Wrong - Aston Jana (читать книги онлайн без сокращений txt) 📗

I bury my head under the blankets as my roommate's phone alarm beeps. Wednesdays are my sleep-in day and Jean's early class day. Figures.

I hear Jean grab her shower stuff and exit the room. I never saw her yesterday. She must have slipped back into the room after I fell asleep last night. I haven't seen her since… urgh. Monday afternoon.

I walked in on her and her boyfriend having sex. Not a post-coital cuddle. I'm in college, I've walked in on that plenty. And not a demure romp under the covers. Nope. Hell, I had a roommate freshman year who'd do that with me asleep in the next bed. I learned to pee before I went to bed if I didn't want to wake up to something awkward that year.

No, I walked in on Jeannie and Jonathan midday. Lights on. Mid-thrust. In profile to the door. And she was getting double-penetrated. By Jonathan and a toy.

It was like walking into a TMI brick wall. Too much information.

I throw the covers off my head and stare at the ceiling. I mean, I'm curious. But I prefer to be educated by online porn, not my roommate live and in person.

The door clicks open and Jean slips in and takes care to shut the door quietly behind her. She's dried her long hair and dressed in the bathroom in an effort to let me sleep in.

"I'm awake."

"Oh. Sorry, Soph." She looks contrite as she stuffs her shower basket into her bookshelf. Our tiny room is crammed with all the necessities of dorm life.

She looks at me and pauses.

We both burst into laughter.

"I was hoping I'd stayed away long enough for you to forget." She collapses onto the bed and wipes away tears of laughter. "I thought you were in class. I am so sorry you walked in on us."

"Professor LaRoche let us leave early after a group project."

"No, it's not your fault. I should have texted you." She gets off the bed and digs through her dresser drawer. "Thank you for not judging me."

"Oh, I'm judging you," I reply. "I'm awarding you a perfect ten. On flexibility." I can't even finish the sentence before I start laughing again.

"Oh my God. I have never been so happy to have a class I have to be at." She swipes some lip gloss on and screws the container shut.

"Wait!" I call out. "Before I forget to tell you. I'm spending the night at Mike's on Saturday. You've got the place to yourself." I spread my arms wide to indicate our tiny dorm room.

"Okay, good to know." She pauses with her hand on the doorknob, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. "See you later, Sophie."

I flop back onto my pillow and stare at the closed door. I have econ studying to do. I hear doors opening and closing up and down the hallway. A cell phone is ringing somewhere.

Jeannie won't be back for at least two hours. I reach over and slip my iPad off my desk. In a room this small, I don't even have to get out of bed to reach.

I flip open the cover and the device springs to life. I tap on the internet browser and navigate to my favorite porn site, Porn Hole.

Propping open the iPad on the case stand, I navigate through the available videos, looking for something promising. Here's one. Play.

I slip a hand into my pajama bottoms and touch myself. I rub my clit with the tips of two fingers. The blood rushes to my clit as I play with myself. Wait. This girl's voice is so annoying. I'm only two minutes into this video and already my ears hurt. I wonder if this guy is wearing ear plugs. Mute.

I forward to the penetration. That's what I like. I watch as the man on screen slides into the woman. By the contorted look on her face I'm glad I muted her already. The camera zooms in on where they're joined. I watch him slide in and out. He's average-sized, based on my limited porn-viewing research. Maybe a little bigger than Scott.

I rub my clit vigorously in rhythm to the couple on screen. That looks like it feels good. The in and out, her body stretching to accommodate his. I wonder how big Mike is. I haven't sucked him off. After two years of giving Scott blow jobs with no return favors, I'm not exactly in a rush.

I bet Luke is bigger than this guy on screen. He looks like he'd be substantial. I wonder what Luke would feel like inside of me? His finger felt snug.

I rub harder and use my other hand to pinch my breast. I imagine that it's his fingers touching me. It felt nice when he touched me on the exam table, but it was clinical. I squeeze my breast, imagining it's Luke grabbing me roughly. His hands are so much bigger than mine. Stronger.

There was a moment on the exam table when his finger was inside of me, and his thumb swiped across my clit. I clench at the memory.

He's a big guy. Solid. Muscular. More filled out than a college guy. What would it feel like to have him inside of me? It wouldn't be comfortable at first. I know that. But after, after he stroked back and forth, easing into my body. After he sank himself inside of me all the way, my body stretching to accommodate him. After I adjusted to the invasion and he started to really move. What would that feel like with Luke?

Would he bend me over and use my hips to anchor himself as he thrust in and out? Or would he lay me on my back and part my thighs? Settle between them, resting his upper body on his forearms and sucking at my tits as he thrust?

I come.

Thinking about Luke.

Not my boyfriend, Mike.

Did I think about Mike once? I try to recall. Disgusted with myself, I grab my shower supplies and head to the communal bathroom at the end of the hall.

I hang my damp towel on my closet door and slip into a pair of old faded jeans before pulling a long-sleeved powder-blue tee shirt over my head. Pulling my still-damp hair over one shoulder, I braid the end of it and secure it with an elastic, then shove my feet into an old pair of Ugg boots, sans socks. I've had these things for years, a Christmas present from my grandparents back in high school.

Grabbing a textbook, I take a seat at my desk and crack it open. This is so dull. I'm tapping my pen against the desk when my phone chirps, like I've missed a call. I pick it up, seeing I've missed three calls, all from my grandmother's cell phone number.

My heart races a little. Why would she call me three times in a row? It looks like I missed all three calls while I was in the shower. I hit play. The first message is a hang up, followed by a message from my grandmother asking me to call her. The third is my grandmother again. "Sophie, it's Gram. Your grandfather slipped on a ladder cleaning the gutters. I'm sure everything will be fine, but we’re at Baldwin Memorial getting him checked out.” She sounds a little distressed. "I'm sure it's fine." The message ends.

Oh, no. I check the call log. She called forty minutes ago. I hit the call back button and pace to the window. Answer, answer, answer. Please answer.

"Hello?"

"Grandma!" I'm so relieved to be speaking with her and not her voicemail.

"Oh, Sophie, good. You got my messages."

"What happened? Is Grandpa okay? What happened?" I'm firing off questions without giving her time to answer.

"He insisted on cleaning out those damn gutters himself and slipped off the ladder. He hit his head and blacked out for a minute. The hospital is going to scan to make sure his back and neck are okay."

“What did the doctor say?"

"Oh, honey, I don't know. We got here a couple of hours ago. We're still in the ER."

"I'm on my way," I say, grabbing my wristlet with my ID, keycard and some cash. Jacket. Where's my jacket? I grab a University of Pennsylvania hoodie.