Nicole woke up from sleep like a woman drowning in honey—slow, sticky, her limbs weighted with exhaustion that went bone deep.
The white nightgown she’d slipped into sometime after midnight clung to her curves, thin cotton doing nothing to hide the dark shadows of her nipples or the soft triangle between her thighs.
She was naked beneath it, skin still flushed and sensitive from dreams she couldn’t quite remember, still, could feel ghosting across her flesh.
The apartment smelled of coffee with a buttery scent as Jack stood in the kitchen doorway, leather jacket already on. Usually, that means he’s going with the boys to the bar afterwards.
He looked unfairly good for seven am, stubble darkening his bruised jaw, eyes soft with that particular concern he saved just for her.
They had decided against going to lectures today; she had hoped he’d spend the day with her. Even if it meant doing nothing but watching TV.
Yet it seems he has other plans. She didn’t have the energy to object, despite.
"Good morning, beautiful." He said, voice low and rough with sleep. "Croissants and coffee for a fresh morning."
Nicole pushed herself up on her elbows, the nightgown slipping off one shoulder, pale skin catching the white sunlight filtering through sheer curtains.
"You’re leaving already?" she said with a tired tone, but there was no irritation behind it.
"Uhh... the boys said we should hang out sometime in the bar next to campus."
"At seven in the morning, Jack?" she gave him a puzzled look as she bit into the croissant.
He moved towards her and knelt at the edge of the counter so their eyes met. "I won’t be late, just a few day drinks and giggles, and I will be back before evening." His hand found her bare knee where the gown had ridden up, thumb tracing slow, maddening circles on her inner thighs.
"Alright, beautiful?"
Nicole didn’t say much, just leaned into his touch, her own hand coming up to cradle his bruised jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble against her palm.
"Don’t be late; we haven’t been spending much time lately..."
His eyes dropped to her mouth, then lower, to the hard peaks visible through the cotton. His hands slid higher on her thigh, fingertips grazing the edge of where she was bare and warm.
"I’ll be back by three max," he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed her ear, his breath hot against it sending shivers down her spine. "You should wear this more often."
Nicole giggled a little and nodded. He was gone shortly after.
Nicole lit her cigarette on the balcony overseeing the campus, the flame trembling slightly in her fingers. The buildings sprawled beneath her, where the students rushed to their classes. The cold wind of the early morning breezed hard against her bare skin, but she didn’t care.
She’d remember the endless nights Clara spent with her on this balcony; they’d share cigarettes exactly like this as they talked through all the gossip happening around campus.
The memory of Clara laughing, her head thrown back, sharp and alive, and most of all—opinionated, arguing about books and politics and which wine to buy in the city. Now, she existed in the periphery of Ethan’s world, eyes glazed and fixed on him, laughing only when he laughed.
Nicole’s vision blurred, one tear escaping her eyes, tracking down her cheek, hot against the morning chill. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, angry, and watched the smoke dissipate into the gray morning sky.
Down below, past the parking lot and across the narrow strip of green that separated the dormitory complex from the university grounds, a figure moved with predatory purpose.
Even at this distance, Nicole knew that walk, the way heads turned around, without seeming to notice.
Ethan.
He’d cornered a cluster of girls near the humanities building, their silhouettes small and doll-like from a distance.
They looked like freshman students, judging by their excitement at this hour of the day, going to their eight AM lectures with coffee cups clutched in their hands and dressed all fancy like attending a party.
Her nose wrinkled slightly with disgust at the sight.
She watched the scene unfold in front of her with disdain, Ethan’s hands moving as he spoke, casual and charming. They slowly dispersed one by one, called off by phones or schedules, or simply the natural conclusion of a stranger’s conversation, leaving a single figure behind.
A brunette, Nicole thought, or maybe a redhead. Hard to tell.
She stood rooted while Ethan leaned in and said something that made her shoulders soften, her head tilting slightly.
Then his hand was at her elbow, guiding her towards the small brick building tucked behind the oak trees of the campus garden, the public restrooms.
Nicole’s stomach twisted. She took another drag of her cigarette and threw it, watching it fall down to the concrete below.
When she looked back, she couldn’t really see them anymore.
"How does he keep getting away with this?" she sighed to herself.
She walked back inside, her feet bare against the tiles. She slid the glass door shut behind her and realized she had completely left the coffee unattended; it’s cold by now.
"Ugh, whatever," she muttered.
She stood at the foot of her unmade bed, the sheets still rumpled from sleep. She felt a sickening spiral churning in her stomach, and she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.
She pressed her palm against her abdomen, trying to steady the tremor there, and felt the muscles flutter beneath her nightgown.
Disgust...it has to be disgust.
The thought of that girl being led into the bathroom by that absolute incel, she thought, was disgusting beyond comprehension.
Clara had shown her the video of Ethan fucking Mira in the stalls a long time ago. She remembers vividly the size of his cock and the way it moved. It looked nothing like anything she has ever seen.
Without thinking, her hands drifted lower, her breath hitching before she even made contact.
Through the thin cotton, her fingers found her heat, the slickness gathering while she watched from the balcony.
She was soaked, embarrassingly, traiorously wet, her body responding to the images and videos she had seen of Ethan.
She never took him seriously; the only reason she accepted a date with him was to have something to entertain her and Jack. The poor boy thought he had a chance.
He isn’t a poor boy anymore, is he?
"Oh god," she whispered to herself.
She pushed the nightgown up, bunching it around her hips, and looked down at herself.
Bare, flushed, and glistening.
Her middle finger traced a slow, experimental circle through her folds, spreading the crystalline liquid of her arousal, her hips bucking involuntarily at the contact.
She doesn’t recognize it and won’t admit it. But she knows she cannot ignore it either; Ethan can no longer be ignored.
Her finger pressed harder, finding her angry clit, circling with the same methodical rhythm jack had used on her before. She sank onto the edge of the mattress, legs falling open, soft moans cutting through the silence of the dorm.
She wondered, at that moment, whose hands she imagines instead of hers. Jack...or Ethan?
Jack...or Ethan?
Jack....or.....ethan?
She didn’t want to think about that anymore.
She was jealous. The word finally surfaced, ugly and undeniably jealous.
The thought should terrify her, she knows. But with the build towards her orgasm, sudden and fierce, coiling tight in her belly, her fingers started working with more frantically.
She chased the obliteration she knew awaited her if she simply stopped fighting.
"Please," she gasped to herself.
Her pussy exploded with her teeth sunk into her lower lip, her back arching off the bed, and the image of Ethan’s cock ingrained in her mind.
"Ohhhh~"