With a laugh, De’Andre grabbed the back
pocket of my jeans and pulled me to him. I felt like a fish, caught
on a rod and reeled in. Before I could think to fight him, I
plopped down into his lap. A slight groan escaped his lips when I
sat on the hardness that bulged at his crotch, then his arms were
around my waist, holding me in place. Each move I made earned
another little moan. I fought against the urge to put my hands down
on his jeans to reposition myself and cop a feel. Through the thick
denim his dick swelled against my ass, hard from the drugs or the
party or me, I wasn’t sure which.
Remembering Tyrone, I tried to stand but
De’Andre held me tight. “Lemme go,” I muttered, but I didn’t mean
it and he didn’t comply. My roommate snorted laughter and foamy
beer bubbled out of his flat nose. I kicked at him across the
bathroom but my sneaker missed his leg by a few scant inches. “Shut
the fuck up, Tyrone. Where’s the rest of my pot?”