"Heeeyyy, girl."
I glanced at the open door of my dorm room. I was folding my laundry, humming to my music, basically spacing out and having a fine evening.
"What do you want, Steve?" I muttered as I turned back to my clothes. He was propped haphazardly in my doorway and he looked drunk. Technically, we were underage, but that never stopped half the people I knew. I was in the other half and a little judgmental if I was being honest.
"Just sayin' hiii, jeez. Don't have to be a prick." He took a few steps into my room. "Why're you always so uptight, anyway?"
I rolled my eyes. Steve was usually fun and friendly if a bit arrogant. His room was a few doors away; we lived in co-ed dorms. We weren't close, but we hung out with the same group of friends.
"Leave me alone. You're drunk." Alcohol made him an asshole. One of the reasons I didn't drink -- I liked myself as I was, thanks.
A few seconds later, his shirt landed on my clothes. I scowled and picked it up to throw it back at him.
And blinked, staring at his bare chest.
Fuck, he was hot. His face was a little too broad to be handsome and he wasn't pretty, but he was fit. More than fit. I knew that already -- the muscles on his arms were obvious. I'd just never seen him shirtless before.
My stomach tensed and heat gathered between my legs. I tore my eyes from his abs before I started counting them.
He was smirking at me. "Keep the shirt, baby."
I scoffed and tossed the forgotten piece of clothing at him. He ignored it, just kept leering at me. I pointedly went back to folding my clothes. "Sleep it off, Steve. I can smell you from here."
The alcohol smell grew stronger. His hands were suddenly on my waist and his body against my back. I felt a bulge at my tailbone. My spine tingled, and another rush of heat poured into my core.
I jerked my elbow into his stomach. "Stop it. You want everyone to see you being a drunk perv?"
He grunted and stepped back, glowering and rubbing his gut. "Bitch. I'm just messin' with you."
He walked to the door. Good. He had never been that aggressive before. And my body had never responded to a guy that quickly before.
The door closed. Then clicked again -- locked. And he was still in my room.
I frowned. "What are you doing?"
He stalked toward me. I backed away. My legs hit the edge of my bed, and I stumbled, falling to my butt.
He leaned over me, his hands on the wall. "Maybe if you loosened up now and then, you wouldn't be such an ice queen." His eyes dropped to my lips, my breasts.
I was trembling slightly. "Steve, you're scaring me."
He grinned, then leaned down further, cupping the back of my head before pressing his lips into mine. I gasped.
His tongue dove into my mouth. He tasted like whiskey and coke. I licked his tongue as the fire low in my stomach flared higher and warmer. It wasn't the first time I'd thought about kissing him. Maybe he wasn't the hottest guy at first glance, but he was attractive, even, or maybe more so, with that arrogance.
His hands fell to my shoulders, and I let him push me down as he climbed on top of me, our lips still smashed together. The alcohol on his breath was making me feel drunk, or maybe it was the high of lust. I ran my fingers over his arms, his sides, his chest -- every inch of those muscles I could reach.
He growled into my mouth as he similarly explored my body -- brushing the curve of my neck, grazing my collarbone, then squeezing a breast. His warm hand slipped beneath my low-cut shirt and mauled my flesh. I moaned and arched my back as he rolled my nipple in his fingers.
No one had ever touched me like this. Steve had never shown any interest. That he was groping me while was drunk did bother me some, but not quite enough to want him to stop. He felt good -- his tongue swirling in my mouth, his hand massaging my tits, even his bulge pressing against my thigh was flattering.
