Rug Burns (Reviving Haven Book 2) Read online

  His body became tight and his penis began to quiver in my hand. It literally came alive. It felt firmer and the veins more defined. I suddenly sensed power. Everything I was doing was causing him to succumb to me. I would almost be willing to bet Mike would do anything if I took him in my mouth right now. And I did. I groaned as I slid him between my lips. The sound I made vibrated against him, and he pushed in farther. I hoped he hadn’t expected me to swallow his penis. It hit the back of my throat. My fingers flirted with his balls as I closed my eyes and repeated what I’d done to my banana.

  Mike didn’t taste bad. I was really doing this. I almost wanted to do the happy dance—if his penis hadn’t been in my mouth.

  Shit. No one mentioned when you gave a BJ, the finale included stuff shooting out. Gross. It tasted salty and thick in my throat. Kind of like mucus when you’re sick. Mike was pumping into my mouth nonstop. How much crap was there? I felt like I’d swallowed a gallon. Was it okay to ingest this shit? Apparently.

  Brandi hadn’t bothered to tell me about this. I could understand why. I might have had second thoughts if I knew a thick, phlegm-like substance was going to be in my mouth. I tried to pretend it was something else. The only thing I could compare it with was my mom’s lemon meringue pie. I loved lemons—evidently bananas too. But that stuff on the top—meringue—reminded me of nasal discharge. I always put that down the garbage disposal. I hated the texture in my mouth.

  Mike finally stopped and pulled away. He was breathing heavy and his cheeks were flushed. I grabbed my soda and took a long drink. I really wanted to spit. Badly. But girls didn’t spit; it wasn’t ladylike. I have a newsflash: neither is sucking a boy’s penis, but it had been kind of cool.

  “Wow, you’ve done that before, haven’t you? That really felt good. Can we do it again?” Mike asked, excitement filling his voice.

  Again. Really? As much as I enjoyed it, I was kind of over him. “Nah, can you take me home?” I asked, scooting over toward the passenger door and furiously sipping my soda.

  “Louisa, I kind of thought we could hang out a while longer. What you did—that was fucking amazing. You seemed to like it. Can’t we do it again please?” He was actually whining.

  Putting a boy’s dick in your mouth equals fame and power. Good to know.

  Oh my God. Wait a minute.

  Mike was a big man on campus. There were slogans in the girl’s bathroom about how good he was. I wondered if my remarkable talent was now going to be etched on the wall in the boy’s bathroom. Best way to advertise. I’d also read about how big Mike’s dick was. They weren’t wrong about his size, but I also didn’t have anything to compare it to—yet.

  I found out in the next twenty minutes he’d never done anything. He was as inexperienced as I was, although I kept that little ditty to myself. The only other person to fondle him besides me was himself. In retrospect, that was a good thing. His expectations were low, so sucking him earned me an A-plus. It appeared that grade was going to give me a popular reputation. It might be bad with the girls, but the boys would adore me.

  My mom had always told me, “Your words have power.” She had no idea. It wasn’t the words. It was my mouth. I was tired of being the smart, nerdy nobody. The girl who had nothing to offer but red hair, dull skin, and no boobs. I’d rather be known as a slut. A whore. At least I’d be known for something I had talent for.

  “Can you take me home now?” I nonchalantly asked Mike, as if I had better things to do. I smoothed down my shirt and pulled out a pink glossy lipstick Brandi had given me. I slid it over my lips as he watched with anticipation. For a minute, I thought I saw drool.

  “Really? Come on, Louisa, just one more time. Please.” He was begging.

  I felt fierce. Strong. Desired. Special. And most of all, he wanted me. He was actually pleading. I felt a surge go through my body as I recognized what an opportunity this was. This single night was going to transform my future. It was going to change me forever.

  “No. Just take me home. Maybe some other time. And, Mike, if you ever want your dick in my mouth again, just know I’m not going by Louisa anymore. It’s Weezie now.”

  3

  The last two years of high school were amazing. I had friends. I even had a few boyfriends. But mostly, I had experiences. I held on to my virginity as if it were the key to the pearly gates. If I had to be honest, I wasn’t saving it for the one. Mostly, I was petrified. After my first experience giving head—yup, now that I had about twenty under my belt, I had quite a vocabulary for putting a dick in my mouth—I wasn’t going to trust Brandi anymore to tell me the truth about sexuality. She tended to sugarcoat things, and I wanted to know what to expect so I didn’t look like a dufus.

  I actually had a clique of girls I hung with. One episode of putting a dick into your mouth and you became the “it” girl. Casey was my go-to person when I wanted the actual truth about all things sex. She was the resident slut. I’d read about it while I was peeing in the girl’s restroom. Evidently, she’d opened her legs to so many boys she had to track them via a computer spreadsheet. She showed it to me once. My only thought: impressive.

  She gave me the skinny on virginity and the lack thereof. It gave me chills just hearing her talk about it. The way she described it sounded painful and not all that pleasurable. I guess all that bullshit about bells ringing and fireworks was a crock of shit. I supposed that’s why people waited until marriage or some token hot guy. If you were going to be bleeding and writhing in pain, it should be because of his royal hotness.

  I had absolutely no desire to have sex. But I enjoyed getting guys off. It not only made them feel good, but it gave me a rush too. I wasn’t thrilled with the ejaculating in my mouth, and Brandi had told me I never had to swallow. She claimed it had too many calories. Never mind it tasted like ass most of the time. But now I found out it could make me fat too? She gave me options. Either have them pull out or spit.

  For some reason, though, it really didn’t seem fulfilling if I didn’t follow through to completion. If I psyched myself up, I always managed to swallow. Sometimes the taste wasn’t that bad, and sometimes it was downright nasty. Breath mints became my number one investment. Depending on the dick, I ate one before or after. And if one wasn’t handy, I tried to pretend it was something else.

  Brandi had gotten me a fake-bronzed spittoon for my birthday. Ha-ha. The way I was going, it might be needed in the future.

  So even under peer pressure, I was content with my sexuality the way it was. I didn’t deem it necessary to rid myself of my V-card just yet. No, I wasn’t waiting for that token hot guy; I was stalling. At some point, I would get to it, but I didn’t have it on my bucket list. Or my to-do list, the one I made for college. I figured I was going to be the only virgin, and possibly, I could use that to my advantage. I knew eventually I would have to give up the goods. College wasn’t high school. Those boys would be men. And I knew I was only postponing the inevitable.

  I met Haven Wells when I was a freshman in college. It was by sheer luck that we even ran into each other. I’d only been on campus for a few weeks; I hadn’t even gotten a dorm mate yet. The college was co-ed, so I hoped for an opportunity to bunk with a hottie. There was also the distinct possibility I’d have some creepster. Actually, having the room to myself was great. I could bring back boys and not worry about some Bible-thumping, chastising roommate who would counsel me on my wicked ways and threaten me with burning in hell. I’d already met the purity group on campus. I didn’t tell a lie. I told them flat out my hymen was intact. Of course, I left out the part that I’d been blowing the opposite sex for two years.

  One Friday night, I’d been invited to a frat party. Booze and boys. Woo-hoo! I dressed accordingly. I had no idea if it was all of the dick I’d been sucking or the come I’d been ingesting, but I’d filled out. I had curves and boobs. My mom had been right. Bless her heart. Let’s just say my C-cups runneth over. My skin was now soft and smooth, and I’d been going to a salon for the la
st year. My hair had waves, not clown curls. I’ll go out on a limb and say I looked sexy. I might not have been a ten in the looks department, but when word got out I had special skills, I became a twelve.

  At this particular party, evidently no one wanted a blowjob. They wanted to get laid. Sure, they would take the BJ as foreplay, but what they really wanted was virgin pussy. Seriously! That must have gotten out too. Did this college and the fucking frat house have some master list of virgins?

  I leaned up against the far wall, “scouting” the troops. I saw many possibilities, and if I continued doing shots, those prospects would grow. By the end of the night, I wouldn’t be too picky. No, I didn’t feel like a slut, but I thought like one. I wasn’t going to apologize to anyone just because I enjoyed sucking cock.

  “Hey, Weasel, you wanna play quarters with us?”

  I looked up at some random guy wearing sweatpants and a college logo shirt. “It’s Weezie, you asshat,” I replied with a smirk.

  “Whatever. We’d love you… to join us.”

  How cute. They thought they had to get me wasted first. I chuckled to myself. I looked over at the table with a slanted smile. Oh, this wasn’t going to be bad at all. There were at least eight of them, and three were gorgeous. Even though my eyes stayed fixated on their cocks when I was doing them, occasionally it was nice to have that erection attached to a visual feast. And there were many I expected would taste delicious covered in chocolate and smothered with whipped cream.

  I moved away from the wall. That’s when I noticed her. Now, I normally never checked out chicks. I was strictly a penis woman. But there was something about her. A sadness. A shyness. She looked younger than most of the students here and lonely. This girl reminded me of myself just two years prior. She was pretty enough, but her clothes appeared to come from Plain Jane Monthly. Black baggy sweatpants, a heavy white sweater, and black flats. I cringed. Jesus. This girl definitely had assets—somewhere. Her clothing was obviously sizes too big, and she wore no makeup and—holy mother of pearl—she had no jewelry on.

  Her eyes slanted as she caught me staring.

  “Hi. Want to join us for an intellectual round of quarters?” I asked, winking.

  She gave me the onceover and appeared unsure of my real motives. “Umm… I’ve never played. Sorry,” she murmured as she kept her head down.

  I walked over to her. “Hey, no worries, sweetie. Quarters isn’t a game of aptitude; it’s more like line of sight. Think of it as horseshoes for alcoholics. By the way, I’m Weezie, and I like penis.”

  She looked shocked. I mean her cheeks went bright red and she seemed to allow the wall she was leaning against to swallow her. “I thought I’d get that out in the open. I’m extremely candid. I’m a no-holds-barred kind of gal. Come play with me. I need an ally against these perverts,” I said as I noticed her body language begin to relax. “Come on. What’s your name?” I asked, grabbing her hand.

  “Haven. Haven Wells.”

  We ended up playing sixteen rounds of quarters.

  I didn’t really like beer. It was an acquired taste. And I hadn’t acquired it yet. Haven agreed, even if she never said a word. The squishy look on her face every time she had to drink told me everything. By the end of the night, I was relatively buzzed, and she had a slight wobble to her walk.

  The guy I’d chosen for the evening was nice enough to go with us when I walked Haven back to her dorm. She lived on the other side of the campus, and I heard her mumble something about her roommate being Satan’s whore. Once we got her settled into her room, I went with Jeff—the flavor of the evening. He spent a good portion of the night begging to get into my pants. Once I had his dick in my mouth, he settled down.

  It’s amazing what sucking cock can achieve. It’s like a Xanax for the male sex drive. Oh, their dick stays hard—how could it not in my mouth—but the rest of their body relaxes. Well, until they come. Then it’s like Mt. Vesuvius—an eruption on a historic scale.

  4

  Haven and I became good friends. Eventually besties. Even though she was younger, she had a maturity about her. She had taken her SATs and gotten early admittance to college because she was smart. She’d come from a small Colorado town. Ironically, probably the only two virgins in this school had found each other. Within one month of that frat party, she became my roommate. We fit together well. Except for my constant oral adventures. She absolutely hated when I would go into detail about my nightly escapades. She was hilarious. Every time I mentioned the words cock sucking or blowjob, I swear that girl would blush to her roots. Her fingers would go directly into both ears, and all I could hear was, “La-la-la,” as she tried to expel the images from her head and the words from her ears.

  We finally made an agreement. Oral sex from here on would never be referred to as cock sucking, a blowjob, a hummer, skin flute, deep throating, or even fellatio. It would be forever known as a puff chore. I was okay with that. Anything to make my BFF comfortable. Of course, I would NEVER repeat that word ever. To a single man. And I tried not to even let it cross my mind while I was doing it. I always ended up giggling, which men loved. The vibration I created always made their bodies shudder against mine. It was exhilarating the authority I had with just my mouth and tongue.

  Haven was an odd creature. Extremely pretty but quiet, reserved, and virginal. I still had my V-card, but at least I had sexual experience. A ton of it. She’d only kissed two men in her life and virtually had no other knowledge. Oh, she was intelligent when it came to current events. But street smarts—forget it. She could’ve been a hot librarian, but she wanted to be a writer or work in publishing. My roommate loved to read. And from what I could tell, most of it was all smut. I’d been looking for aspirin one afternoon when I flipped open one of her books. Good God, it was set a trillion years ago, and the sexual language, well, that by definition was fucking hilarious. Actually, I could see why women read this shit; it kind of turned you on. Not me. I needed my balls and cock actually attached to a man, not a page.

  My roomie had a vibrator. Not too much shocked me, but when I found the egg-shaped phallus—my jaw dropped. Haven had issues, but she also had carnal desires. She just needed coaxing out of her shell. Normally, I wouldn’t bother since I had a tight schedule between school and my extracurricular activities. I liked college. I enjoyed studying, mainly business. True, I didn’t have to work and most likely would never have to. My trust fund would kick in soon, and of course, my beloved parents had high hopes I would meet my prince at college, marry, and have babies. Just the thought made me break out in cold sweats. But the icing on top was having Haven. I’d never really had a best girlfriend. In high school, I’d always had friends that were girls. Brandi and I had been close, but we never shared much aside from sex tips.

  I spent my first year trying to alter Haven’s appearance. I knew there had to be a smexy—smart and sexy—girl underneath that atrocious wardrobe. She actually dressed worse than I did in high school. Someone helped me, so now it was my turn to pay it forward. My bestie didn’t want to put her goods on display. When I finally saw her in a pair of leggings and a tight knit sweater, I almost passed out. My roomie had tits, bigger than mine. I introduced her to cosmetics and jewelry. I told her those two items would change everything. Haven was more interested in her classes and reading than partying. Which was a shame because sometimes I could have used a “wing woman.”

  I met Harold in one of my business courses. He was well dressed, well mannered, and smelled good. The only reason I didn’t ask him out was because he looked a little to cut and dry for me, but for Haven, he was perfect. It took some convincing, but she finally agreed to meet him. I think the fact that he was a reader cinched the deal. I could only imagine how the date would go. I had high hopes for her coming home deflowered, but witnessing her when he came to the door—zero chemistry between those two. I’d even “undressed” her appropriately for a first date.

  “I can’t wear that. Are you crazy, Weezie? That top loo
ks ten sizes too small,” Haven yelped, rolling her eyes.

  “It’s actually two sizes smaller, and that’s the point. Makes the girls look huge. Just remember, you never get a second chance to make a first impression,” I quipped.

  “And that impression should be slut queen from whore central?”

  I chuckled. Only she would be convinced a short skirt and tight shirt would make her look like a whore. “Hey, watch it! Those are my clothes you’re talking about.”

  “I rest my case,” she replied as she shook her head. “I can’t wear this. Crap, I’ll look like a hooker.”

  “Well, fuck me. In less than sixty seconds, you’ve referred to me as a slut, a whore, and now a hooker.” I chuckled. “Exactly how am I supposed to take that, Haven?”

  “You know what I meant, and by the way, if the shoe fits—”

  I wagged my finger in front of her face. “Hold that thought. Your date is here. And put the hooker shirt back on,” I said as I shoved her into the bathroom, tossing the shirt in her face. I could hear her huffing and puffing as I closed the door.

  I went to let Harold in. I scanned him up and down. He looked different. There was something off about him. Fuck. So maybe Haven wouldn’t notice. She had no experience in dating, and besides, they’d probably talk about books all night. No use waving a red flag in her face. Besides, tonight would be educational for her.

  While Haven and Harold went on their date, I planned to watch some television, consume a lovely pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and get to bed early.

  It was almost nine when someone knocked at the door.

  Joey Miles. The walking, talking icon of the lacrosse team. Damn, he was pretty, even wearing a multicolored cast on his right arm. I’d heard he fell while skiing and broke it. Poor baby… Kissing it would certainly make it feel better, if not for him, for me. So here he stood, with me in a tank top, braless, and baggy sweatpants carrying a bowl of Cherry Garcia. Why was he here? We didn’t run in the same circles. I mean, yeah, I knew who he was. Who didn’t?