1. Why shouldn’t it start with on page smut?

1

Why shouldn't it start with on page smut?

Camila

H alloween should start with pussies dripping cum, and it should end with blood on a blade. I don't make the rules, I just follow them.

No, wait—I do make the rules here.

That's why Demetri's tongue is buried between my legs and he's three knuckles deep inside of me. The noises I make only drive him to work faster, a shockwave of pleasure coursing up my spine. I carve my nails into his skin, the sharp stiletto point piercing his flesh when my core tightens.

"You taste delicious, Darkling." He groans in satisfaction, lifting his face to show me his lips glistening with my arousal.

My thighs squeeze, my hands grabbing at his hair and pushing him back down, my response a breathy rasp. "No talking, Dr. Harkins."

Three fingers suddenly become four, impossibly thick and stretching every inch of me while his tongue laps up and down my clit. "Fuck." I swallow air as if it would be my last gulp, my toes curling, and with every thrust of his fingers, I get closer to my undoing.

"Stop holding back, Camila." Demetri makes his demand, and it's all I need.

My hips buck, my body seizes, and all my muscles tighten, locked in my own pleasure while he makes no attempt to slow down or stop. "Please!" I whine, though for what, I'm not sure. There are no cohesive thoughts left in my brain.

Demetri's free hand caresses up my body, palming my side before finding its home on my breast. I open my eyes, watching the hand rise and fall with my chest until my muscles begin to relax one at a time. My body melts over his office desk when I finally come down from the climax.

He rises above me, fingers still moving, slowly stoking my pleasure as if it's an ember he refuses to let die out. Wiping his mouth on the shoulder of his button up dress shirt, he lowers his head to meet mine, a pleased expression on his face before he speaks.

"Those are my favorite ones." He hums, moving his hand from my breast to the side of my face. "When I make you come so hard, it looks painful for you."

My breathing is still rough, struggling to catch up, the opposite of my pulse that won't slow down. "It is." I give him a slow nod. "You make my whole body feel like it's made of glass, like the tiniest touch is going to make me explode into a million pieces."

The sound he makes comes straight from his chest, and I know I've said exactly the right words. That's the thing about my guy: he's soft in my hands and my hands only .

But right now, he's hard everywhere else, and I can feel the fat head of his cock lodged against my thigh. It promises delicious violence. I wet my bottom lip in anticipation, but his thumb is there, pulling my mouth open so his tongue can invade.

And then, the phone rings.

"Don't answer," I hiss, but the defeated expression on his face lets me know we have no choice.

Demetri glances at his phone then back down to where his fingers are still buried inside me, a crooked smirk painting his expression before he lifts the phone off the desk. I raise my eyebrows. "What are you doing?"

"Shh, be a good girl now. The dean is calling." Demetri pulls his fingers out of me, the empty feeling so sudden but brief. "This is Harkins." He puts the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and just as I'm about to complain, I feel him stretching me apart. My jaw slackens, my mouth salivates and my nails scratch at his skin.

The anticipation always kills me.

He sends his thick cock inside me in one unforgiving movement. All protests escape me as he fills every inch of me with that thing, my head dropping back onto the desk and my fingers gripping at the edges for support. "Yes, Dean. Absolutely." His tone is controlled, his voice smooth, like he's not drilling into me between classes.

A whine slips free from me, every movement of his cock hitting the place that makes my vision blurry, another orgasm creeping in. The fingers that had been inside me now push my lips apart, plunging into my mouth as if to shut me up. Instead, I swirl my tongue around them, moaning louder at the taste of my own arousal still covering them.

Demetri drives his hips faster, my tits bouncing and my back sliding against the desk. "No, Dean, fully understandable. They'll just have to find their own activities."

I can barely hold it back now, the way he maintains his composure, the way he's still fully dressed in his dark suit pants and button up shirt, just his cock exposed. He sends his fingers in and out of my mouth, and I work them as if they were his cock, loving the way he's completely in sync with every movement.

"Alright, Dean, thank you. I'm running late to my next class, so if we can finish this up over email, I'd appreciate it." He knows I'm close again, and when I come, even his fingers won't be enough to shut me up.

A thumb circles my clit, and I no longer care about the Dean and whether the phone is disconnected. I bite down on his fingers when I let go, a tidal wave of pleasure washing over me with each merciless stroke of his cock.

It doesn't take him long to follow, emptying his release inside me before collapsing onto the desk. We both struggle to find oxygen, fingers lacing into each other as our only form of communication. It's all we really need.

"You hung up, right?" I say between pants.

"Oh shit!" He jolts to a stand, but I know he's kidding.

I throw my panties at him, but he catches them with a singular hand, slipping one of my feet through a hole and then the other. I lift my hips up to let him dress me before taking his hand to sit up. "What did he want?"

I don't bother trying to clean up; I know he won't let me anyway. Demetri gets off knowing his cum will be dripping down my thighs between classes for the rest of the day.

"He said the entire carnival is off this year. City Hall won't approve the permits after—" He doesn't have to finish the sentence; we both know.

After I murdered a handful of asshole frat boys, a blackmailing son of a bitch emo-creep and he was forced to burn the entire corn maze down to hide the evidence.

I sigh, looking at the most good-looking specimen of a human imaginable. How I'd gotten lucky enough to call him the love of my life for the last year was beyond me.

"When you look at me like that, I wanna give you the world." He cups my face in his hand, but I can't help it when I get that anime twinkle in my eyes.

I just love him so fucking much.

"You already have," I remind him.

Without him, I'd probably be either in prison or two hundred and forty milliequivalents full of potassium chloride, six feet under somewhere.

My phone vibrates on the floor, and Demetri's left eyebrow cocks up. He knows who it is before he even looks at the caller ID. "It's like she knows." He hands me my phone.

"She always knows. She can sense these things." I roll my eyes but not at Harkins—at my best friend for calling far too predictably. "Hi, Naya."

"Heard the city shit on this year's carnival." She's practically singing, she's so thrilled.

"Did you have an alarm set or something?" I laugh, but the reality is, she probably did. She's not a student or faculty, so coming to the Notre Dame Parochial College's yearly Halloween carnival isn't just out of the question for her, it's borderline humiliating.

My gaze drifts to Demetri, stuffing himself back into his pants. My best friend's squeal of excitement distracts me. "Well, since you're free, we can do the prison thing!"

"Prison thing?" I'm trying to focus on what she's saying, but it's hard when he takes his time folding the edges of his sleeves so perfectly at his forearms.

The Death Star tattoo peeks out to greet me while Demetri palms my tits again.

"Mila, do you ever listen when I talk?" She huffs at me, but all I can do is laugh. "Don't answer that, you asshole. I miss you. I haven't seen you since graduation, and I don't know if you remember, but Halloween used to be our thing, you know? Before the men got involved."

I sigh, partially because my man won't stop touching me and partly because my guilt is taking over. She's right. Demetri and I have been so deeply entwined in each other's bullshit since last Halloween, we've practically become conjoined at our openings, ass-to-mouthing all day long.

It's hard when you meet the person who completes you. It feels like everyone else disappears, and all you need is them.

"Tell me again," I plead.

"The haunted prison challenge." She sighs exhaustedly. "I emailed you the waiver last week. Get it signed and send it back to me, ASAP."

I look over to Demetri, who can read my thoughts before I voice them out loud. He shakes his head. "No."

The smile spreads over my face. "I'll send it now."