This is the stupidest fucking thing you have ever seen. Side stepping three giggling girls, sitting on the large steps leading up to the sun porch of the Rho Nu Zeta fraternity, you struggle through the gaggle of wasted youths at the door, searching for your friend.

This is not your idea of a good time. Your idea of a good time is curling up with a glass of wine and a paperback, whiling away the hours in your dorm room. But your best friend loves parties and you agreed to go with her to one. Unfortunately she had to choose the night that Georgia Tech won some huge sporting event which everyone seems to find very exciting. You aren't even sure what sport is in season right now.

Standing on your tip toes you try to find your friend but she is nowhere in sight. You look down at your cell, but know that if she is in here somewhere, she's never gonna hear her phone ring. Why did you come here again?

You push your way through the crowded entry hall, making your way into the large living room which is absolutely crammed with people. Numerous drinking games are going on around the room, all of which are being played by people in various stages of inebriation. You're just about to turn to leave when you hear a soaring yell, much like that of a battle cry.

Startled, your eyes move to a set of three boys who have just jumped up on a table, standing tall over the cheering crowd. Your breath catches in your throat when you see him standing in the middle, laughing and pointing down at someone in the crowd.

"Alright BITCHES," a giant oaf of a boy in a letterman's jacket yells and the crowd quiets. "These two brothers have issued a challenge. Mr. Trace Ayala here has challenged Mr. Justin Timberlake to a Shotgunning competition!"

You wince when the horde goes wild, the two men on the table basking in the praise. Your stomach flops as you watch him smile a little embarrassed, digging his hands deep in his pockets, looking at his feet scuffing at the top of the table.

"Alright BITCHES!" Lettermans Jacket says again, handing up three cans of beer to both men. "You have to shotgun three in a row, first one to finish WINS."

Rolling your eyes a little, you turn to escape but you notice that the room has become so crowded it would almost be impossible to leave, no matter how badly you wanted or needed to. So you stay put, turning back in the direction of the action. You might as well watch if you're going to be stuck for the duration of this little "competition."

Your eyes fix on him as he plunges his hand into his jeans pocket, pulling out his keys. He selects a single key, holding it between his index finger and thumb, gripping the rest tight in his palm. The three beers wait in his other hand, stacked in a small pyramid and ready for consumption, his long slender fingers wrapping around the expanse of the bottom two cans with ease. Damn.

He grins anxiously as some of his brothers begin to chant his name, "Jus-tin! Jus-tin! Jus-tin!" and he nods his head a bit to the rhythm of their encouragement, pursing his lips in a cocky manner. You laugh a little as you recall that same face looking absolutely clueless in your poetry class as the teacher discussed imagery, diction, and tone. You hadn't thought about it before you got here, but now you can also remember always seeing him sporting his "PNZ" tshirts in class, and you might have been a little more excited about venturing out tonight just at the mere prospect of running into him had it crossed your mind.

Ok, so you have a small crush on him, but who could blame you? He's never this cocky in class, always speaking in a gentle tone, and never speaking unless called upon, although you're not sure if that's because he's polite or because he has nothing to say. But he always surprises everyone with his writings. The teacher commends him for his "sound and sense," "song and story," and his gift for the "technicalities of rhythm." "These would make great songs!" she always praises him after a reading, and he smiles shyly. You've never seen a cocky grin like the one he's wearing tonight, but it turns your insides just the same as that polite smile he gives in class.

He steadies the beers between his hands, fumbling them a little as he leans over and sets them at his feet, choosing one of the three, clutching it in his hand as he returns to standing. Readying his key at the side of the can he waits for the signal, rubbing his lips together slowly in anticipation as the crowd counts down, "THREE! TWO! ONE! GO!" and he punctures the can with his key, lightly spraying the front few rows with beer before pushing the can to his lips and popping the top to release the liquid into his mouth.

You gasp a little as he throws his head back and to the side, his neck straining, throat sliding up and down under his tight tanned skin as he sucks and swallows quickly. His lips are open and pursed against the side of the can, his cheeks slightly sunken in from the suction inside his mouth and your face flushes hot at the thought of those lips on you…sucking. God you know he has to suck so fucking good.

He finishes the first can, gasping for breath just slightly, his face flushed from excitement and lack of air as he reaches for the second can and repeats his delicious assault. You watch stray streams of liquid cruise down from the sides of his mouth, running damp courses down his chin and strong jaw, over his neck before soaking into his tshirt, wetting it around the neckband. That burning in the pit of your stomach begins as you envision your tongue grazing across his skin, capturing the drops of alcohol greedily before they can reach the fabric.

The swarm of students in the room begins to cheer and holler in the final stretch. Two girls beside you scream out "suck it, baby!" and make obscene gestures as they giggle and swoon over the two men atop the table. A slight pang of jealousy hits you as you realize what a coveted item this gorgeous man is. You're just hoping maybe he'll recognize you from class and chat you up a bit tonight, even if he doesn't want to take you up to his room when the party is over, although you would neither mind nor object.

You're hot and bothered before he even starts on his third and final beer, his long fingers gripping the can tight as he guzzles the contents hurriedly. More beer is missing his mouth now as he desperately sucks at the can, the liquid slipping down the smooth skin on the inside of his forearm in tiny rivers from his wrist to his elbow. You lick your lips instinctively as you see his flexed bicep sneak out from the short sleeve of his tshirt when he lifts his elbow farther, tipping his head back to finish the beer before snatching it from his open mouth and waving it overhead victoriously just seconds before Trace can finish. A small strip of skin peeks out from under his tshirt, just above the waistband of his boxers as he raises his arm upward. Fuck you want to see him naked.

The crowd of spectators goes wild and you giggle as Justin does a small victory dance atop the table, throwing his empty beer can out to the mercy of the mob of drunken onlookers. He raises his arms overhead triumphantly, taunting Trace a bit before throwing an arm around his shoulders, "it's ok guys…we all know Trace was a little thrown off by his position. If we woulda been on our knees, he woulda beat me hands down at sucking!" Another roar of laughter erupts and Trace punches him playfully, pushing on his shoulder, "shut the fuck up!"

His laughter is captivating as the volume in the room returns to a dull roar and the music is turned back up, the floor bumping a bit with the bass of the song. He jumps down from the table and is received in the room with high fives and smacks on the shoulder. "Fuckin right man!" his brothers call out as they congratulate him, and there's that laughter again, smooth and deep from his chest, and it sends a warm rush over your body.

You open your mouth to say something as he brushes past you, his eyes meeting yours for just a second, but you can't find the words. Dammit. Damn it all to hell, why do you have to be so socially awkward? But he turns suddenly, unexpectedly, and you're looking right into his face, mouth still open, but your eyes widen a bit now. Deer in the headlights. Wow, you must look really cool.

You snap your jaw closed, swallowing hard and trying to still your insides as you tremble under his gaze. "Hey, you're in my class right?" he furrows his brow, narrowing his eyes a bit to look at you quizzically, trying to match your face in his memory. Yes! Hell fucking yes I am! You sit in the row beside me, one desk forward from mine, and you asked to borrow a pencil one day. It's me! It's me, Mere!! You cheer on the inside, but not a word escapes your mouth and he looks at you for a long second, turning his head, waiting for your response.

You finally snap out of it, cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment. "Oh! Yeah! I mean, uh…yes. Yeah I think so…Justin, right?" you play dumb, but you know his name forward and backward. His face softens and he cracks a crooked smile at you, and it takes everything you have inside to keep from swooning right in his face like some lovesick teenager. Shit he's gorgeous.

"Yeah, Justin. And you are…wait don't tell me…" he grins at you, shifting his eyes and taking his bottom lip between his teeth. You appreciate that he's honestly trying to fake like he knows your name and can't remember it at the moment, so you stand there and wait just to appease him, knowing that he'll never-"Meredith?...yes?...maybe?...am I close?"

Sweet fuck. He knows your name.

"Uh, yeah! Wow…I can't believe…I mean, yeah. Yeah, you're right." You just smile at him, no sense in admitting how shocked you are that he knows you. A new found confidence washes over you. He knows your name. What a great start. Now you can chat him up throughout the night if you run into him, and maybe even…oh god maybe he'll start to talk to you in class now. Maybe he'll want to study together. Maybe you'll sit with him on his bed and talk about homework and then maybe he'll just lean over and kiss you one night. Or maybe things will go farther than that.

"Cool…well I'm glad you came out tonight! Have a good time, alright?" and with that he turns, disappearing into the room, a trail of girls not far behind. A few of them give you glances over their shoulder and you stand your ground, staring the bitches down and trying to look confident. But you sigh and slump your shoulders a bit once he's out of your sight. That's it? Have a good time? But you shrug it off and wander the house aimlessly trying to find your friend, secretly hoping to run into Justin again soon.

You take a slow lap around the living room, pushing your way past people and between people with a polite "sorry" or "excuse me," and when you come up empty handed on the friend front, you shuffle into one of the side rooms of the house where there are two ping pong tables set up. Beer pong. Your eyes scan the room quickly, taking in the posters, the lit up "Miller Draft" sign hanging on one of the walls, and what appears to be a large tournament-type bracket that reads "PNZ Beer Pong Championship" at the top. Silly boys.

That familiar laughter fills your ears suddenly and you stand on your tip toes to look over the crowd and see Justin positioned at one of the tables, partnered with Trace for the game. It looks like they just started.

"C'mon kids…let daddy show you how it's done…" he rolls his head around, loosening his neck, shaking his shoulders as if he's preparing for a fight. He exhales loudly, stilling himself in position, elbow bent and in line with his shoulder, his hand moving forward and backward slowly, smoothly, aiming across the table for one of the ten red cups. He narrows his eyes a bit, tilting his chin down and his tongue sneaks out to lick across his full bottom lip, his face displaying deep concentration. His arm extends in one fluid motion and hangs in midair as the ping pong ball zips across the table and plops swiftly into one of the cups.

The table is lined with kids watching, and they all cheer loudly as Justin sinks the shot and the cup is removed from the table. You find yourself pushed up to the front, hips pinned against the side of the table, and you can't help but clap along. Your eyes meet his and he gives you a little nod of recognition, smirking a bit, and you grin at him like something crazy. The game continues back and forth like this, the audience groaning or cheering depending upon a hit or a miss and before long you're really getting into it, rooting for Justin and Trace of course. Well, mostly for Justin.

Sometimes he looks over at you and gives you a little wink when he makes a shot, and your stomach turns inside and you blush as you take your beer up to your lips and sip it slowly to hide your smile. Some girls across the table have seemed to catch on to this innocent flirting, well you hope it's flirting, but regardless of what it is or isn't they are giving you questioning glances and whispering amongst themselves.

When you notice that the game is almost over you make a brave move and inch your way down the table towards Justin. Maybe he'll talk to you again if you're standing right there next to him. I mean, why not? He's a polite guy, that's what polite guys do.

"Well hey there!" he greets you just like you had hoped, and you grin at him, butterflies tickling your stomach.

"You're pretty good at this…" you bend in towards him so he can hear you over the music, but really you just want to be closer to him. God he smells good.

He chuckles a bit, running his tongue along the inside of his mouth and sweet Jesus above…you want that tongue in your mouth. You want it in your mouth. And down your neck. And on your legs. And between them.

Fuck.

"Yeah, this is what I do when I'm not writing poetry," he jokes, and winks at you again. God that wink. It sets your thighs on fire and soaks your panties in an instant. You giggle at him a little, he's so fucking cute you can't help yourself.

"You know we have that test coming up…maybe we can get together and study or something?" you're trying to put the idea in his head, but you don't want to scare him off. But he's not really giving you his full attention at the moment anyhow. The game is winding down and he just wants to clutch the win.

"Huh?...Oh yeah, sure." He grins at you, but you're not going to hold him to the loose promise because he probably didn't hear you to begin with. Just as the game ends, you sigh and turn away to leave, chalking up the conversation as finished, but he grabs you suddenly at your elbow. "Sorry I was just trying to finish up the game. I didn't mean to seem like I was ignoring you," and all is forgiven. He glances down at your cup which is now almost empty, "I'm gonna go grab a drink…you want another?"

"Sure," you shrug a little, trying not to seem like you care too much, but inside you're squealing at how nice and attentive he's being. This is better than you ever could have hoped during all of those days you spent staring at the side of his face for an hour, just wondering what he's like outside of the classroom.

You follow him out of the room at a snails pace, weaving through all of the people until he finally tosses you a look over his shoulder, "wait here, I'll be back," and he disappears ahead of you.

You stand in the middle of the crowded room, looking around for a second and suddenly you're feeling kind of awkward. You hear giggles from a group of girls standing near, sorority girls, that same group from across the table earlier and your neck and ears flush in slight embarrassment and insecurity because you know they are probably talking about you. In an attempt to shrug off the bad vibes, you turn your back to them, pulling out your cell phone to check for missed calls before sliding it back into your pocket, hoping that Justin returns soon.

Then suddenly you're knocked hard, purposefully and as you turn you see Taylor Camden, sorostitue extraordinaire looking down her nose at you. And then you feel it, cold and wet, sliding down your neck and all over the front of your shirt. You look down, watching your white tee turn yellow from the beer that is now making your shirt transparent, exposing the flesh color of your bra.

The drunken horde around you backs up, laughter flaring from all sides and it's just you and Taylor in a circle of onlookers. Your eyes are scanning the faces now, embarrassment and panic making time go slow, your breathing hitching and you force back the tears.

"Oops," Taylor says, bringing her hand to her mouth in mock astonishment. "So sorry…um…who are you again?" Her face goes from playful to cold in an instant, the room silent aside from the music still blaring through the speakers. "Oh that's right you're nobody. I've seen you following Justin around all night, just trying to get him to notice you. And that pitiful bout of game you tried to spin on him about your poetry class . Please!" She laughs and you can hear the crowd around your snigger. "Like he would ever get with some nerdo loser like you."

You're just staring at her, fists clenched at your sides, nails digging painfully at your palms, forcing back the tears. Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears, mortification making you hot to the point of being unbearable. And then you hear it, loud and sure over the thumping bass of the stereo, his voice.

"Jesus Christ Taylor you're such a fucking bitch!"

It came from behind you and you drop your eyes to the ground, chest heaving, mind panicking. This is not happening to you right now. This cannot be happening. You jump when you feel two large hands, wrap around your upper arms and his cologne invades your senses before you feel him step up close behind you.

You gasp slightly as his breath ruffles the hair next to your ear, before you hear his voice, soft and gentle. "Its okay, come with me and I'll get you something to wear."

His hands slide down your arms, one grasping your hand as he tugs you back. You keep your eyes on the ground, watching his shoes move across the floor as he pulls you through the crowd, hearing him yell, "Shut the fuck up!" to anyone who catcalls him or laughs at you.

He takes you upstairs, the music muffled now but still wafting through the floorboards as he leads you down a long hall and stops in front of a closed door with various bumper stickers adhered to it. You both step inside and he lets go of your hand to walk into the room.

You finally raise your eyes, surveying the room. There were two beds, each tucked into the far corners of the room, one for him and one for his roommate. It is kind of messy, both sides of the room having papers and clothes strewn about. But that was really where the similarities ended. One bed was a rumpled mess, the bedside table holding nothing but an iPod docking station and a notebook, posters of various bands and musicians adorning the walls. The other bed was half made, the covers thrown haphazardly over the mattress, the bedside table holding textbooks and a lamp, posters of swimsuit models and playboy bunnies looking down on the bed.

"Yeah, please disregard the scantily clad women," he says chuckling sheepishly, and you see him glance at you over his shoulder as he rummages through the dresser. "Trace is a fuckin' perv."

You laugh a little, just watching him pick through the drawer. Your eyes travel from the top of his curly head down the smooth, tanned skin on the back of his neck, across the breadth of his shoulders, the green fabric of his shirt stretching tight down his back until loosening around his slim waist. Your tongue snakes out to lick your lips as your eyes travel down to his ass, the loose denim of his jeans barely giving you an outline.

You need to say something. He already said something so now in accordance to social rules and modern custom you are to say something in return. Your brain races a little but it is ultimately blank. Shit…

And then your mind is battling with itself. Come on Mere say something! Anything. Talk about the weather… no don't talk about the weather! talk about football! No don't do that. You don't know anything about football. God he's hot. Tell him he's hot. DO NOT TELL HIM HE'S HOT!

"I think this is the smallest one I have," he says and you jump a little at the sound of his voice. You look up to see him pulling out a bright red t-shirt with the greek letters of his frat emblazoned across the front. "It's still probably gonna swallow you whole but it least it's not covered in beer."

He holds it out to you and you step towards him to take it, realizing that you had been standing awkwardly in the doorway the entire time. He smiles at you encouragingly as you reach your hand out, fingers brushing his as you take the shirt.

"Thanks," you say softly, looking down at the balled fabric in your hands. "I'll get it back to you."

"Nah don't worry about it," he says, waving your words away. "It's too small for me anyway. I still haven't quite mastered the art of laundry." He chuckles softly and you can't help but smile at him.

"It's tricky," you concede and he grins, nodding.

An awkward silence descends on you and you both just kind of look around for a moment, searching for something to say.

"Hey, look," he says sighing and you look up at him. "I'm…I'm really sorry about this…about what Taylor did and…and what she said." He shifts uncomfortably and you can feel your cheeks flame.

"Oh…um…no worries," you say, laughing a little uneasily. "I'll just…um…use your bathroom and change into this snazzy little shirt you let me borrow," you say opening it and shimmying it at him, making him laugh a little…god you love his laugh. "And hey," you say, surveying it. "Its red! It'll match my face perfectly."

He laughs louder this time, crossing his arms over his chest nodding.

"Yeah, red is a nice color for you," he says, reaching out, smudging his thumb across your cheek. You both freeze. "Um…I mean," he says dropping his hand and stepping back, bumping into the dresser behind him. "Ow," he whispers looking back at it, offended and rubbing his elbow. "What I meant was you look good in red. Like that red sweater you wore the other day. It looked nice on you."

Your eyebrows raise and you think your heart skips a beat when his eyes widen and a blush climbs up his neck, reddening his ears.

"Not that I was like, watching you or, like, paying attention to what you wear. I mean that would be gay," he laughs a little, shrugging it off but his shoulders are tense. "Which I'm not!" he adds quickly and you actually giggle at him and he breaks into a chuckle. "Yeah I'm gonna stop talking now."

"No," you say smiling at him. "I like it when you talk." And now it's your turn to blush and his turn to raise his eyebrows. "I mean like you have interesting stuff to say in class. And your poetry is very good."

He laughs openly, leaning back against the dresser, looking at his shoes. "Thanks. I think it makes me sound like a douchebag, but I'm glad you like it."

"Oh no!" you exclaim, shaking your head and he looks up at you smiling a little. "I really liked the one about taking it from here."

"Oh man!" he exclaims, hiding his face behind his hands. "That was just a bunch of lame ass pick up lines."

"It was cute though," you insist smiling and he reappears from behind his hands, grinning at you sheepishly. "You're good at it."

"Naah," he says shaking his head and looking at the floor again.

"You are!" you say, smiling, and then, because you want to hear him laugh again, adding, "Okay maybe not as good as you are at beer pong but pretty damn close."

He throws his head back and you think mission accomplished . He sighs bringing his head forward again saying, "I have many talents."

"Oh I bet you do," you say and both your eyes widen a little at your candor.

He just looks at you for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face as he tilts his head to the side. He pulls his plush bottom lip between his teeth, reaching out to tug on the hem of your soaked t-shirt.

"I think we should get you outta this," he says and you fight a gasp as the backs of his fingers brush your skin just lightly as they clasp the fabric. "You're all wet."

You grin up at him, saying, "well, you could say that..."

His face registers shock and you give him a coy smile, biting your bottom lip a little, worried that maybe you took it a little too far.

"Well…ah…" He shifts awkwardly, looking down, chuckling a little and you melt inside, before he brings his eyes to yours, a confident look on his face as he says, " Are you now?"

You pause for a moment, thinking. You are not this girl. You don't just come upstairs at a party and fuck some guy . But then you smirk, grabbing hold of the hem of your shirt and bringing it over your head, relishing in the astonished look on his face. You could be that girl for just one night… plus he's not just some guy.

His eyes are drinking in your curves, your skin still damp from the alcohol. His tongue sneaks out to wet his bottom lip and you almost come right then.

"Why don't you find out for yourself," you say, softly and his eyes snap to yours.

For a moment you think you've been too forward, his eyes simply locking on yours, silence enveloping you. But then you hear him growl a little and suddenly his hands are on you, pulling your body against his, lips crashing into yours.

You gasp a little into his mouth as his hands cup your face, holding your head steady as he nips at your bottom lip before kissing you deep, tongue sliding in hotly. He slides one of his legs between yours and pulls you hard against him, pressing his thigh against your center and his growing hardness into your hip. You moan into his mouth as little shocks of pleasure race through you, pressing yourself hard against him, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers fisting in the curls at the base of his skull.

"Oh fuck," he gasps, pulling his mouth from yours, panting as he grips your hips, pressing you hard against him, his head falling back a little.

You take the opportunity to press your lips to his throat, tasting the beer that had dribbled there earlier in the evening. You feel his adam's apple bob as he swallows hard, long fingers splaying across the bare skin of your lower back. You shiver, nipping at his pulse point, still grinding your hips slowly against his.

Your hands roam his chest, tweaking his nipples through his shirt and you feel his vocal cords vibrate in a groan, exciting you further. Your fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, skimming up the bumps and grooves of his abdomen and over his smooth broad shoulders, feeling his tummy quiver a little, hearing him hiss. You curl your fingers, dragging your nails down, scraping his nipples lightly on your way down and suddenly his hands are curling around your upper arms, detaching your lips from his neck.

You look up at him, watching him tear his shirt over his head before grabbing you and pulling you against him again, mouth claiming yours. His hand slides around your back and you gasp a little as his fingers flick open your bra effortlessly, feeling him grin against your lips. He pulls the sodden material away and the cool air against your dampened flesh hardens your nipples to an almost painful state.

His large hands cup each heavy globe, flattening his palms against them, massaging slowly. You moan, a zing of pleasure shooting down between your legs, a wave of heat rolling over you. You make a pleasurable sound in your throat when he rolls your peaks between his fingers, his lips sliding across your jaw and down to your neck.

Your hand goes up cupping the back of his head, feeling his lips hum against your skin. You briefly wonder if he's moaning from you or from the taste of the beer that was spilled on you but when he presses his hips harder into you, feeling him solid and wanting in his pants you know that this is all for you.

You slide your hand across his neck and down the slope of his shoulder, fingertips tracing down his chest and stomach before undoing his belt. His mouth leaves your body, watching you flick open his fly, easing the zipper down. You reach in, cupping him through his boxers and you can hear him panting now. You are not doing this right now. Seriously this isn't happening. Jesus Christ he's gorgeous. You know what you wanna do don't you? But you can't…

He's pushing his pants down now and you release him as he slides his jeans and boxers to the floor, kicking off his shoes impatiently before shaking the material from his ankles. Your hands are on him again and he moans as you give him a little stroke. Come on you want to. Just do it.

"Can I?" you ask quietly, and he looks at you questioningly. You lick your lips and give him a squeeze, watching his eyes flutter before widening slightly.

"Um," he says, swallowing hard. "Please."

You bite your lip dropping to your knees in front of him. Your tongue snakes out, flicking at the tip, tonguing the slit and tasting salt. He collapses back against the dresser with a thump, a low groan issuing from his throat. You feel his fingers thread through your hair, applying a light pressure. You oblige by opening your lips just enough to let him slide in, sucking hard, listening as a string of expletives fly from his lips, fingers fisting in your hair, pushing you down harder. You bring your lips back up, teeth grazing his shaft lightly and you feel him quake. You take him in again, your tongue swiveling around him the best you can, letting him hit the back of your throat before sliding back up again.

"Fuck, Mere, Jesus…" he moans and you look up at him as your lips slide down again, to find his head lolling back, mouth slightly agape.

You smile against him and he moans a little looking down at you. You watch him as you come back up slowly, keeping your lips around the head, sucking lightly as your flick your tongue against him inside your mouth. One of his hand grips the dresser hard as his other pulls your hair, making his dick fall from your mouth with a pop.

He has you by the arms again, pulling you up before his hands make quick work of your jeans, sliding them and your panties down your hips. You grip his shoulders to keep your balance as you kick them from you legs and you gasp when your feet leave the floor, his strong arms lifting you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding on as he just stands there and looks around, making a small "hmm" sound as he surveys the room, bottom lip captured between his teeth. He glances down at his bed and then at you before finally making a decision and sitting on the edge, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.

He's pinned between your body and his, laying hot and heavy against his stomach. God this is gonna be good you think as he reaches into the drawer of his bedside table, fingers slipping into a box of condoms and plucking one out. You take it from him, tearing it open and he watches you as you slide it on for him, humming a little, breathing hard.

One hand grips your hip, situating you over him as his other hand rubs himself in your wetness. You moan, feeling the head pulse against your clit before sliding back to your entrance. Your hands grip his shoulders, waiting for him to penetrate you but he doesn't, just holds himself there at your opening. You look at his face and he's grinning lopsidedly at you, tongue snaking out to wet his bottom lip. Fucking tease .

You moan a little, brushing your nose against his, begging silently. He nuzzles back, pressing his mouth to yours as he slips in and you press down and down and down, your lungs screaming for air, your body screaming for more of him.

"Holy fucking god," he moans, ripping his mouth from yours, hands gripping your hips, pressing you down hard onto him and you feel him throb deep inside you.

"Come on, Justin," you say quietly, and then in a bout of daring you add. "Fuck me."

His eyes widen a little, cocking his head at you and raising an eyebrow. Shit…fuck me? Way to be a whore, Mere. But the thought is chased away immediately when he grins at you, propelling himself off the bed and you hold onto him tight, squeal turning into a moan as your back hits the wall and his cock presses harder into you.

"Okay," he says lowly, lips brushing yours, spreading his legs a little as he guides your legs around his waist. "Hold on."

You grip his shoulders tight as he pulls out and pushes back in slow, drawing a ragged sigh from your throat. He surges back in and you moan, at the jarring shock of his body hitting that spot deep in you, groaning as he pulls out again torturously slow, feeling every inch of him leave your body.

"Oh god," you moan as he pulls out completely, pressing against your clit again before slipping back in.

"How do you want it?" he asks thickly against your ear and you feel your cheeks flame.

"Mmm," is your response as he strokes in and out slowly.

"Tell me," he moans, breathing hitching. "I wanna know how you like it."

"Guh," is the most you can get out as he presses against that spot inside you and holds steady.

"Come on," he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip. "Don't be shy."

"Please, Justin," you moan, nails digging half moons into his shoulders.

"Please what?" he asks, pulling out a little and pressing slowly back in. "You said it to me earlier…god I thought I was gonna pop right then…tell me again."

Shit what did I say. You can't really remember because shit all you wanted was him inside you. You just wanted him to fuck you. Oh yeah…

"Fuck me, Justin," you whisper, your cheeks pinkening a little as the words leave your lips.

You hear him growl against you, his head dipping to nibble at your shoulder as he pulls back and slams back into you, his hips setting a pounding rhythm that has you dizzy. You're moaning loudly now, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you with each bone crushing thrust. He's hissing and grunting against your neck, teeth nipping at your shoulder every now and then, sending shocks of pleasure zipping through your system.

"Tell me, again, tell me," he mumbles as his hips speed up a little and the burning in your stomach intensifies.

"Fuck me, Justin," you spit, all shyness gone now, your body begging for release.

"Ugh again," he moans, slamming into you so hard your teeth rattle. Shit, you're so close.

"Oh god," you moan, your thighs tightening around his hips.

"Please, Mere, please," he groans, his breathing hitching,

"Fuck…" you moan, feeling your body sucking at him, just waiting to clamp down and he whines against you.

"Pl - oh fuck - please," he moans, burying his face in your shoulder, his body rolling hard into yours and you know he's on autopilot now.

"Justin…" you breathe, and you're so close…so fucking close, "Fuck me!"

Your vision goes black then and for a moment you think you've passed out, until wave after wave of intense pleasure tightens every muscle in your body, wringing you out as you cry his name, clawing at his skin. His hips slam hard into you one last time, shouting out as he holds steady inside you, his entire body shaking with his release.

Silence. All except for the thumping bass in the floorboards and the patterns of your breathing as you both lean slumped against the wall, the weight of his body keeping you from sliding to the floor, a heap of defeated limbs. You take your legs down from his waist slowly and he pulls out, letting you slide down until your feet plant on the floor, knees shaking, his body still pinning you against the wall.

His lips stumble upon yours as he catches his breath, kissing you once, and then again before letting his forehead drop to your shoulder as your head falls back against the wall, his back expanding and falling under your hands to the rhythm of his breath.

"Holy shit…" you breathe out the words and he chuckles, his shoulders shaking slightly. He finally lifts his head and runs a hand over his hair, sighing audibly before casting his eyes to the floor, searching for his clothes. And just like that, it's over.

You both dress quickly and he walks you downstairs, pretending not to notice the glances that are thrown at you as you parade down in his fraternity tshirt. It's not exactly the walk of shame, but you're sure it fits into the category somewhere.

Fuck, for you…it's the walk of fame !