Making Dean's List

My breathing is labored as I make my way across campus to the natural science building. I lost track of time while working on a new art project. I am not looking forward to this stupid fucking biology course. I hate any math and science classes. I despise that it's a required core class for my degree program. I mean, when would a professional artist ever use stupid ass biology? I am so frustrated! I didn't need this stupid fucking class. I never did well in anything that wasn't related to creativity. I stomp my way down the hall in my worn-out classic black Chuck Taylors and throw open the massive door to the science laboratory. My world tilts on its axis as our eyes collide, I feel lightheaded, and the room uncontrollably spins.

"Close the door and take a seat. You're already late, so no sense in holding up our first lab group meeting of the semester," the bane of my existence growls at me. I thought I had escaped him. Hell, I had even done my first two years at a community college near our home so I wouldn't have to breathe the same air as this arrogant asshole on campus. He gave me a "well" look before averting his gaze and continuing on the lesson like I was the bad taste in his mouth that he couldn't wash out no matter how hard he tried. I walk to the vacant seat next to Patricia, a quiet art major that I consider somewhat a friend. His eyes dart over to me, drinking in my appearance with disgust. Or sexual want? I can never tell with him. I roll my eyes at him, grasping a paintbrush out of my paint-splattered denim short overalls and using it to twist my sweaty, sandy blonde hair into a messy bun on top of my head.

I am so fucking hot. Not in the make a lot of money as a twitch Thot hot. But, the miserable triple-digit weather kind of hot. I mean, it's hotter than a jalapeno's coochie in July outside, type of heat. It's the middle of August in Alabama, meaning the end of summer is always a scorcher. I peel my sweat soak white crop top away from my chest, trying to fan myself with it to cool down my overheated body. He watches my movements with something similar to hunger, hatred, or the latter in his eyes. My nipples pebble under my sweat-drenched crop top from the heat of his gaze. I pull out a spiral notebook from my backpack to doodle to kill time as I ignore everything coming out of the mouth of the biology teacher assistant at the front of the lab. I become so engrossed in my drawing that I don't even realize today's lab is over until Patricia begins packing up her belongings beside me.

I grab my things to leave, but the menace teaching the class turns in my direction coldly, stating, "You were late. So you need to stay. You miss twenty minutes of important information that you will need to pass this course." I roll my eyes, flopping down on the uncomfortable metal stool and kicking my dirty shoes onto the counter to grind his gears. Once the classroom has cleared, the tension between us heats the whole classroom, making it feel like I'm in a sauna with multiple sumo wrestlers. My biology TA pushes my legs off the counter, making me almost fall off the stool. He parks his ass on the corner of the counter, smirking at me as I scramble to keep from falling off the wobbling stool. His eyes roam over my filthy appearance with a deadpan expression, making me feel like we're back in high school. I shrink into myself, feeling self-conscious. I'm so obsessed with my latest project that I can't remember the last time I showered. My long greasy, sweaty hair is tangled into a bun on my head, my arms are covered in paint, and my clothes are dirty and barely cover my body. His roaming gaze finally makes it up to my eyes, staring at me like he's trying to see my soul. The jackass smirks again, mocking, "If it isn't runaway, Ro. I see you still look and smell homeless, even after all these years."

"Nice to see you too, dickhead Dean. You should be nicer to me, big brother. I'm sure mommy wouldn't appreciate your last comment to me," I retort, watching rage fill his beautiful dark chocolate brown eyes. Fucking Dean. The bane of my existence. We know every way imaginable to get under each other's skin. My eyes perused over his beautiful, chiseled face and lustrous wavy dark hair, and I drank in his sexy athletic frame that not even a crisp button-down and dark slacks can hide the muscles he packs. Damn, Dean is sexy as ever! If I had on panties, they'd be soaked just from Mr. Dean Archer breathing the same air as me.

"Pick up your jaw. You're drooling. Also, I am not your brother. Not even by marriage. Just because my mother likes to drag trash off the street as pet projects don't make us related," Dean callously tosses in my face, invading my space, and towering over me with his over six-foot frame. Dean is the same ol' asshole. Yet, I'm not the same fifteen years old foster kid placed in his home for him to secretly bully. Dean is correct, though. We aren't related. We were foster siblings, but his mother always encouraged us to act like "real" siblings because she always wanted a daughter. I give him a small goofy smile knowing how much my sibling comment gets under his skin and drives him fucking insane. Our eyes clash. His are dark rage-filled slits, and I can feel the anger wafting off his big frame.

"Oh, please, with the small dick energy you give off, I am far from drooling over you, big brother. I'm not one of your little cleat chasers fawning over you and dropping to my knees to suck you off, whenever and wherever. Is there a real reason you're holding me after class," I question, hopping off the stool and realizing just how much bigger Dean is compared to my barely over five-foot frame. But I learned many years ago that bullies smell fear, and I won't give Dean that satisfaction even if my heart is pounding out of my chest. Yet, it isn't from fear as my hot wet core clenches between my thighs. Dean stands in the way of my exit like an unmovable boulder.

Before I know it, I am pinned onto the counter with Dean pressing into my back. I huff out a breath as I feel his big hands palm my ass before his finger inches into my leg hole and toys with my aroused, swollen slick folds. Dean elicits a whimper from my lips when his thumb pad gently strokes my engorged clitoris as he slides his finger into my soaking wet pussy. I can't help myself; I clench around his finger and try to push back to thrust onto it to chase the rippling pleasure of his touch. His finger slides out of my body as he laughs. He leans off me, taking his delicious sickening scent of spicy amber and sweet vanilla.

Dean pats my ass and says, "Your mouth always says one thing, yet, your pussy shows your true feelings. Dripping wet. Ready for me to slide my dick inside you, ragamuffin Ro." I whirl around to face him, feeling the heat creep into my skin. I give him a steely gaze hoping he can see the hatred in my eyes I've always felt for him deep in my bones. Dean stares at me smugly, so I delight in his shock when the sound of my hand hitting his face ricochets off the beakers in the lab room.

I take the moment I've knocked him off kelter to shoot past him towards the door. Once safely across the room, I shout, "I don't need your bull shit in my life again, Dean!"

"Oh, but you do! Especially if you want to pass this fucking class," he angrily responds. My stomach drops, causing my knees to wobble in panic as I slam the door behind me.

I am totally fucked! Dean Fucking Archer holds my academic fate in his hands.

Time doesn't heal all wounds. Some are left open and eat away at you like flesh-eating bacteria. Those emotional wounds rot you from the inside out. Raggamuffin Ro, that hateful derogatory nickname makes my eyes burn with tears. His words make me physically cringe from self-hate and shame. Growing up in the foster system ain't easy. Being a foster kid dropped into an elitist neighborhood, the home of the most popular senior in town. A star athlete football player that's going to play at one of the best D1 colleges in the nation, even worst. I showed up at the Archer house in awe. Little did I know it'd be a nightmare because of dickhead Dean. He called me trash during our first lab group, which stung like pissing after sex with no foreplay. So, for the second lab meeting, I took my time to ensure my appearance was neat and I was on time for lab. I told myself it was not to scare away my potential lab partner. But it is for Dean. Everything is always for Dean.

Dean walks into the lab looking like a million bucks, as if my mind conjured him out of thin air. He has on designer aviators, casual business attire that showcases his delicious body, and he's strutting a 5 o'clock shadow on his square jawline. I clench my legs together, trying to rub away some of my desire. My pussy is aching to feel his stubble against my inner thighs as he teases his way to eat me out until I'm lightheaded from pleasure.

"Dean "The Pussy Pleasuring Machine" Archer. We are so lucky to have him as a teaching assistant. He gives us a reason to come to the lab. I'd crawl on broken glass just to have him fuck my mouth," the girl behind me whispers to her friend which elicits a giggle and a "hell yes" response. Of course, everyone wanted a shot at Dean. I couldn't help myself feel a tinge of envy in the pit of my stomach like always when girls talked about how hot my former foster brother was and his sexual prowess. Dean is the boy every girl's dad wants her to date and every desperate housewife's sexual fantasy. Dean and our eyes meet as he sets up for today's lab. His eyes linger on the slight cleavage of my V-cut crop top, bringing a small smile to his lips, revealing his sweet dimples. But as soon as the smile appears, making my heart skip a beat, it quickly disappears. Once again, I doodle through the class, not paying attention to a word he says during this lab. I zoned out after he assigned our lab partners and told us we'd start doing lab assignments next week. 

I feel his presence and smell his delicious masculine sweet scent before I see him standing beside me. He looks down at my journal and snorts, shaking his head and bringing heat to my face. I looked down and realized I'd sketched a picture of him, and I felt like a kid caught with their hand in a candy jar. He slaps a quiz down in front of me and curtly whispers, "You're about to regret drawing pictures of me rather than listening to me, sweet Rosalie." I look into his beautiful eyes, causing me to groan internally. I witness a cynical smirk flick across his lips before he moves on to finish passing out the remaining quizzes. I stare down at the quiz and past, writing my name down on it; I have no clue of any of the answers. I feel sick to my stomach, my heart beats erratically, and I can barely grip my pencil because my palms are sweaty.

"Five minutes," Dean bellows; I look up, our eyes meeting and his giving none of his thoughts away. I panic, nibbling on my lip and rushing through the rest of the questions. As always, I'm the last one to finish the quiz. Trembling, I walk to his desk to turn in my quiz with a throbbing headache, knowing I didn't stand a chance of passing this class. Dean grabs my wrist, rubbing the inside of it to calm my shaking as I place my quiz face down on his desk. Our eyes meet, and I don't see his eyes taunting me as expected. Instead, I witness concern and furrowed brows as he tries to soothe my anxiety. "I can help you if you let me, Rosalie," Dean says, not letting go of my wrist.

I let out a slow deep breath. I look around the laboratory and realize we're the only ones left in the room. I shake off Dean's hand; composing myself, I ask, "Like additional tutoring outside of you and Professor Johansen's lab hours?" Unsurprisingly, a sly smirk creeps across Dean's face making me wish I had just walked out of the lab without taking his bait.

"Something like that," he responds, his eyes perusing over my body and blatantly showing sexual interest. I swallow hard, regretting the time I took to make myself look decent for today's class. My long sandy blonde hair is clean and neatly braided to the side. I dressed in white shorts and a tight, low-cut blue crop top. At that moment, I wish I'd dressed in my baggiest sweats, I may have died of heat stroke, but he wouldn't be eye fucking me, making me feel like a piece of meat.

"Meaning," I ask, trying to coax his expectations for me. I'd begged Dean for help before, and the price I paid for that debt was too much. But I'd survived. Hell, I needed this grade to pass this class. It couldn't be worse than him treating me like Cinderella in high school.

"You'll pass the class if you let me dominate all of your holes," he states brazenly, rubbing the pad of his thumb around my lips and down my throat until he squeezes my right breast. I let out a breath of sexual anticipation I didn't know I was holding until my body missed his touch once he pulled away from me. All of my holes? What. The. Entire. Fuck. Did he mean he wanted to fuck me in every hole imaginable?

"I get an A, and you fuck me however you want," I proposition, watching him laugh out loud, making me feel like I'm the ass of one of his jokes, and his proposition wasn't serious.

"Sure, runaway Ro, if you'll do it with me raw. Now, hop up on the desk and spread those thighs," Dean says, slapping his hands against the desk. My mind is screaming no, but my pussy isn't getting the message as desire soaks my panties and my clitoris throbs, desperate for release. His eyes watch me intently, and I remember who the fuck I'm talking to and know I can't trust him.

"No. First, I need my quiz to be an A. I want you, Mr. Big Man On Campus, to provide me with your latest STI test results," I say, firmly crossing my arms under my breasts while anxiously nibbling on my bottom lip. Dean narrows his eyes at me, then shrugs.

"I’ll do you one better. I’ll arrange for us to get tested together off campus. I know I don’t have shit, but from how you carry yourself by not bathing 90% of the time, I’d love to make sure your pussy isn’t disease-riddled,” Dean says, slinging an insult at me. Dean might as well have slapped me in the face. I feel my chin quiver as I blink back the tears.

“Fine dickhead,” I exclaim, turning around before my first tear falls, leaving the classroom. I just traded him my dignity once again. God! He better not screw me over.

It’s a game day, so the library is deserted. Making it the perfect place for me to get my research paper done for my art history class. My cellphone pings. I roll my eyes as I read the text:

Dickhead: Check canvas.

My stomach churns as my heartbeat hammers against my chest. I go to the virtual grade book for my bio class and see a 95 for my first lab quiz. So, Dean was true to his word allowing the breath to whoosh from my lungs, making my tense muscles relax.

I text: I guess you aren’t always chicken shit, big brother. You held up your end of our little bargain.

Dickhead: Yes, I have my test results, too. I like to deliver them in person instead of in a screenshot.

I text him my location with shaky fingers trying not to let myself get distracted with delicious thoughts of Dean Archer. I leave my spot at the table searching for a few art history books I need for this assignment.

“Boo,” I feel his wet hot breath against my ear, breathing in his delicious scent. His scent fills my mind with erotic fantasies, making my skin breakout in goosebumps, and my pussy drench for him.

I turn around to face him, our bodies inches from one another. My heart rate accelerates as I peer into his beautiful face. His eyes reflect my sexual need. He holds up his phone, and in his health portal, his STI report shows a clean bill of health. I flick open my phone and do the same. His smile broadens, making me feel giddy as I release a giggle of excitement. Dean’s mouth crashes down on mine, entangling our tongues in a breathtakingly sensual kiss. I pull him closer to my body, craving his touch, needing and wanting more of him. 

He pulls away from me, making me whimper in distress. My body is on fire for him. Lust is coursing through my veins. His lips are a swollen pout from our kiss. He looks around, whispering, “I remember mom put you on the shot after-“ his voice trails off as he feels me become rigid in his arms. Those words make bile crawl up my throat, creating an instant mood killer. 

“Please, Don’t,” I whisper, my body uncontrollably shaking. The beginning of the statement severely shifts the temperature in the room. The library went from feeling like Dante’s inferno from the sexual tension wafting off us to making me feel like I’d been doused in ice water in a nanosecond.

Dean holds me in place, continuing, “Are you still on birth control?” I nod my head in response. Dean’s lips reclaim my mouth in a soft, sweet, tantalizingly slow kiss. I moan when his fingers reach under my thin white tank top to pinch and roll my nipples until they’re erect and overly sensitive. I shudder at the skin-to-skin contact. He nips at my bottom lip, that’s swollen from passion. Dean drags his tongue down my chin to the sensitive point on my throat that he sucks until I’m moaning into his neck. Dean lowers my tank top straps, exposing my full B cup breasts that are aching for his touch. I lose my mind when his wet mouth clamps around my left nipple; his hands descend into my oversize black sweatpants.

“Jesus,” he moans against my nipple, the vibration of his voice while his teeth nip at my nipple brings me close to climax. I impatiently pant as he slides two fingers into my hot wet center, readying and teasing me into the sweetest oblivion before he slides his hard dick into me. Dean’s stimulating my breasts and soaking wet pussy has my eyes rolling to the back of my head. I’m so drunk on the pleasure that I’m aloof to this world until his big hard dick slams into my pussy, causing my breasts to jiggle as he bucks into me. “This wet pussy is all mine, sweet Rosalie,” Dean grunts in my ear, picking up his pace, thrusting into me hard, his mouth covering mine with a painful kiss swallowing my moans. He fucks me so hard and so good against the bookshelf that I feel my world spinning until I see stars. I let out a screech as my body convulses around him. My pussy clamps down on his erection, causing him to roughly slap his hand around my mouth to keep the echoes of me screeching out my orgasm from bouncing off the library shelves.

He pounds into me three more times before letting out a grunt as he comes inside of me. As I begin to come down from my state of drunken desire, Dean lets go of me abruptly, causing me to fall to the ground. I feel his come leaking between my thighs as I stand up and adjust my clothing. I feel shy since this is my second time ever having sex with anyone. Maybe this signifies that Dean doesn’t hate me. Perhaps there’s been a shift in our relationship, but when I peer into his eyes, I feel ice in my veins as I stare into his blank cold hard stare.

“Ragamuffin Ro is still easy as ever. It doesn’t take much to get in your pants. You’re still a little dirty slut for the dick, aren’t you, sweetheart,” Dean whispers, running his finger down the side of my face. My mind feels burning rage from him calling me a little dirty slut, but my body has the reverse reaction. I get even damper between my thighs. My body wants him to take me to pound town for a second time because one time wasn’t enough. But repulsive memories flow into my mind, sending my hand through the air, hitting Dean with all my might. The snap of my palm against Dean’s face is a loud slap that ricochets off the library's walls. I fearfully stand there awaiting his response, expecting the worst from him. Yet, he shocks me when he throws his head back in laughter. Dean’s head descends towards me, licking my cheek, and my body quivers under this surprisingly erotic action.

“You cried for days, but he wasn’t wrong about you. You’re a dirty little slut, and it gets your pussy wet,” Dean whispers, grabbing me through my sweatpants and pushing away from me as he walks out of my sight. I slide down the bookshelf fighting back the tears. Dean and I know how to hurt each other the worst. His reference to the humiliation of losing my virginity that went viral makes me shudder. Fucking Dean is a mistake. Me fucking Dean was meant to be a distant fantasy or a dirty dream of mine. Being one of Dean’s fuck toys has the potential to become a drug for me because even after his cruelty, I rub my legs together because my pussy is already missing him.

True to Dean’s words, I’ve been able to coast through my biology class with an A because he grades all of the assignments. But every time we fuck, he leaves me feeling used, leaving my mind and body at war with if this used feeling is what I want. My mind says I should feel disgusted, but the more asshole and degrading he is to me, the more my pussy soaks for him, and my body craves his touch. Damn, I must be fucked in the head to crave the touch of the bane of my existence. Dean is undeniably hot, though. There’s a reason girls will do anything to get his attention. I may be inexperienced, but Dean is a legit pussy connoisseur. He always leaves me satisfied yet burning for more of him. One touch. One kiss. One fuck is never enough for me.

“Want another beer,” a guy asks over the loud music of the frat party. I nod my head, giving my date a fake smile. This guy had been trying to get me to go out with him, fuck him, or both for weeks. I needed to get my mind off Dean, so I finally said yes. So, here I am on a Friday night dressed like a slutty nerd at his sleazy frat’s high school stereotypes party. His handsome face breaks into a smile before running to the kitchen to grab my fourth or fifth beer. Even after all the alcohol I consumed, no matter how hot my date was, I couldn’t get Dean out of my head. Since my social worker escorted me into his home that day, my eyes landed on the Archer’s beautiful son, who has dominated my thoughts, desires, and sexual fantasies. No matter what I tried, Dean was my secret obsession. I feel my phone vibrate against my chest, so I fish it out of my bra to answer. Well, shit! Even thinking about Dean conjures up the devil because Dickhead flashes across the screen of my phone.

I try to move to a quieter part of the house and find a corner in the backyard where the music isn’t as loud. I answer with a drunken laugh and slur out, “Hello, dickhead. What do you want?”

“You naked on my bed and the arousal of your super soaker pussy coating my nuts,” he states. I laugh into the phone, loving when Dean talks nasty to me. My nipples instantly pebble, and sexual delight floods my body. “Why is it so loud, Ro? Where the fuck are you,” Dean questions.

“T Chi Z party. I’m on a date, so I’ll have to talk later,” I exclaimed into the phone.

“Don’t fucking hang up on me, or I’ll come and drag your ass out. No one has better put their hands on you. Ro listen to-,” Dean shouts into the phone, hurting my ears. I hang up before he finishes his rant; tired of his bull shit.

Not even thirty minutes later, during an intense game of flip cup, I’m lifted off the ground and hoisted upside down over a broad shoulder. I hear my date hurl insults at my captor as he follows us out of the game room. My nostrils fill with Dean’s scent, and I feel sick to my stomach as the alcohol sloshes around. Being held upside down is probably not the best position for someone who’s downed four beers and five Jell-O shots.

“Oh shit, it’s Dean Archer, man. Do you really want to challenge him,” I hear one of my date’s frat brothers warn him. As Dean proceeds to carry me caveman-style upstairs to an empty bedroom, it does nothing to calm my stomach. He sets me down on my feet, shoving me into the center of the room as he slams and locks the vacant bedroom’s door—Dean whirls around, giving me a once over.

“Why the fuck are you dressed as a naughty schoolgirl,” he questions angrily.

“I’m a nerd, duh! Check out the No lens glasses with tape around them,” I drunkenly say, pointing to my nose. But, Dean’s right; I took a slutty schoolgirl costume, put on some glasses, and voila called myself a nerd. My long blonde hair is styled into two pigtails. I have a cotton button-down shirt tied at the waist right under my boobs, exposing cleavage with a plaid tie nestled between them. I do a little spin for him, leaning over in my short plaid skirt, revealing my red lace thong to piss him off just as much as to tease him. “Does big brother not agree with my outfit?” I pout, knowing I’m riling him up.

“I’m not your big fucking brother. But I’ll be your daddy because I’m about to punish your ass,” Dean says, pulling me into his arms and holding me tight to his body. I peer into his eyes, witnessing anger and desire. He slaps me on my ass, making me squeal.

“I’ll call you daddy if you make it hurt, Dean. So punish me so good, daddy,” I challenge him due to my liquid courage. His eyes become two slits causing me to swallow the lump of fear that grows in my throat. I watch him lift his shirt showing off his mouthwatering abs as he undoes his belt from his jeans. He roughly turns me around, securing my arms behind my back with his belt frog-marching me to some random frat boy’s bed. Dean lays me flat on my chest with my ass up in the air, exposed to him. I’m fearfully nervous and desperately turned on at the same time. He lifts my skirt, and I hold my breath in anticipation. Whack! Dean begins to spank me. Whack! I squirm away from his palm as he massages my butt cheeks between each smack to my bare ass. I shudder from the wetness drenching my thong as the spanking makes me cream my panties.

My ass cheeks are on fire, but the pain is so delicious my clitoris is throbbing for more. Dean rolls down my thong, keeping me immobile with my hands tied behind my back as he spreads my stands. He plunges two fingers inside of me, stroking my G-spot with a come hither motion that sends me off the edge as I scream out my delicious release. Dean sends me into an earth-shattering orgasm in under a minute because I am so turned on from him spanking me. Dean drops to his knees, placing his hot wet mouth on my engorged and sensitive clitoris. I whimper, grinding onto his mouth as he eats me out from behind. I feel a pressure and burning sensation as two fingers enter my butthole. He nibbles on my pussy lips as he fucks my ass, knuckles deep with two fingers. I begin to thrash my head from both sides as he teases my pussy with his tongue, pleasing me by fingering my ass. I explode into pieces for the second time in less than ten minutes. My body lays limply satiated on the edge of the bed. I feel a warm gel coat my puckered asshole, and I hear the lowering of a zipper. 

“It’s time for me to own your asshole, sweet Rose. Don’t tense up and just take slow deep breaths, baby, “ he whispers into my ear as he leans over me, the tip of his dick demanding access to my asshole. I let out a deep breath trying to stay relaxed as he inches into my ass, making me feel full yet turned on from the friction of his manhood. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as he filled my ass to the hilt with his dick. Dean plays with my clitoris allowing me to get accommodated with the feeling of his girth and length inside my ass.

Feeling hot, turned on, and not able to stand the anticipation. I slowly begin rocking back on Dean’s dick. I moan with pleasure as he starts thrusting inside of me while stroking and tweaking my clitoris with a light touch. He begins to pick up the pace, his fingers rubbing my clitoris erratically, and his grunting makes my third orgasm of the night begin to build.

“It feels s-s-soo good,” Dean screams out as he sends us both into an orgasm as he pounds into my ass. He quickly unties my hands, massaging the feeling back into them before collapsing on the bed beside me.

“Did it hurt, sweet Rosalie,” Dean asks as he lays beside me, kissing my sweaty hair.

“In the best kind of way, daddy, “ I answer, knowing I’m going to be sore tomorrow but feeling replete, knowing it was damn worth it. Who knew I’d find so much pleasure in the arms of Dickhead Dean? Dean pulls me in for a cuddle making my heart grow tight, but I close my eyes, trying not to feel or overthink the fluttering in my stomach and the tightening in my chest. Allowing myself those feelings to fester would only lead me to a world of hurt when he inevitably grows bored of my body.

Tears blur my vision as I gag while Dean fucks my throat. I wouldn’t have guessed my coming to his office hours would lead me to be on my knees under my biology professor's desk with Dean’s dick shoved down my throat. But, I should have learned by now always to expect the unexpected from Dean. Plus, Dean is brazen. I shouldn’t be surprised he’d screw his fuck toy in his boss’s office. I hear the door open causing me to freeze. Dean keeps his hand planted on the top of my head, holding me locked in place.

“Professor Johansen,” he says calmly. Fuck! I am so screwed if he steps to the side of this desk. One of the things I’ve always hated about Dean is his ability to mask his feelings and project a cool, calm, and collected demeanor, never wavering under pressure.

“Mr. Archer, how’s everything coming along as my TA,” Professor Johansen’s baritone voice booms making me freak the fuck out. I try to wrestle out of Dean’s grasp, but his fingernails painfully dig into my scalp to keep my lips firmly wrapped around his dick. I dig my sharp acrylic coffin nails into his thighs, drawing blood, but this dickhead still doesn’t waver.

“It’s going great. Do you need anything,” Dean responded, uninterested.

“No, but let’s catch up. I loved to hear how everything is going, especially if it involves any pretty girls,” Professor Johansen jokes, making me shiver with disgust. As soon as we hear the door click shut, Dean thrusts his hips into my mouth, making fresh tears roll down my face as I choke on his dick until ropes of his hot salty cum coat the back of my throat. He rolls back the office chair peering down at me in nothing but a blue lace thong. The way Dean looks at me makes me pant as he roughly drags me up by my ponytail, slamming me into a seated position on top of the desk. He grins when the impact makes my titties jiggle for him. Dean licks his lips, dipping his head to feast on my breasts. I let out a loud groan of ecstasy when his fingers gently brushed against my pussy lips when he pushed my thong to the side. Dean spreads my legs wide, forcing me back on my forearms to accommodate the positioning of my body. Dean slides his big erect dick into my needy hot wet pussy without warning. Once he bottoms out, he slides out and slides back in slowly, making me dig the heels of my feet into his butt to push him towards me.

“What do you want,” Dean asks. I’m too hot and too horny to be frustrated by this prick wanting me to beg him to let me come all over his dick. But my vagina clenches, and my clitoris throbs from the emptiness.

“Fuck me, please,” I whimper, all cares of my self-respect leaving my body as I beg for his dick.

“Please what,” he smirks against my lips, the tip of his dick teasing the entrance to my quivering hot wet center.

“Please, Daddy Dean, fuck the shit out of me,” I yell, letting out a loud moan of satisfaction as he fucks me hard on my biology professor’s desk with his hand tightly grabbing my hair until I’m orgasming so violently I see double of him. Dean Fucking Archer has me right where he wanted me. I am dickmatized, and like any addict, Dean’s dick is my drug of choice.

“You are very talented,” a familiar deep voice states. I turn away from my finished art project staring into the dark brown eyes of Professor Johansen. He’s an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair, more than likely in his late forties or early fifties. He’s still in shape and relatively attractive for his age. I give him a soft smile sipping my champagne. My chest fills with pride at his compliment because I am one of the few juniors whose artwork has been chosen to be shown in the Senior’s Fall Showcase. I find the most solace lost in my artwork, and I’ve always been a damn good artist.

“Thank you. I worked extremely hard on this piece,” I respond, nodding my head at him. Professor Johansen eyes me hungrily, making ice feel my veins as he gives me a perverse grin. I’m wearing a short sparkly metallic silver mini dress that clings to my curves tonight. Although I have a petite frame and a slender build, the cinched waistline and the rouching around my hips make me have an hourglass shape. The sweetheart strapless neckline makes my B cup breasts look phenomenal, making me feel sexy and chic. I chose silver to make the gray of my eyes look more pronounced than the blue they typically appear to be when I look at my reflection. I have my eyes outlined in charcoal to give a bedroom come hither look, and my blonde hair is swept to the side in a cascade of old Hollywood curls to my left. I wear black Toridda Christian Louboutin tied around my slim ankles, making me stand to the average height of a female. I know I look damn sexy, but I was not expecting all the old geezers to wag their tongues out at me, looking for their next sugar baby.

Professor Johansen steps closer to me, invading my space and stroking his hand down my forearm making my skin crawl; winking at me, he asks, “Would you like to go to dinner tomorrow?”

My back goes ramrod straight, and sweat drops down my back. Is this man really asking me out to dinner? I steel my gaze at him, giving him a look of disgust, asking, “What do you mean?” Before a lewd comment can slip from the dirty old man’s mouth, Mama Archer comes right on time, flinging her arms around my slender shoulders. Thank God for Mama Archer because she’s always there to rescue me. I breathe in her Chanel no. 5 familiar scent, looking up into the beautiful dark chocolate eyes that remind me so much of Dean’s. Mama Archer is a gorgeous runway model tall with a beautiful, comforting smile. Mr. Archer, an older version of Dean, except with forest green eyes, claps his hand on my shoulder with pride in his eyes, making my heart melt. Excluding Dean, the Archer’s were the best foster family that I’d ever had.

“Your artwork is amazing. You never stop surprising me by how talented you are,” Mama Archer exclaims, squeezing my hand as we admire my latest creation.

“Dean,” Professor Johansen says quizzically.

“Dr. Johansen,” Dean says, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My body becomes aroused and flushes with sexual heat because of his nearness. I turn to face the two men, Dean’s eyes quickly averting from checking me out with a heated gaze, as his parents turn to face him, too.

“You have family attending the college,” Professor Johansen asks, confused.

“No, Rosalie Blanc isn’t my family,” Dean says disgustingly, knocking the wind from my lungs and my confidence taking a hit.

“She lived with us to finish high school. Dean had one foot out the door time sweet Rosalie moved into our home. He was a senior leaving to come here to be a star athlete,” Mama Archer explains with a warm smile.

“Ah, I see. I was inviting Rosalie to dinner tomorrow night. It’d be a good chance for her to network and talk about her artwork,” Professor Johansen states broadly. I felt myself relax slightly, even though I still was a little weary of his intent.

“You should go, Ro. Part of college is networking, and I might make an appearance,” Dean says, shoving his hands in the front of his pockets, looking aloof. His parents wander off with Professor Johansen in tow to peruse more art and talk to other student artists and guests. I feel Dean trail his fingers across the hem of my mini dress, shooting an arrow of desire between my thighs. “You’re beautiful, baby. You’re talented. You’re amazing,” Dean whispers in my ear. I look into his eyes, shocked because I think that’s the first time in my life that he’s ever made me feel like he didn’t see me as beneath him. The only problem with the compliments was that they were impossible to keep my heart from uncontrollably fluttering. Dean could use my body, but he could never have my heart and soul. Never ever if I want to survive being Dean Archer’s latest fuck toy.

Ugh! Why, oh why, did I listen to Dean Archer? I am one of the few women at this networking dinner. It’s a total snooze fest, not to mention I’ve never been good at schmoozing and rubbing elbows with people. Then, Dickhead Dean had yet to make an appearance. Even dressed in comfortable ballet flats and a simple black slip dress with minimum makeup, the old geezers stared at me as if I were their next meal. I was on my sixth margarita, and my lips were starting to feel numb, and my head was swimming. I had spent most of the event dodging Professor Johansen and his attempts to talk to me.

The margaritas were starting to catch up to me because I really had to piss. As I made my way to the bathroom, I decided I would do my business and then leave. There was no way I would survive the dinner portion of this event if I barely made it through the cocktail portion, the alcohol keeping me awake. Plus, I had hit my limit of alcohol before having to be embarrassingly carried out of the event.

Exiting the bathroom, I run smack dab into Professor Johansen, grabbing onto him, feeling wobbly after my booze cruise. “Woah there, young lady,” he says, smiling down at me, his perverse gaze openly staring down the front of my dress. I try to yank myself free from his grasp, but he holds my arm tighter, peering down into my face with cold eyes that chill me to the bone. Holding me in place, he continues, “I dug into your background. You’re an orphan and were a foster kid in the Archer’s home.”

I square my shoulders, swallowing down my fear, asking, “Okay?”

“How much,” Professor Johansen states, caressing my face, his whiskey breath making me want to vomit.

“I’m sorry,” I ask, confused, side-stepping the old man that towers over my petite frame.

“You’re a college student. Which makes you already broke. But you don’t have parents to support you, so you’re probably desolate, sweetheart. I have some friends and myself willing to pay for you to do stuff for us that I’m sure you have done for free just to survive,” Professor Johansen says; I feel my body overcome with rage. Did Dean fucking Archer set me up and try to sell my goodies to any old geezer by encouraging me to attend this networking event? Did Dean proposition me just to test drive the merchandise? My world tilts upside down, and I would be sick to my stomach if this were all Dean’s master plan.

“What the f-,” I try to exclaim, but he cuts me off, pulling me flush against his body and shoving his tongue down my throat. He overpowers me as I struggle against his disgusting touch that roams over my body. I cry as I try to fight him off of me. I close my eyes, not kissing him back, and trying to think how I can remove myself from this situation. I hear a loud thud, a grunt from Professor Johansen, and then I’m lifted into strong arms. I’m surrounded by the calming and sweet scent of my saver.

I open my eyes, peering into the concerned eyes of Dean Archer. He deposits me into the passenger seat of his Audi R8. Still in shock, I sit quietly in my seat as he revs the engine and drives off. Once at a stoplight, I look over at him, and he’s staring right back at me. My bottom lip quivers as fat tear drops roll down my face. I swallow the lump in my throat and squeak, “Thank You.” My shoulders shudder as I bawl out my eyes because I was so scared and felt so alone and helpless.

“Of course. Hopefully, I knocked some sense into the old fucking pervert. You don’t force yourself on someone,” Dean says, his knuckles whitening as he grips the steering wheel. “Look, Ro. Your fucking mine. You’ve been mine since you walked into my home all those years ago. No one touches what’s mine. I love you, sweet Rosalie,” he states with conviction wiping the tears from my eyes. I’m left speechless at Dean’s professed love for me. Could Dean really have loved me all this time?

The Archer’s lived about two hours away in Montgomery, Alabama, from the university Dean and I attend. He had driven us to his parent's house for the weekend, telling me that I needed a break to clear my mind from what I’d experienced last night. So, he brought me to the safest place I’ve ever known on this earth, Dean’s childhood home. I bite into my fluffy pancakes at the local diner we used to eat at often. Dean smiles at me, stealing a piece of bacon off my plate as we enjoy breakfast. I take a sip of my coffee, nauseated, as I spot a high school nemesis. I duck down in the booth too late as I watch a smile spread across Jonah “JJ” Hunt’s face as he waltzes over to our booth.

“Well, if it isn’t little Miss Rosalie Blanc and my man, Dean. I’d never thought I’d see the day where you two would break bread together,” JJ says, scooting into the booth beside Dean, forcing him to slide over. Dean’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t make eye contact with me or give JJ a response. My stomach immediately sours, and I lose my appetite sitting across the booth from JJ. Jonah Hunt is an attractive pretty boy. He looks like a ken doll, even all these years later. In fact, I lost my virginity to Jonah and have him to thank for the most awkward moment of my life going viral from video shares. Jonah was Dean’s high school best friend until he was banned from the Archer home after my humiliation. “Not hungry,” JJ questions, helping himself to the remainder of my pancakes.

“No, I’m sorry, sitting across from an asshole that humiliated me when I was vulnerable to them kind of kills an appetite,” I say maliciously, hoping he’d get the hint and leave. JJ looks between Dean and me throwing his head back with laughter.

“Even after all of these years, you think I took the video of me popping your cherry and shared it with the whole school, Rosalie,” JJ asks, sliding his eyes between Dean and me. Dean continues eating, staring straight ahead, making me less sure of the situation.

“If not you, then who,” I ask, bracing myself for the worst possible explanation or one of Jonah’s many lies.

He taps his jaw, shovels a couple more bites of pancakes into his mouth, and then smiles at me. He clears his throat and says, “Let’s think about it. We fucked in your room. So, who would’ve had access to set up a camera in your room? In fact, what obsessive teen boy with a hot foster sister wouldn’t have set up a camera in her room to watch her every move? Then, Mama Archer was out for blood moving mountains to get the video taken off websites and wanted me for statutory rape and revenge porn. Next thing you know, I faced no charges, you begged Dean for help to keep the kids off your back at school, and everything quieted down. You don’t find that suspect?” I ponder his words thinking back to everything. Dean rushed in as my knight in shining armor made me indebted to him. Mama Archer backed away from the legal attack on the situation, and everything just went silent.

“Whatever, JJ. I don’t believe you. Your family has more money than God,” I say quietly, uneasy about Dean’s silence and clenched jaw.

Jonah snorts and says, “But the Archer’s have more. No one was going to let anything happen to Golden Boy here. I’d already fucked you and wanted to continue to do it with you. Rosalie, you’re a fucking smoke show. Dean was your foster brother. He couldn’t touch you; it’d jeopardize your living placement and his parent's eligibility to foster. He wanted you, his sweet Rosalie. So, he sabotaged my chances of getting my dick wet.” All the blood drains from my body, the room begins to spin, and Dean’s look of guilt when our eyes meet is admission enough. I am a fucking idiot. I hop out of the booth darting for the door. I run down the sidewalk until I’m flung around to face Dean.

“Wait, let me fucking explain,” Dean rushes to his defense. I look through him, my face utterly devoid of emotion as everything shatters inside me. “Rosalie, I love you. I have for years.”

I snort at his silly manipulative omission. I shrug him off of me and say, “If this is how you treat someone you’re in love with, then damn, I’d hate to be an enemy.”

I brush past him, allowing the tears to fall from my eyes.

Dean continues to hurt me, but my heart holds on to the hope that he loves me and will fight for us.

I briskly walk down the road, trying to control my emotions before returning to the Archer’s home.

Am I stupid to have always been in love with Dean Archer, even if there’s so much bad blood between us?  

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