“You said your last test is May fifteenth, the ticket is for the twentieth. You’re staying in San Diego for the summer, right?”
I bite my lip and nod a couple of times as Gatsby slides his finger between the elastic of my panties and touches my already soaking slit. I jolt but contain my expression. Every evening, this man does something forbidden while I have my daily video call with my parents. By now, I can keep my face stoic and my voice almost steady.
If computer science doesn’t work, I might have a career as an actress.
I try to kick Gatz, but he holds my legs in place while pushing two fingers inside me.
Deep.
So, so deep, I can’t help but open my legs for him and hold on to the table so I don’t fall.
My breath becomes shallow, and then, I sober up when my father speaks. “Maia, are you paying attention to us?”
“Of course, I’m paying attention, Papi. You have my ticket for M-May.”
“Are you okay, mija?” Mom asks.
I nod. It’s almost impossible to talk when my boyfriend’s thumb circles my clit in a torturously slow motion while two of his fingers thrust in and out—fucking me.
“Of course, I’m okay.” I swallow hard.
Mom nods, satisfied. “How are your midterms coming along?”
I hold the table tighter, gulping down a breath as Gatsby keeps tormenting me with his fingers, his mouth. He’s about to send me to the edge, make me come so hard that my screams will be heard all the way to Europe. I’m trying to hold still, but it’s almost impossible.
My traditionalist parents would be very disappointed in me if they realize what’s happening under the table. They’ll be dragging me back home if they learn that I lost my virginity last September—it was my boyfriend’s twentieth birthday. We spent a romantic weekend on Tybee Island.
They’ll hate knowing that we have sex several times a day. We sleep in the same bed almost every night. They wouldn’t approve of our relationship at all.
Dad will buy a chastity belt, throw me in my room, and ground me until I’m thirty. Since I’m not planning on dealing with the consequences of Gatsby’s actions, I look under the table and mouth, Stop it.
Gatsby gives me a wicked smile. Not only that, he dares to pull down my panties while giving me a challenging glare.
“Stop,” I whisper.
“End that call.” The commanding low voice sends a wave of heat through my entire body.
I’m getting close.
So close.
“Are you okay?” Mom’s voice makes me hit my head on the table.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
Gatsby winks at me. “It’s okay. I have enough love for both of us.”
And I melt.
Getting under the table and riding him would be ideal, but I restrain myself and go back to my conversation. The one I plan to end soon so I can go back to my boyfriend.
“Are you okay?” Dad asks, giving me a suspicious glare.
“I thought I saw a cockroach under the table, but it was a wrapper,” I lie.
Mom touches the bridge of her nose. “Where are your glasses?”
“In the nightstand.”
“You should wear them all the time. That’s why you think that your trash is an animal. Clean the studio.”
My studio is clean, Mom. My boyfriend is a neat freak.
I almost roll my eyes, but I don’t. “Si, Mami. I’ll do that this weekend.”
“If you have a pest problem, call the management company. They’ll take care of it,” Dad reminds me.
“I can squash bugs, Papi, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
And just because he can, Gatsby pushes my legs wide, dipping down. I feel his breath against my wet center. When he swipes his tongue against my clit, I shiver. Pleasure rising like a tide of euphoria. His mouth is so good, my breathing is becoming ragged. If I don’t end this video call now, they’re going to hear me come.
“I don’t want to cut this short, but it’s time for me to go back to studying. Say hi to Tiggy and Cee-Cee for me.”
Dad glares at me. “We barely spoke. Your sisters plan on saying hello after they finish their homework.”
“Maybe you should give me one of those things called…cellphones. I could text even if I’m in class.” My parents are thrifty. They don’t like to spend on superfluous items. Someone should tell them that landlines are becoming obsolete. It’s been almost a decade since the last century ended.
“We’ll see,” Dad answers. That’s his polite way to say, no.
“I’m sending you a care package tomorrow. We made polvorones.”
“Thank you, Mami.” I wave, ending the call and closing my laptop.
Pushing my chair away from the table, I spring out of the chair. “What is wrong with you, Spearman?”
He’s still on the floor, grinning. “Have I ever told you that you taste delicious?” The dirty boy licks his lips and sucks on the fingers he had inside me a couple of seconds ago.
“You’re a wicked man. If my father knew about this”—I point from me to him a couple of times—“he’d kill you and ground me forever.”
“Your parents love me.”
“No. They liked you when we met you because you helped us carry the boxes and furniture while moving. You were also charming.”
“I’m still charming.”
“They’d stop liking you the moment they learn we’re dating, and once they learn we’re…doing it, well, they’ll hate you.”
He gets out from under the table, and I notice the silhouette of his hard length pushing against his shorts. “I hope you know we’re not having sex tonight.”
“But I just got started, and you’re so wet… I think you’re ready to ride me.” He gives me a sweet, pleading look. “It’s our lucky charm. We have sex, and we pass tests with flying colors.”
I can’t remember when he decided that he’d fail if we didn’t have sex the night before an exam.
Like he needs an excuse. We’re humping each other every chance we get. I’m not complaining, but he should at least own that.
Crossing my arms, I give him an unamused look. “We have a presentation tomorrow, not a test.”
“It’s sixty percent of our grade,” he reminds me, and suddenly his smirk appears. “You know what we should do? Move this party to my apartment. Your studio is cute but small.”
I give him a defeated glance. I’d agree if my parents were different, but they’re overbearing, and I can’t disobey them. This might be the day they call me or… I don’t want to tempt my luck.
Gatz automatically takes me into his arms. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. It’s soothing. Though I want him to finish what he started during our call, I can just stay here, in his protective embrace.
“Can we go to my place?” he insists.
“Nope. If they call and I don’t answer, I’m doomed. If they catch me out of my studio after eight, my parents will drag me back to San Diego—immediately.”
“I think you’re exaggerating.”
“You don’t know Mom and Dad.”
“I’ve met them. They’re lovely. They’d know me better if you didn’t hide me every single evening. It’s a pain to keep quiet when this place is so small.”