Page 8 of Playing By Their Rules

But I haven’t gotten over her. The instances I’ve wanked to thoughts of her is innumerable. Those pink lips haunt both my dreams and fantasies. I imagine them wrapped around my cock, or perhaps wrapped around Ethan’s while she gives him head and I fuck her from behind. I imagine them parted in a moan while I finger her to orgasms in the middle of the night and Ethan and I suck on her little nipples.

In real life, I haven’t touched her. I’ve resisted every impulse to visit the pizza place where we met her. I’ve done everything I can to forget. But in my fantasies? I’ve corrupted this girl millions of times in millions of different positions.

“Right,” I say, struggling to get my heartbeat down to a normal rate, “so the first portion of the semester will be dedicated to personality disorders. Let’s get right into that, shall we?”

Personality disorders. Obsessive thoughts. I’m a sick man. Who better to teach mental disorders than the guy battling demons of his own?

* * *

Maisie

Chance—oh, excuse me, Professor Wexton—is just as handsome as I remembered him. There’s perhaps more gray at his temples than there was when I last saw him, but in all other respects—his handsome face, his fit build—he remains the same.

I’m just as much in danger of dropping my panties for him now as I was five years ago.

And I’m not the only person in this lecture hall who thinks he’s a hottie. I hear whispers from the other students, both men and women, who find this guy attractive.

Five years. I wonder if Chance and Ethan think I forgot about them. But five years isn’t a long time at all for a girl with fantasies like mine.

My linguistics degree wasn’t all I’d hoped. The avenues I want to pursue mostly involve education and teaching. So I’ve been working my tail off, waiting tables at Pepperoni Palace and tutoring international students in academic writing while I start a new program to get my Master’s in education. And when my advisor told me it would be wise to take a few more courses to round out my degree, my decision had been easy, albeit slightly reckless. Psychology. That’s the department Chance and Ethan work in.

He sees me. I see him see me. And the expression on his face—confusion, hope, relief. Lust. Our connection is still there. It hadn’t been my imagination, that day so long ago. They had wanted me very much, both of them. After a couple of years of licking my metaphorical wounds, I finally realized they hadn’t lied about a thing. Ethan’s erection had been very real. Their excitement, their sinister plans, those had been real.

My age had been the obstacle. I didn’t hit their weird-ass requirement of age twenty-five.

Guess who’s twenty-five now, bitches?

Dressing like a sexy schoolgirl is perhaps taking this too far, but I needed to get a reaction.

I’ve gotten reactions from some of my friends, that’s for sure. My usual attire is either a comfortable skirt and a t-shirt, or jeans and a university sweatshirt. My buddy Bradley saw Mina and me arrive on campus today and he wolf-whistled loudly enough to catch the attention of everyone within a mile radius.

“Bradley, hush,” I’d said.

“You’re hot, Maisie.”

“Everyone’s hot to you, you slut,” I said, and we laughed.

Mina, next to me, frowned. She didn’t like it that I’d gotten changed right before we left. I swear, she tries to coordinate our outfits sometimes. It’s weird, but we grew up weird, and I don’t want to make her feel bad by calling attention to it.

Chance resumes going through the syllabus and he doesn’t look up more than a few times throughout the rest of class. Each time he does, his gaze slides right past me. Did I piss him off? Good. I plan on torturing the man, and Ethan, just like they tortured me, getting me all riled up for a spanking they never delivered.

The hour and fifteen minutes is up. He dismisses the class. I gather my things, but I don’t linger. I don’t plan on throwing myself at the guy. I did that five years ago and it didn’t work.

Besides, I have an hour for lunch, and after that? I get to take Intro to Psych with none other than Ethan Carlisle.

I liked that look of surprise on Chance’s face.

I can’t wait to see how Ethan reacts.

* * *

Ethan

Five minutes until my next class, I’m doing last-minute preparations to my notes. I’m not as organized as Chance. Or maybe I am, but I’m constantly reworking everything, struggling to make it more efficient. It makes me appear disorganized, but there is a method to the chaos.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Chance: I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour. Call me.

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