up at a bonfire, in matching crisp white uniforms on big green courts at the country club, side-by-side in ugly orange graduation caps holding their diplomas, looking sharp crowned as king and queen at prom, dressed up in matching gray suits holding up a trophy for debate. In one, she was squeezed against Rio’s side in front of a cake decorated on one side with the UMich wolverine, the other with the Georgetown bulldog; his grandmother was on her left, and another slightly older, bearded boy was on Rio’s right. And that was just what she found in a cursory scroll. The photos stretched back, far back. Years back.

Numb, Beth exed out of the app. 

Rio had a high school sweetheart, a long-term girlfriend, someone who had done everything with him and been completely integrated into his family. Soon, this girl—Gretchen—would fly into Detroit. He would drive to get her, and she would spend days or a week with him in this dorm. In this bed. In the one he wanted to fuck Beth in with his last few free hours before she arrived. In the one she was still lying in, the sheets smelling like sex and sweat and Beth’s cheap knockoff perfume from the CVS pharmacy.

Beth felt sick.

She’d thought he—

But he was no better than Dean. No. He was worse than Dean. 

Sliding out of the bed, Beth found her panties tangled up underneath the rumpled pile that is her dress. She pulled them up over her legs, acutely aware of how dirty she was, her hair ratty and tangled, the dried perspiration plastered to her skin like grease, a stale flavor coating her teeth. She snapped into her bra, tugged on her dress, and slipped out the door, determined to never speak to him again. 

Now, Beth turns away from him sharply, intent on making good on her promise, but before she can take a step, she feels the weight of his hand wrapping around her wrist.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Flushing from his touch, Beth jerks away. 

“Oh, please.”

His brows furrow. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Yeah, maybe not now. 

“What, did she catch you?” Beth sniffs.

“I don’t know what you heard, but I ain’t made any promises to no one.” His jaw tightens. “I have fun, yeah. But I don’t hide that, and you know it.”

Beth purses her lips. She did know that—had known that. Anyone that went to UMich and was paying even the slightest attention probably did. Even before, she’d often walk down the hall to either pass him leaning against the doorframe of his room, chatting up some girl, or watching a different one sneak out in rumpled clothing. And she’d heard the gossip, too. But Gretchen was far away, halfway across the country, with no insight into what (or who) he was doing outside of what he himself told her. And it was clear he was keeping his Instagram sanitized too—for both sides. Gretchen wouldn’t know about the girls here, and the girls here wouldn’t know about Gretchen. Not unless they were really looking. 

“So you’re saying she knows all about Dylan and Diane and Rhea?”

“Who?” 

“Knows I was in your bed that same morning? Did you even have time to wash the sheets before she arrived?”

He squints in confusion. “Wait—you mean Gretch?” 

Shaking her head, Beth rolls her eyes. “Yes, ‘Gretch.’ Your girlfriend.” 

He grins. “How do you even know about her? You were gone—off-campus—before she even got here, yeah?”

How did he know that? Had he come looking for her in her dorm when he got back and his was empty? She hadn’t thought about how he might react. 

“Doesn’t matter. I just do,” she huffs. “I don’t need to cite my sources.”

Head cocked back, the bird stretched across his neck rippling, he laughs. 

“Yeah, but seems like your investigative skills aren’t up to snuff. You’re wrong. Gretchen ain’t my girlfriend. Never was, never—“

“No, just your girl, right? And your tennis double, and your debate partner, and the prom queen to your prom king—”

“Wait a second,” he says, stepping closer so that she steps back. He hasn’t even showered yet, but he smells fresh, clean, like citrus and cedar. Breathing him in, she briefly closes her eyes. When she opens them, his eyes are shining. “You been stalking Instagram, digging all this up? That’s why you’ve been ignoring me?”

“It’s not stalking. I looked once. And it’s not like it’s well-hidden.”

“Just once, huh?” 

“Yes,” she insists, but her cheeks go hot and she refuses to glance down at her pale skin blooming red against the emerald robe. 

(Okay, maybe she checked up on him over winter break, waiting to see if he uploaded a picture with her. And maybe she got bored and looked once or twice in January, maybe even February. But it didn’t mean anything.) 

“Right. Well, I been keeping tabs, too, darlin’.” He was? She steps back again so that her back is flush against the dividing wall between the shower stalls. He inches closer. It would be so easy to close the gap and touch his bare chest. “And I know you ain’t messed around with anyone since me.”

Beth scowls, heart pounding. “So what?”

He wasn’t suggesting she was pining, was he? God, he was so—

“So I’m curious what you were thinkin’ about moaning and groaning in there.” 

He fixes her with a look that suggests he can see right through her, and it shoots straight down into her core, molten like lava. 

“You can’t seriously be that egotististcal,” she spits.

“You’re saying you weren’t touching yourself rememberin’ the way I bent you over that sink?”

She swallows thickly. “No. I wasn’t.”

“‘Cause if you were, that’d be alright.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“‘Cause Gretch is like family. And her pop is like my uncle. I grew up with her.”

Her eyes dart up to read his, and he’s staring at her intently. 

She tries desperately to think up a piece of evidence that contradicts that explanation, something that doesn’t make her look like a fool. 

“And it’d be alright ‘cause I still think about it, too.” 

You hate him, she reminds herself. But now it sounds ridiculous even to her own ears. 

Beth wets her lips. 

“Yeah. Think about you riding me, grinding on me, rolling your hips, your hand right here.” 

He places his own hand at the base of his throat and she remembers the way he grunted, fucking up into her hard and fast in response. 

Breathless, mind racing, Beth doesn’t say anything. 

He reaches up and gently, he brushes a pinky against her wet bangs, pushing them off her forehead. She shivers. 

“And I didn’t tell her about the other girls. But I told her about you.” 

Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask. 

“What did you tell her?”

“That you said mean things about me in your li’l article.”

“Insinuated,” she corrects. 

“Right. Insinuated.” He chuckles. “Gretch said I deserved it.”

Beth draws up, shoulders squaring. “Well, she’s right. And it wasn’t little, but the way. I got a half-page spread. First freshman to do so this year.”

His eyes crinkle. “See, now, I was just trying to make sure you didn’t get a big head.”

“Oh, you were, were you?”

“What’d you call that? Bein’ considerate? And I got it on good authority that that means I deserve a real nice thank you.”

His gaze is heated, dipping down from her mouth to her exposed clavicle and back up. Beth presses her thighs together.

“What do you want?”

He smirks, nodding at her shower stall. “Tell me what you were thinkin’ about in there.”

For a second, she hesitates, wondering if she really should go down this road again—but she woke up before dawn for a reason. And if Gretchen really wasn't his girlfriend, then...

“You.”

He leans closer, whispers in her ear: “Prove it.”

Beth arches upwards, making as if to kiss him. With her lips a fraction of a breath away from his, though, all she says is, “Okay.”

Then she slips away from him, steps behind the curtain, grabs the vibrator out of her pocket, and drops her robe so it pools at her feet. When she flicks the water back on, she can feel Rio behind her, staring at her ass. Twisting her neck, she sees him untie his towel so that it falls to reveal his half-hard cock. 

He takes a step forward.

Beth shakes her head, pressing the button on her vibrator so that it buzzes to life.

“No,” she murmurs. “First, I want to watch you watch me.”

Rio’s eyes go dark and minutely follow every movement she makes—one hand sliding up her body to pinch and play with her nipples, the other sliding low to trace the vibrator around her clit, through her curls, along her folds. God, she was already so wet before but here, now, with his full attention… she clenches, and it reminds her how empty she feels. 

“I didn’t want to think about you,” she tells him, abandoning her nipples to run two fingers down to her aching cunt. “But I couldn’t get off until I did.”

“Fuck, Elizabeth.”

She watches as he grows harder, his cock pointing up at her. And she thought she remembered how big he was, how perfectly he stretched and filled her, but it’s different now that nothing is blurred by bourbon or briefs or blankets. 

She wonders what it would be like to take him in her mouth. 

“Do you remember how I taste?” She glides two of her fingers into her pussy and uses the other hand to press the vibrator against her clit. 

“Sweeter than you should,” he answers, “and so fucking good.”

“Do you want to taste me again?”

He doesn’t hesitate: ”I do. Bad.”

“Good.” She smiles at him, letting her head fall back and her eyes flutter shut. “But you need to wait your turn.” 

With a soft moan, she pulls her glistening fingers out and puts them in her mouth slowly so he can imagine it’s his cock. Then she sucks on them, her flavor bursting across her tongue. 

When she looks at him again, his mouth is slack and his hand is fisted around his cock. 

She’d like to deny him. Force him to wait to be touched. But seeing how turned on he is just watching her makes her feel electric. She presses the button so the vibrator whirrs faster. 

“First I thought about someone else,” she admits. “I imagined them kissing me. Licking me. Tasting me. Their tongue inside me.”

Rio grunts, annoyed, his hand gripping firmer. 

“He was good too. I was squirming, and he had to hold me down.”

He doesn’t hide his impatience, his features sharp and irritated. 

And then, because she’s feeling generous, she gives him a gift: “But he wasn’t as good as you.”

“‘Course not. Nobody is,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk, but she can tell he’s affected by the way his rhythm slips. “That’s why girls always come back for more.”

“Except me,” she points out. 

Licking his lips, Rio’s jaw goes tight. “Except you.”

The power is heady and she moans through a smile. 

“Seems like I got you by the throat, though, yeah?” he says, trying to yank control back. He swipes his thumb against the head. “You can’t even come without me, sweetheart.”

“Careful,” she hums. “All I need is a memory. You haven’t got me back in bed yet.”

“Got this, though. Got you creaming on your li'l hands for me.”

“Something tells me you won’t be satisfied until you get to touch me, though. Taste me—ah—fuck me. It bugged you, didn’t it? Getting ignored? You had all those girls—but you were still thinking about me. About my hand on your throat.”

His hand moves faster across his shaft and Beth starts feeling everything inside of her pull taut at the effect she has on him. She’s burning from the inside out, the hot water only working her up faster. Needing to be filled up, she slides her fingers back into her cunt as she continues to press the vibrator against her clit. 

“Yeah, I thought about you. About your tight li’l pussy coming on my cock. On my tongue. About how I had you moaning so loud everyone at that party heard you. You like it, huh? Getting caught?”

Beth keens, arching her back against the tile. 

“You knew I’d come in here, didn’t you? Knew I’d catch you with your fingers stuffed in your pussy wishing they were mine?”

Her toes curl.

“No.”

He steps forward—and how did he get so close? He ghosts his hand across the leg she has propped up against the opposite wall, but she can’t tell if he’s touching her or just rippling across the water droplets clinging to her skin. 

“Baby, it’s not a secret that I’m in here every Saturday at five a.m. before conditioning.”

“I didn’t—”

“Mhm,” he says, but he’s placating her. She opens her mouth to argue more, but he steps into the spray, dropping his cock to cup his hand over hers and slide a long finger inside of her alongside her own, the vibrator still stimulating her clit. 

It’s too much, too hot. She’s so full, but instantly, she wants more. She wants him. 

“Please,” she moans as he begins to move in and out of her, her fingers following his pace. 

“Tell me, was it as good?” He leans forward and takes her earlobe between his teeth, dragging it across her skin. “Was it as good before I touched you?”

His voice is husky and deep and her answer is a gasp as he pushes deeper into her, his finger reaching where her own can’t.

“Answer me, Elizabeth,” he commands, using his free hand to push up her breast so he can bite her nipple. She clenches, sucking their fingers in deeper. She wants to explode. “Was it ever gonna be enough, or were you always gonna come back for this?”

She’s so wet, absolutely dripping, and when he adds one more finger, she takes him with a guttural groan. 

“You were. You want me.”

“You want me,” she repeats, practically breathless.

“Yeah, I do,” he concedes, licking the water from the hollow in her neck. “I want you so fucking bad.”

“I want you—”

“Yeah, fuck—”

“No, I want you,” she repeats, needier.

He increases his pace. “Yeah, c’mon. You gonna come on my hand, Elizabeth?”

Gritting her teeth, she shakes her head. She presses her lips to his, and the taste of him makes her dizzy. Then, into his open mouth she hisses, “Fuck me.”

“What do you think I’m—?”

She yanks her fingers out of her cunt and runs her nails down his arm, leaving red marks in her wake. Panting, she heaves her breasts into his chest and begs, “Fuck me, Rio.”

Finally, he understands. Licking his lips, he searches her eyes and says, “I don’t have a condom.”

It's not a refusal. Just an acknowledgment.

“I don’t care, just f—”

But she doesn’t even need to finish her sentence. He stops fucking her with his fingers and for one brief, horrible second she’s empty, but a moment later he’s batting the hand with the vibrator away, lifting her leg up higher, and driving into her in one slick motion. Pressing the button to turn the vibrator off, Beth drops it to the floor with a clatter. Then, when he bottoms out, she knocks her head back against the tile and she moans long and hard.  

He feels unbelievably good, and with just a few thrusts, she’s coming, fluttering around him and yanking him by his chain to pull him closer and kiss him.

“Look how easy I make you fall apart,” he says, pulling away with his lower lip jutted out, smug and sexy as hell. 

She reaches up to him and nips at lip. “Do it again.”

To get closer, he hoists up her other leg and he’s got her completely pinned against the wall, holding her up with his strength alone, and with each thrust, he drives even deeper into her. Her nails find his shoulder blades and she digs into his skin. Hard. He hisses between his teeth and returns the favor, bending his head down to suck a hickey on her neck, leaving a mark of his own. Normally she would say no, push him away, but the thought of having a piece of him left on her tomorrow is intoxicating. She wants to remember, she wants to remember, she wants to remember—

Suddenly they both twist their necks when they hear the door to the bathroom yawn open and slam shut. Beth looks at him, eyes wide, and Rio grins.

“We’re going to get in trouble,” she whispers.

“Not if we’re quiet,” he counters. “Can you handle that?”

One part of her—the logical part—knows that she can’t. The other part—the one that can’t stand the idea of pulling away from him—nods her head slowly.

“Good.”

They hear the spray of a sink faucet turn on and the telltale sound of someone brushing their teeth and spitting.

From there, he moves slower, pulling out and pushing back in with a torturous pace that makes Beth want to whine. He lifts one of her legs higher, the new angle like a flame to the wick inside of her. She’s burning, a fire lit on every nerve ending in her body, and she opens her mouth in a silent scream. Rio huffs, the stranger starts tapping their toothbrush against the porcelain, and soon they’ll be free—she just has to hold out—just a little longer—

And then they hear the unmistakable sound of shower shoes squelching louder. The stranger is coming closer, not going further away, and Beth squirms, hips gyrating.

“Fuck,” Rio breathes, squeezing her thigh in his big hand. “You’re gonna make me—”

She does it again, this time on purpose. 

That drags a hoarse noise out of him and Beth smiles when the sound of feet against the floor stops abruptly.

“Evil,” Rio whispers, and Beth bites her lips to stop herself from laughing, about to swivel her hips once more just to see if she can get him to break—but suddenly Rio slips a hand between them and swipes his fingers against her too-sensitive clit.

She hates him, she does—but oh god, she really doesn’t. Not at all. His touch is like a tidal wave crashing over her, and she can’t help herself. She starts to make noise, but Rio swallows the sound with a kiss, and if the person comes closer or goes away, she isn’t sure. They could pull open the curtain and watch for all she knows. All there is is Rio. All she registers is Rio. His mouth, his hands, his smell, all amplified by the water. His cock inside of her stilling and then pulsing and then filling her with warm come that makes her tremble and burst open like a cloud at the start of a storm. 

They hear the bathroom door slam closed again. Beth slumps in his arms, and then she starts to giggle.

“‘We’re going to get in trouble,’” Rio mocks, shaking his head and nuzzling into her neck. “But you fucking love trouble, don’t you?”

Reaching out to flip off the shower, he pulls out and lowers her to the ground. Her legs are jello, and when she wobbles, Rio reaches out a hand to steady her. 

“People are going to start waking up soon,” she says, reality pressing back in on her thoughts. 

“Better get goin’ then, huh?”

She nods. They’re quiet as they towel down, drying themselves, and then Beth pulls on her robe and grabs her vibrator from the floor while Rio reties his towel. 

As they walk to the door, she bites her lip, wondering what comes next. She’d never done this hooking up thing. Was she supposed to ask him to get together again? Would he ask her, or was this it now? He’d gotten his round two, he’d won, so now was it over? She doesn’t remember seeing him with many girls more than once. Had she seen him with any more than twice? 

When he holds open the door for her so that they can exit the bathroom, her stomach starts to clench. God, how could she be so stupid? Had she really gotten her hopes up for more? To him, she was the girl that bent over a sink for him at a party, ghosted him, and then spread her legs for him in a public bathroom. She was a fun night, a good story—that was all.

“Ain’t this your room?”

Beth stops abruptly. “Oh. Uh, yes.” She hadn’t been paying attention. 

He watches her carefully as she grabs her key from her robe pocket. 

She wonders what he would say if she asked him for his phone number. Looking up at him, the words are on the tip of her tongue, but his face is unreadable, and at the last second, she loses her nerve. 

“Goodnight, then,” she says primly instead, inserting the key into the lock.

“Kind of more of a good morning situation, ain’t it?”

She shrugs. “Sun’s not up yet.”

He mirrors her. “Fair enough.”

He doesn’t move and she hesitates before turning the key. When she can’t come up with anything to say, though, she begins to twist.

“Don’t think you’re getting off so easy.”

She looks over at him, eyebrows pinched.

“You still owe me a date.”

“What?”

“That didn’t count, darlin'.”

A smile dawns on her face and she teases, “Oh really? Then what would you call it?”

“I call it… a good start.”

Then he leans down to kiss her, turns on his heel, and disappears down the hall.

[Image ID: A screenshot of an white iPhone lock screen at 5:52 a.m. on March 23 features a background of a color photo of pink peonies and dark leaves. A brand new Instagram push notification from “now” says: “(marks.beth): Rio (@goodstroke_rio) has requested to follow you.” Below it, a push notification from the New York Times features brief updates from the major news stories from the night before.]