Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

“Pen, I love you, ride or die, would follow you into the very fires of Mordor and all that shit, but we’re not having a moment.” “Why?” “Because you’re making shit up.” “Why?” “Because Blomqvist fucks.”

Computational biology is a piece of cake (even if Dr. Carlsen’s perennial glower is a little unsettling).

“No! Luk, she is it. She’s the sandwich.” He sighs. I don’t follow—then I do. Sandwich. Sub.

This is fucking hilarious.

“I just thought it would be nice if we could all—” “Be happily paired with our government-mandated fuck buddy?”

“Come on, Luk. I know you think she’s hot. You said so.” Silence. “And I see the way you look at her.” A buzz of unease bursts in the back of my skull. “How do I look at her?” “You know how.”

I can be brave. I can be anything for noodles.

Same.

“Maybe the elephant’s just…blindfolded?” He nods slowly. “And tied up.” “And doing as it’s told.” He looks like he might find that more appealing. “What a good elephant.”

“Come closer,” he orders. Lukas stopped a step behind me. I turn and frown up at him. “Why?” “Because I just asked you to, Scarlett.”

The thing is, I love reading Mafia erotica as much as the next girl with daddy issues, and my attraction for fictional guys making scenes in iconic, over-the-top ways is among my most virulent traits. But jealousy is born less of love and more of insecurity. And it intrigues me, the way Lukas obviously cares about Pen without being possessive of her.

The subject line just reads What you need. The body: If you decide to go for it, I think it should be me.

“What I like is being on the couch feeling my atoms rot as I succumb to entropy.”

Same.

I’m starving, but my walk to the athlete dining hall is slow, because I’m busy writing an email to one Dr. Olive Smith.

Scarlett: Do you really want to be reminded of my computational superiority that often? Unknown: I do. I have a thing for women who are smarter than me.

“Collecting archetypes is my passion.”

I’m just not in the mood for this. And by this, I mean the way Lukas looks at me, like he can see the little crumpled-up piece of paper tucked in a corner of my head, the one where I wrote down my secrets. Like he could easily flatten it and read every last word.

I sip on my beer, trying to avoid creating fanfiction of people’s smallest facial expressions until I’m certain that they despise me. If only googling whether someone hates me were a possibility.

Me af.

“Why are you embarrassed about this?” I groan. “Maybe I just don’t want to shovel more fuel into some guy’s already overactive hubris furnace?”

“Come on, Scarlett.” His mouth twitches. “You know who I want to have sex with.”

I don’t get to finish that sentence. Because Lukas Blomqvist takes a long step, pushes me into the wall, and kisses me.

”Anyway,” she says, “while we’re on the matter of horny and pervy…as you know, I, too, have taken a lover.” I wince. “Terrible phrasing.”

“Good girl.” I close my eyes. Dissolve into the gratification of knowing that I’ve done something right. The simple pleasure of pleasing someone.

“Right now, you just want to be a mouth, huh?” I push past the lump in my throat. “I think I do.”

He pulls out. Another groan. A deep inhale. He caresses my cheek gently, sweetly, like his cock is not dripping precome on the side of my mouth. “I’m going to teach you the way I like it. You want to learn, don’t you?”

“Eyes up here, Scarlett.”

Yessssss

I gasp. He smiles. “And you know what girls who did good get?”

“You’re really wet, Scarlett. Aren’t you?”

“You did so well. You deserve to come. I would love to make you come. I would pay a not insignificant amount of money to go down on you. Though you could probably come just from this.”

“You are so fucking good,” he tells me. I’m not sure how, but a handful of moments later, I come again. “Already? You are perfect, huh?”

“It’s like I made you up in my head, Scarlett.”

“Even if it’s just sex, it’s not a good idea for me to be with someone who resents wanting me.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t immediately process what happened. I felt out of control, and panicked. I acted like an asshole. I put my own fear before your feelings, and that’s…the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever done, without a doubt.”

“You can take some more. My good girl.”

🥵

“Too much?” he asks. I nod, a little desperately. He halts, pulling out a bit. Instant panic spreads through my stomach. I didn’t say stop. I didn’t ask him to stop. We agreed that he wouldn’t— “That’s too bad,” he says, his voice at once mean and fond, like he contains every multitude I’ll ever need. “Since you’ll take what I fucking give you.”

This wrecked me.

My entire body tightens around him, around his words, and I think that maybe I’m—“Oh, sweetheart. Already? Just from this?”

“We’re gonna have to train you to come a bit more silently, Scarlett. In the meantime.” His hand wraps around my mouth like last time, and my brain swims. Yes. Yes. Is it sick that I like it this much, knowing he controls my ability to breathe and scream?

Wrecked. I look absolutely wrecked. I look like I’m something that belongs to Lukas, something he handled with strength, something used in precisely the way I asked for in that damn list. No more, no less. Brought to the edge and no further.

He looks at my naked body, at what he’s done to me, like I’m some kind of Olympic medal. Hungry, proud, eager.

“Not this time.” His teeth close around my earlobe, a threat, a mean little warning. I moan. “Quiet. You’ll take what you’re given and thank me for it. Won’t you, baby?”

🔥🔥🔥🔥

“Scarlett, if I want you showered after we fuck, I’ll do it myself. Okay?”

“Hey,” I say mildly, “if you can’t handle me at my xenoglossophobic worst, you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best. What’s m…that word?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” My belly swoops at the endearment. His tone lives somewhere between sympathy and amusement. “If you don’t think that I’m very aware of your presence, always, you have no idea what’s going on.”

“I’ve made you cry plenty of times.” “It’s different—” “Is it?” “—and you just have a dacryphilia kink.”

“But they’re sides of the same coin. I get to take you apart and split you open—but if anything else, anyone else makes you feel sad, upset, cracked, I also get to be the one who puts you back together. Until you say stop. You get it?”

“I’m starting to suspect that you don’t understand a single fucking thing, Scarlett.”

“Scarlett.” Another slap—less firm. To get my attention. “What do you do if you want me to stop?” “I—I say stop.” “Good girl. Should I stop?” I shake my head like my life depends on it, wondering if I’ve ever wanted anything more.

“I fuck you because you’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever felt, Scarlett.”

“Are you doing something fun on Thursday?” He frowns. “Thursday?” “Thanksgiving.” “Ah, right. I always forget that you Americans celebrate that.” “Yup. Mid food and colonial violence. It’s our thing.”

“What’s a good luck troll?” “You know. Those little creatures who watch over us and bring good fortune.”

“Safe travels, Scarlett,” he says hoarsely. His pupils are blown wide. “Keep in touch. If you want to.”

You're the one who is coming out of a fresh ass breakup with her friend. Text her first.

“You’re fucking adorable, Scarlett.” He tilts my chin up. Another kiss, this time on the tip of my nose. “It makes me want to wreck you.”