Soft Like Thunder: An Enemies to lovers College Romance (Savage U)

“STILL CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WERE TRYING TO SHUT ME OUT.”

Helen scratched the back of my neck and leaned into me. “Lock is smarter than you. Obviously I’m going to pair up with the smartest dude in our class. That’s just good thinking. You can’t blame me for that.”

I took her leg and slung it over mine. “I can, and I absolutely will. You need a partner in class, it’s me. We’ll rub our two dumb brains together and come up with something smart.”

She snorted an adorable laugh, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. “That’s not how it works. And we both know if we were alone, working on this project, we would not be rubbing brains.”

Considering we were in the library and my hand was creeping up her inner thigh, she had a point. A terrible fucking point, but still a point.

It’d been a couple weeks since our post-Abby bathroom encounter. Things were smooth. I wouldn’t say easy, because Helen wasn’t an easy kind of girl. But that was fine. I’d take her difficult any day. And I did. Bent over the side of her bed. In the back of my car. Pinned to her wall. On top of her. Behind her. Every way we could have each other. Except sleeping. The one time I’d wanted to crash at her place, she’d shoved me out the door.

I got it. I’d been tired as hell from fucking the living shit out of her, but I still got it. We functioned within parameters I’d set for us. If Helen was sticking to them, all the better. As long as I got to be inside her, I could deal, because I was well and truly addicted to having her raw and unencumbered. I could deal for now, at least.

That was why, when Professor Davis announced we had to pick a partner for our midterm project, Helen choosing to work with Lock sent me sideways. Luck was on my side, though. We had an uneven number of students in the class, so after some cajoling, Davis allowed me to wedge myself between Lock and Helen.

Her reasoning for the partnership was sound. Lock’s brain was in proportion to the rest of him—big, meaty, and able to crush lesser mortals. She was also right that if it had just been Helen and me, we’d spend our work time fucking and flunk the assignment. The difference between us was I didn’t care. I should have. My dad would dance on my metaphorical grave if I fucked my academics the way I’d done my athletics. Maybe spending so much time with Helen, I’d found a streak of rebellion deep in me, and I was thinking about leaning into it. Luck found me again that I had a girl who was far wiser than me and took her grades seriously.

She swatted my hand off her when the door pushed open, Lock ducking his head inside. We were in a private study room to work out the breakdown of the project.

“Yo.” Lock lumbered into the room, threw his backpack down on the table, and folded himself into a chair. “I have a half hour before I have to head to work.”

Helen straightened, crossing her legs and opening her laptop. My dick twitched at her being a serious schoolgirl. Those smooth, muscular, tan legs pressed together. Her straight spine leading to plump little hips and a ridiculous round ass. Long, shiny hair flowing down her back in tumbling waves. Red, red lips pursed in concentration, then moving to shape words as she and Lock bounced ideas back and forth.

“What do you think, Theodore?” Helen slapped my arm. “Do you have any ideas?”

“No. What you guys were saying works for me.”

God, I was sick in the head. What the hell was wrong with me? I was sitting there with an erection, no idea what was going on around me, while my girl and Lock were both looking at me like the weak link.

“Are we boring you?” Helen teased.

I cleared my throat. “No, I’m here.”

Lock glanced up from his laptop, giving me a long look that said he didn’t find any fucking thing about me spacing in the middle of our first group meeting amusing.

“I have twenty minutes now,” he said lowly. “Can we get the preliminary planning done?”

“Yeah. I apologize. My weight, from here on out, will be pulled by me.” My laptop open, eyes turned away from Helen, I shifted my mind to Shakespeare and the project that was going to take up twenty-five percent of my grade.

Lock cracked his knuckles. “Let’s get started.”

After the study session, I trapped Helen in a quiet stairwell so I could kiss the Shakespeare out of both our brains. She was the one to push me away, but she did it laughing.

“What was going on with you in there?” she asked.

I raked my hand through the side of my hair. “God, nothing. My mind just wasn’t there in the beginning. I’m square now. I know what I need to be doing for the project.”

She nibbled my chin. “Good, because Lock will squash you like a bug if you even think about being a deadbeat.” Then she bit my chin a little harder. “I need to get my ass in gear. I have homework and I want to take a nap before work.”

Pulling her closer, I took two handfuls of her ass. “This isn’t an invitation, is it?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I have shit to do, Theodore, and you do too.”

I gave her ass a squeeze. “Who knew you’d be the responsible one of us?”

The change in her was swift and complete. Her mouth turned down. The light in her deep brown eyes fluttered out. Her expression shuttered. The muscles in her body tensed, bracing to fight or run. “Just because I’m poor doesn’t mean I’m not responsible. I haven’t had anything handed to me. I work for everything I have, including being here at this university. So yeah, I’m forsaking a couple orgasms for good grades so I can stay here.”

My hands flexed. I could have said a lot. A whole lot. But I chose to say one thing. “I haven’t had anything handed to me.”

That was most of the truth. As much as I was willing to get into.

Her eyes rolled, sensing the bullshit in my statement. It wasn’t what she thought, but I was full of shit. I may have grown up rough, but I’d lived on easy street for years now. Still, my memory of the hunger might have dulled, but I hadn’t forgotten it.

“Okay.” She pushed off me, and I let her go. “Text me if you’re going to pick me up tonight. It’s cool if you’re not. I’ll take the bus.”

She trotted down the steps like I wasn’t going to follow her. It was crazy how we could go from making out to being miles and miles apart. But that was my decision. I could give Helen my history so she’d understand me, but she’d already taken the majority of my headspace. I couldn’t give up anything else to her and walk away whole.

We were outside when I was through chasing her. Taking her shoulder in hand, I spun her around to face me. “I pick you up every night.”

“I don’t take anything for granted.” She reached up to cup my face. “I like you, I’m not going to take advantage of you, and I don’t want to fight. We’re really different people and we think differently.”

“We’re not that different.”

“We are, and that’s cool. I still like you. But a lot of the time, I’m in survival mode. I get that it’s hard for you to understand, but I need you to try. Because I really would like you to be someone I can just be chill with, you know? I don’t want to feel like I’m fighting when I’m with you.”

“I can do that for you, Tiger.” Dipping down, I touched my mouth to hers. “I actually have to go see my father anyway. I think I was hoping you’d offer me an out. But you’re right, your grades are important, and I’m not going to mess with that for you.”

She poked at my chest. “Your grades are important too.”

I waggled a brow. “Sure they are. Now, leave before I forget everything I just said and drag you back to the stairwell.”

Helen pulled away easily, tossed her board on the sidewalk, and skated off. I stood there, hands on my head, reeling. The messy, crazy, wild, reckless girl I’d caught smashing my car had herself more together than I did. I didn’t quite know how to wrap my head around that, so I didn’t. Turning in the opposite direction, I dragged myself to President Whitlock’s office.

My father had lost his mind. He was absolutely bananas. Needed to be committed. The cuckoo’s nest had been flown over.

“I’m not an escort service.” My fingertips dug into my knees. “This isn’t happening. You can’t pimp me out.”

He exhaled heavily through his flared nostrils. “This isn’t a discussion.”

I’d been summoned to President Whitlock’s office. It was never a good sign when my dad wanted to see me, but I knew I was in for pure delight when he requested my presence in his office.

Today was no different. My father, the exalted president of Savage University, was now my pimp. That he was trying to force me on my ex-girlfriend made no difference. He wanted Abby’s father to make a donation to the university’s art program, so the Fitzgerald family had been invited to the art and design school’s annual fundraiser banquet. Daddy Fitzgerald accepted, the caveat being me acting as Abby’s date.

“Abby and I aren’t together anymore.”

I’d successfully avoided seeing her face since the library. What she didn’t seem to understand was that she may have been the one to end us, but I wanted nothing to do with her. I’d loved her. Two years, I’d been fully committed, and she’d ended it like what I had to give wasn’t enough. I was done with her. There was no going back for me, and whatever she wanted to say now was months too late. Rehashing something that was in the past held no interest for me.

My father clasped his hands on his desk, his fingers turning white from pressure. “Be that as it may, Abby wants you to be there with her, and since I’m unaware of any valid reason that can’t happen, it will.”

“And if I say no?”

He leaned forward, leveling me with a gaze that brooked no argument. “I played golf with Dr. Marino over the weekend. Imagine my utter shame when he mentioned my son got a D on a paper worth ten percent of his grade.”

My muscles locked as my brain rattled around in my head. “That doesn’t sound ethical. I’m an adult. Can professors legally divulge grades to parents?”

He slammed his hand down on his desk, then immediately smoothed out the scattered papers. “Toe the line, Theo! I take care of your tuition. Every one of your teachers is aware of who your father is. If Marino gave you a D, then know this, you earned an F. He was being generous with that D because of who you are. I don’t even want to think of what kind of drivel you must have turned in to get a goddamn D, but it’s unacceptable.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I knocked my fist against my forehead. I’d fucked up on that paper, completely forgotten it was due until the night before. Then I’d scrambled to write it, pick Helen up, fuck Helen, then go back home to finish it and catch a couple hours of sleep. I’d known it was drivel when I handed it in, but there was nothing I could do at that point.

“Okay. I screwed up. I have time to turn that grade around, and I will.”

His brows raised expectantly. “And your other courses?”

“You don’t know?” I countered.

“Answer me.”

“They’re fine.” As fine as they could be when I couldn’t get it up to care. The only one I was pulling an A in was my Shakespeare class, and that was all down to Helen.

His eyes narrowed to slits, and something that felt like disgust poured out of him. Andrew Whitlock was an academic, through and through. He’d moved up into administration over time, but he’d always be an educator and an intellect. His one indulgence while earning his PhD had been a weekend away to Vegas for a friend’s bachelor party. That weekend resulted in my existence, which to him, was his ultimate screwup—one he expected me to right by being his well-heeled son and representing him the only way a Whitlock should: being talented, and if not talented, then hardworking and intelligent. Always, always exceptional.

I’d been born an athlete, not a natural academic. Since I’d been exceptional at what I did, my father had accepted that as my path. When I dropped wrestling, he’d expected me to shift my focus to my education and excel there. So far, being only slightly above average—when I worked my ass off—made me a severe disappointment.

“You asked a question a minute ago.” My father’s jaw ticced while he steadied himself. “If you decline to escort Abby to the banquet, I won’t waste my resources in keeping you here.”

Fear licked at my gut, but I pushed it down. I was used to Andrew Whitlock’s rants, but this was a new direction. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I mean exactly that. I’m asking you for a favor, one that’s not difficult, which will likely result in a boon to the university. If that doesn’t mean enough to you to give me one evening of your time, that will tell me this university doesn’t mean anything to you. If that’s the case, then I can’t see why you’d continue to attend.”

That rocked me back in my chair. “You’d kick me out of school? Can you even do that?”

He opened his hands. “I can do whatever I like. Your tuition is free so long as I’m president. If I don’t think this school is a good fit, then I will rescind your enrollment. It’s pretty simple.”

“And you’d do that?” I had a hard time believing what I was hearing. My dad was a hard-ass, but this was beyond the pale, even for him. He knew I didn’t have anywhere to go if he took this away. I needed my degree.

He looked me square in the eye. “I’d do that without hesitation.”

“Because I won’t date the girl who dumped me months ago?”

My father wasn’t a man who rolled his eyes, but if he was, he would have then. Looking at him, I knew I was fucked before he even started speaking.

“This is the culmination of months of screwups. I’ve been watching you throw your future down the drain, bit by bit. First Abby, then wrestling, and now your grades. Your attitude has been flagrantly disrespectful, you’ve ignored Miranda for weeks, and god only knows what you got up to over the summer since you disappeared on us. I’m done, Theo. I brought you to California with the expectation you’d apply yourself. Otherwise, I could have left you rotting in the projects in Las Vegas. I need to see you’re here to excel, not waste the resources another student would kill to have access to.”

“And me taking Abby would prove that to you?”

He sighed, leaning back in his throne-like chair. “I’m looking for a sign of life from you, Theo. Show me you care about this institution. Give a damn what I think. Taking Abby would be a good start. Getting your grades up is imperative.”

The knowledge that I wasn’t getting out of this settled over me like a blanket woven with thorns. If he took away school, I had nothing. As much as I would have liked to shoot up my middle finger and stalk out of here, I couldn’t. I’d played my entire hand when I quit wrestling without warning or explanation. Now, my dad was playing his.

“All right.” It was a sharp kick to the gut to acquiesce, but in that moment, I saw no way out. “I’ll take her to the banquet and my grades will be a priority.”

He nodded. “That’s right. And you’ll stop ignoring your stepmom. I want you at the house once a week, minimum.”

“Okay.” My gut was on fire, urging me to rage against his unbearably heavy hand. I reminded myself this was temporary. One night with Abby in a public space wouldn’t kill me. Putting in the much-needed work in my classes was necessary anyway. And I liked Miranda, so that wasn’t even a chore. I just really didn’t fucking enjoy being threatened by my own father to bow to his demands.

“Okay.” He flicked his hand toward the door. “You can go now. I’m certain you have studying you should be doing instead of wasting my time.”

My father didn’t expect formalities when it was just the two of us, so that was my cue to exit. I grabbed my backpack and walked out, feeling yoked with my hands tied behind my back. He owned me for the next three years. It wasn’t forever, but Jesus, it felt like it.

Deacon flicked the back of my head as he walked by me. “Is that Theo Whitlock reading a book? In this house?” He swung himself over the back of the couch to plop down a cushion over from me.

“I was.”

“On a Friday night? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

I closed my sociology book and dropped my head back on the cushion. “It’s not even midterm and my sociology grade is almost toast.”

Exaggeration, but I needed to dig into the material in a big way to fix what I’d fucked up. Coasting wasn’t an option at this point. I’d been taking more time to read and study since my visit to my father’s office earlier in the week. Helen had been all for it since my little schoolgirl was serious as hell about her grades, and my constant presence all up in her business—her words, obviously—was distracting.

He groaned. “You have Marino?”

“Yep.” I scrubbed my face with both hands. “He’s golf buddies with good ol’ Andrew.”

He groaned even louder. “Shit. Let me guess, Marino narc’d.”

“Mmhmm. I got my ass handed to me. A whole shape-up-or-ship-out speech.”

He kicked my backpack on the floor. “So, this is you shaping up? Studying when you should be getting ready to go out?”

“Not in the mood to go out.”

I’d never had a thing for sitting at parties with a bunch of bros trying to pull the first semi-hot, semi-willing chick. Abby had always dragged me out when I wasn’t away wrestling, and I’d gone because I wanted to be with her, but those days were over. Now, I was sitting in the study den—the small room reserved for homework and, as the name implied, studying—waiting for Helen to get off work at a job I hated her doing. I hated it mostly because it was at a strip club, but also because it took her from me and cut into the time I had to be inside her, and with her, and looking at her beautiful fucking face.

“You know, I thought when you quit wrestling, you’d be more fun. This was supposed to be our year. No girl. No responsibilities. Just pure, unadulterated bacchanalia. Instead, you’re Mr. Schoolwork all of a sudden. And you disappear every fucking night. I’m beginning to think you’re keeping secrets, Theo.”

I felt his stare, but I kept my eyes on the ceiling. I didn’t have answers for the fantasies he’d come up with on his own. He assumed a lot because he’d been the one with me at the ER and then had let me stay at his family’s unused beach house for most of the summer to get my head on straight. While I was grateful for both, I didn’t feel suddenly close to him, nor beholden to hold his dick every Saturday night. Neither was ever going to happen.

“I’m Mr. Schoolwork because Andrew threatened to pull my enrollment if I didn’t apply myself.”

“I notice you didn’t answer where you’re disappearing to.”

“Nope.” I sucked in a breath, ready for this interaction to be done.

“Fine. Be a little bitch.” He slapped my arm. “Hey, do you have that dealer’s number? The one you bought from last year?”

My head jerked up in a rush. “No.”

“No? You’re telling me you lost his number?”

“No, I’m telling you I’m not giving you his number.”

Deacon pressed his palms together in prayer. “Come on, Theo. My regular dealer won’t talk to me since I kinda screwed her over. I need your guy.”

Deacon only knew Amir existed because I’d been far too honest at the ER and he’d overheard it all. He hadn’t mentioned it until now, but clearly, he’d socked away the info for a rainy day.

“He’s not my guy, and I’m not giving you his number. He’d wind up slitting your throat. I’ve got too much going on to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.”

Deacon grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Sweet that you care, man. Give me the number.”

“No. Full stop. Never happening.” I grabbed my shit, heading for the exit. Deacon bit at my heels.

“That’s shit, man. I’d do anything for you.”

I kept walking toward the stairs. “You don’t need to do anything for me. I’m square. I promise you, it’s a favor I don’t give you his number.”

From my left, Deacon grumbled, “It’s just weed.”

“I don’t care if you smoke out of your ass. What I don’t want is you being anywhere near that guy. If you knew better, you wouldn’t want it either.” I stopped at the base of the stairs and twisted my head to look over my shoulder. “Have fun tonight. And remember, ‘no’ is a full sentence.”

I took the steps two at a time, Deacon mumbling, “Fuck off” behind me. When I got to my room, I shut myself in, locking it down tight, then I took out my phone.

Me: Are you at work, baby?

Helen: Yeah. I’m doing my makeup, then I’m out on the floor.

Me: Send me a picture.

Helen: No please?

Me: Please, Tiger. I just had to lock myself in my room to get away from Deacon. I need to see your face.

Within a minute, a picture came through. Taken from a high angle, I saw red lips, stunning face, tits pushed up high, smooth belly, legs crossed, and spiked platform heels. Helen’s waitressing uniform was uncalled-for sexy, and it made me irrationally angry. Or maybe it was rational not to want to share my girl’s body with every perv who wandered into her job.

Me: You’re so beautiful.

Helen: And you hate it?

Me: Hate what you’re wearing at work, but I’m not saying anything because I get why you do.

Helen: You don’t have to say anything for me to hear it, even in your texts. I’m glad you get it. That makes me like you.

Me: You like me anyway.

Helen: You have your moments, Theodore. What are you doing?

Me: I was trying to cram sociology into my unwilling head. Now I’m waiting for you to get off work so I can cram my cock in your pretty pussy.

Helen: Bahahahahahaha…dude. You just screwed up my mascara, I laughed so hard. Please never cram your cock anywhere near me.

Laughing, I fell back on the bed. This girl got to me. She knew how to flip the switch and turn my mood around. That worked in the other direction too, but tonight, she was using her powers for good instead of evil.

Me: Cram is bad?

Helen: Absolutely. Thrust, drive, grind, slide, all good words. Cram = no.

Me: Then what if I say I can’t wait to put your pretty, soaking pussy on my dick tonight? Does that work for you?

Helen: Yeah, that works for me. I can’t wait for that too. But I need you to do me a favor, Theodore.

Me: Tell me.

Helen: If you want this pussy, I need you to study hard. So hard, it hurts. Fill that big brain with facts, then you can fill my pussy with cum. Stuff it, baby. And while I’m riding you, you can whisper dirty, sociology words in my ear…

Me: Ethnomethodology.

Helen: Oh yeah, keep going, I’m going to be ready for you.

Me: Groupthink.

Helen: My favorite kind of think. So kinky. More, Theodore!

Me: Matrilocality.

Helen: Yes!

Me: Neocolonialism.

Helen: I’m close…omg…

Me: Patrilocality.

Helen: Yes, give it to me.

Me: Conflict theory.

Helen: Oooh, yeah, you filthy, dirty man.

Me: How does everything you do make me hard? Care to explain it?

Helen: I’m sure there’s some sociological term for it. I hate to end our study/sexting session, but I need to get out on the floor before my boss’s head explodes. See you later. xoxo

Me: I’ll be there, baby. xxx.

Tossing my phone aside, I picked up my textbook, grinning to myself as I read through the passages that had been putting me to sleep earlier. I’d never look at sociology the same. And if I got to fuck Helen every time I studied, I was going to ace this class.

My levity slowly crashed as the hours ticked by, waiting for Helen. The thorny blanket of reality that Andrew Whitlock had created for me once again settled over me. This was only the beginning. I wouldn’t have a choice the next time he made demands of me. Not until I was out of school.

I had to grab hold of what I had for as long as I could. Because when Dear Father decided to pull the rug out from under me again, I’d have no option but to let go.