One Hot Fall Term (Yardley College Chronicles Book1) by Sharon Page

me.
    “The concepts are not that different.” He says it coolly.
    “Chess is a game that’s about victory,” I point out. I’m feeling uneasy. Yeah, I’ve thought about being tied up. I have some pretty weird fantasies. Are they related to my past? I don’t know. Would I want it for real?
    I think about doing it with Ryan. My heart hammers; heat washes over me. I feel a throbbing in my pussy, and I know I’m getting wet. All because I’m thinking about being tied up and having Ryan whisper roughly against my ear that he’s going to make love to me until I scream—
    I shift in my seat and sit my coffee, trying to cool down.
    “There is no victory,” Jonathon says. “But it’s a game of strategy, of patience, of rules and skill.”
    I’m still not sure. Jonathon strikes me as a guy who likes to win.
    He tips his drink to his lips, swallows. “You and Lara are both judging me and I want you to see the allure before you reach your verdict.”
    “Maybe, but your conversation should be with Lara.”
    “You’re open-minded, willing to explore.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “What if your boyfriend wanted this?
    “He doesn’t.”
    “How do you know? Just because he hasn’t asked doesn’t mean this isn’t his thing. It just means he wasn’t willing to talk to you about it.” Jonathon shrugs, an elegant shrug of his broad shoulders. “I like to be honest. Most men don’t.”
    That unsettles me more than I want to admit. I have things—many things—I would never tell Ryan. And some of them are my kinkiest fantasies. Even if he knew everything about my past, I would never reveal the wicked things my brain can invent. But to Jonathon, I say, “Then I’d deal with it. Maybe, if I loved him, I’d be willing.”
    “Mia, I would really like to take you to my club.”
    “I have no reason to go,” I say. “I’ve got to get to class.”
    My next class, at 11:30 is First Year Architectural Studio. I end up in the room full of drafting boards that I saw from outside. I’m late, having argued with Jonathon about kinky clubs. There’s an empty board in the corner of the room near the door. All the others are claimed. I suppose that one is going to have to be for me.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    The next email comes at the end of the week. It’s a picture of Lara and me walking to the residence cafeteria on a grey evening, sharing an umbrella. We both wear bright colored raincoats—mine teal blue and hers is scarlet, and she’s holding an umbrella of sunshine yellow over us. The rest of the scene is blurred.
    I want to delete it right away. Obliterate it. But I stop. Maybe I’ll need it to give me some kind of clue. Why would someone take our picture, send it to me, and write nothing about it?
    To stalk you , my brain says.
    But still, why? What’s the point? Just to prove he’s watching us? Is it to scare me since the emails are addressed to me? Or is Lara the target of this guy’s creepiness? Lara is gorgeous and I can understand a guy being obsessed with her.
    That day, after getting that second email, I decide to stop running by myself even in the early evening. In fact, by Saturday morning, after I have nightmares of being attacked in the dark, I decide I am not going anywhere on campus where I won’t be surrounded by people. I toy with showing the two emails to campus security. But what are they going to do? It’s not a crime to send my picture to me. In some places, cyber bullying is considered a crime, and my high school was covered with posters warning students not to sext or post naked pictures. But this can hardly be described as online torment, and I suspect Security won’t do anything. What can they do?
    I warn Lara to be careful. She agrees with me about informing Security—this guy hasn’t done anything wrong yet.
    But I’m getting the paralysed feeling I remember: I’m tense with fear all the time, fearing that something bad is going to happen to me and I don’t know when it will happen