Allie gives me another, slightly more somber smile. “I think viewed from the lens of what you’ve told me about your upbringing, sex might seem like a very serious, very permanent kind of activity,” she says, “but Sloane, it really doesn’t have to be. I have a birth control implant in my arm, and I always use condoms. I get tested regularly, so no, it doesn’t bother me. It’s a fun, sensual, fulfilling activity that I enjoy doing with all kinds of people. I hope it doesn’t bother you that I bring people home sometimes. I promise to stay in my own room in the future.” She gives me a wider smile.
When she says it like that, it sounds fun. Not forbidden and scary and dangerous and overwhelming.
“Of course it doesn’t bother me,” I say. “Thanks for explaining. I think I’m going to turn in for the night since I have class in the morning.”
“Sounds good,” she says. “I have an early morning too.” She turns to leave my room before saying over her shoulder, “Sloane, I hope you know that if you have any other…questions about anything, you can always ask me. I don’t mind.”
I’m lucky to have a roommate like her. “Thanks, Al. I appreciate it.”
I feel like I’ve barely laid my head on my pillow before my first week of classes has flown by. It’s already Thursday night and time for my lovely Christmas play practice,which I don’t resent at all, and which I have plenty of time for.Sigh.It’s fine.
Today’s practice appears to be dedicated to setting expectations and assigning specific roles. I can see from the way Blanche is running things that this is far from her first time managing a production. She leads us into smaller groups, working through casting, handing out schedules with the next few months mapped out, and explaining holes we still have in case anyone knows more people willing to volunteer. By the end of the first hour of rehearsal, she announces that the next hour will be a meet-and-greet time for us to get to know each other. I’ve been cast as an angel, and the hour flies by as I get to know some of the others in my group.
Near the end of the rehearsal, Blanche makes her way around to our group. “Girls! I am so happy to see you all and have you here with us. My angel group is one of my favorites every year, and I think you’re all going to have so much fun together!” Her energy is infectious, and I can’t help but smile.
“How long have you lived here?” one of the other girls asks.
Blanche smiles the biggest smile I’ve seen yet. “Well, actually, I live in the city, but my sons—well, speak of the devil! There’s one of my boys now!”
I turn to face the direction she’s looking, and…what is in the water here? It’s another troll? And by troll, I mean a chiseled god of a man. Another huge, viking-esque not-troll with curly hair that’s almost black, longer on top than on the sides. He’s got some stubble as if it’s been a couple of days since he’s shaved, but not enough to cover what has to be a jawline he paid for. Normal men are not carved like that. It wouldn’t be fair to humanity if they were. Have I mentioned he’s also huge? I mean, I’m not that short, and he’s…he takes up so muchspace.He finally gets close enough to our group for me to see his eyes, and they’re gray. The smokiest gray eyes that make me want him to light a cigar and blow the smoke in my mouth and…
“Sloane?”
I startle, realizing three things at once. One, my mouth is hanging open, and judging by how dry it feels, it’s been that way for a while. Two, I amstaringat the troll. Three, he sees me staring and so does Blanche, who has clearly been trying to get my attention for a while.
I shut my mouth.
Blanche smirks, obviously amused by my complete inability to function as a normal human being at this moment. “Sloane, I was just saying, this is my son Ledger.”
Chapter four
I sigh as I walk into my mom’s church. There are a million things I would rather be doing right now, but when Mommy Dearest asks you to play Satan in the church Christmas play, you play Satan in the church Christmas play. It’s not that it’s bad casting. It’s pretty spot-on, honestly. Do I want to be here every Thursday night for two hours? Absolutely not. But I’m the only one of my siblings living in the same city as my widowed mother, so Thursday nights from six to eight belong to Blanche Sinclair.
The closer I get to my mother, the more I notice the stunning young lady she’s talking to. Average height, platinum-blonde hair. She’s wearing a sundress, so I can't make out the exact shape of her ass, but I can tell that she’s got a nice set of tits. The closer I get, the harder I start to pray that she’s not some young college student.
Pray.Interesting…must be the location.
She looks young but not inappropriately young. What is it they say? Half your age and add seven. That puts me attwenty-two? Younger than I’ve fucked in a while, but not too young—old enough to drink, at least.
I’m still considering if twenty-two feels a little young now that I’m officially thirty, when a stunning pair of green eyes locks with my own. Therighteyes. Well, I’ll be damned. It’s my sad beige girl. And she is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I only caught a glimpse of her eyes when I saw her last weekend. I didn’t notice how her long blonde hair fell in wavy layers, framing her perfect, heart-shaped face. I didn’t notice her thick curled eyelashes or how her freckles ran over the bridge of her little button nose. I missed her perfectly pouty pink lips. Lips I would love to see wrapped around my cock.
I definitely missed the full glory of the set of tits spilling out of the top of her dress. You can tell she’s trying to dress modestly, and on a woman with an average chest, that dress would cover everything. As it stands, she’s showing enough cleavage to confirm how well those creamy breasts would swallow my cock. I need to snap out of this before I’m at full attention standing next to my mother in this church. I force my gaze back up to her eyes. Those gorgeous green eyes stare up at me with a loaded expression. Once again, it’s not lust—it’s like she’s in awe of me. It makes me wonder what expression she would make with my cock in her mouth while tears were falling down those rosy cheeks. Seriously, what is happening right now?
“Sloane, I was just saying, this is my son Ledger. He’s going to be our devil this year, so you’ll probably have a few lines together at some point.” My thoughts are broken with mymom introducing me to Sloane.Sloane. Thatname. I keep repeating it in my head.
Sloane. Sloane. Sloane.
I somehow manage to function enough to remember how human interaction works and hold out my hand to shake. As soon as our hands touch, it's like someone has set me on fire. My blood feels like it’s boiling, while at the same time, chill bumps form across my skin. I haven’t felt butterflies in my stomach from touching a girl’s hand since middle school.
As I’m shakingSloane’shand, I can’t help but notice how her full, luscious tits slightly bounce with each shake. My train of thought takes me straight to an image of just how much they would be bouncing as I ram into her over and over,andthere is my dick. Fuck!Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.I really don’t need a dickprint right now. For the first time in over a week, really? Now? I’ve never been more thankful to have picked up one of Mom’s play brochures to strategically place in front of my traitorouscrotch.
“Ledger, Sloane will be our lead angel.” Either Mom knows me well enough or she has picked up on my blatant staring at the girl’s chest because she adds, "She's a junior this year working on her bachelor's degree." Was that her way of warning me that this is, in fact, a young college girl? Damn. How old are juniors? You turn twenty-one in your junior year, so I guess she’s twenty going on twenty-one. Well, fuck. Okay, new rule—as long as they are drinking age…in England.
I should really leave this girl alone. I just turned thirty. That’s ten years. I sigh internally and pull myself together.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Sloane. You are the most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen.” I watch her rosy cheeks turna dark shade of red. I shouldn’t stir the pot more than I already have, but I pull her tiny hand to my lips and gently kiss her knuckles. Our eyes meet, and I swear the world stops for a moment. A moment when I can see waking up to those beautiful eyes every morning. A moment when no other woman ever exists but my beautiful green-eyed angel. A moment when someone actually looks into my eyes and seesme;choosesme.This tiny hand needs a massive diamond or maybe a tattoo she can never take off, so everyone always knows she’s mine.If she were pregnant, everyone would know she was yours.I’m lost in this fantasy, still holding her hand, thinking about which cut of diamond she prefers and if she will want three kids or four, when I realize it’s been much longer than socially acceptable to hold hands with a stranger. Mom clears her throat.
“Well, everyone, I think that's enough for today. Next Thursday, we’ll start working through our scripts. Have a great week, and please shoot me an email if you have any questions.”
