Page 5 of The Cruelty of Thorns

It went against all my instincts not to be in control, but as she raised then lowered herself excruciatingly slowly over my cock, I soon forgot my misgivings. I arched my back, pushing with my hips when she would pause just above me, her sensuous laughter sending threads of desire coursing through me. I wanted more than anything to touch her, and I struggled to break the bonds that captured my hands, but her knots held.

I could feel myself nearing climax, and just when I thought I couldn’t hold out any longer, she leaned over and breathed into my ear.

“Cum for me now.”

I felt like I was going to explode. I lost all sense of myself, but somewhere in it I felt her teeth bite down on my neck, and the combination of the two sensations was enough to give me the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced.

CHAPTER 4

MYRA

An odd reaction

I TRIED HARD to concentrate on Professor Edmonds’ lecture on Madame Bovary Monday morning, but my mind kept wandering as my hand worked absently at the detailed sketch in my notebook. I normally enjoyed the young professor’s classes because rather than attribute deeper meanings to the authors’ words, he challenged his students to find ways to relate the books to their own lives. But today he might as well have been speaking a foreign language for all the effect his lecture had on me.

“Are you an artist?”

I glanced up at the guy sitting next to me–what was his name? Something with an R; Raymond, Robert, Ronald… Yes, that was it. Ron Beechman. One of Kristin’s friends. Like all of them, he was good looking, with a chiseled body, coal black hair, and brilliant blue eyes that twinkled mischievously. I felt myself blush and looked down at the sketch I barely remembered drawing, surprised that I recalled the details so clearly. It really was an uncanny likeness.

“I just doodle,” I replied, starting to close the notebook.

He reached over and stopped me, looking closer at the page. “It’s really good.”

“Am I interrupting you, Mr. Beechman, Ms. Landon?” Mr. Edmonds asked.

I slammed the book shut and looked up, feeling my cheeks grow hot as the rest of the class turned to see what was going on.

“Just borrowing a piece of paper,” Ron replied smoothly.

“Let’s try to do it more quietly,” the professor said then resumed his lecture.

Ron turned to me and winked before leaning back in his chair and raising his arms in a wide stretch that emphasized his well-sculpted biceps. I quickly averted my eyes, checking the clock at the front of the room to see class was almost over and I didn’t remember anything that had been discussed.

When students started making leaving noises, the professor grabbed a marker and turned to the whiteboard to scribble the day’s homework assignment. “Finish Madame Bovary before our next class and be prepared to write a short essay on your impressions.”

A groan went up and the professor had to raise his voice to be heard. “It’s just a page or two. I want you to concentrate on your theme paper. It’s due in two weeks.”

Luckily I had gotten a good start on mine over the weekend. “Did you write it?” Ron asked as we made our way up the row of desks.

I turned to him, surprised he was still talking to me. “I’m about halfway done.”

“Better than me. You’re Kristin’s roommate, right?”

We had moved out of the classroom and into the wide, busy corridor. I nodded as someone called Ron’s name. He turned around as one of his friends caught up, draping an arm around his neck.

“We’re going to MacAllister’s tonight. Coming?”

Ron glanced back at me. “See you in class Wednesday.” I heard him and his friend discussing plans as I hurried off toward the library to meet up with Kristin to help her study for a philosophy test. The subject was Jung, one of my favorites, and I was actually looking forward to revisiting his work.

I loved the library at Whitfield. With its overstuffed oak bookshelves, intimate lighting, and creaky wooden floors, I could imagine the authors of my favorite classical books haunting its centuries-old walls. What it lacked in modern amenities it made up for in pure romantic character.

Kristin was spread out at a table near the reference room with her friend Lisa, the two of them caught up in a hushed conversation that smacked of gossip. “Ah, there she is,” Kristin greeted when I approached. “How is Mr. Edmonds today?”

Lisa grinned. “Probably just as hot as ever. If it wasn’t for the fact that I don’t want to read eight books each semester, I’d take every class he teaches just for the scenery.”

I smiled at her and pulled out my notebook, where I had jotted down a few key notes I remembered from my high school classes on Jung. I flipped through the book, looking for my notes, when Kristin reached across and stopped me.

“Whoa, girl. What’s this?”

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