Drawn to You: Volume 3

By: Vanessa Booke

A sense of dread fills me as I mull over Ceci’s words. The last thing I wanted was to hurt my best friend, but I don’t want to see her anywhere near Tristan. Just the thought of them together is enough to make me sick.

My cellphone vibrates on my lap.

I look down to find my roommates broad grin staring back at me as his name flashes across the screen. I swipe my phone open, desperate to talk to him.

“Augie, thanks for calling me back.”

“Of course, what’s wrong? You sounded upset on the voicemail.”

A small sense of relief fills me with the sound of my roommate's voice. Although nothing seems to make sense right now, I take comfort in the fact that he's always been there for me. I laugh at the thought of how ridiculous I must’ve sounded leaving him my message. Deciphering my babble should be part of our college course electives.

“I slept with him," I blurt.


My eyes begin to water. Within forty-eight hours, the world seems to be running upside down on its axis. I’m not even sure how to function throughout the day. Am I supposed to pretend like nothing is happening between Tristan and me? What does this mean when we go back to the city? Was I just a distraction for him?

“Yes, Tristan."

“Why does it sound like you’re crying? Did he do something wrong? Tell me. I have no problem kicking his ass. Even if he does have a lot more muscle mass than me…God, I’m so jealous of his six-pack. I—”


I bite my thumb as I wait for him to continue his questioning. My eyes scan the doorway for any sign of Ceci or my brother standing nearby.

“Right, fuck, sorry. Did he mess up?”

"No. At least not yet."

Augie sighs on the other end of the phone.

“Well, then, what is it?”

“I’m afraid he’s going to leave, and I won’t be able to walk away from this in one piece.”

My hands begin to shake at the thought of watching Tristan walk out of my life again.

“Who says he’ll leave?”

“He will.”

The last time Tristan left, he did it at the worse possible moment. I needed him. More than anyone, I needed him.

“I know why you’re saying that, but try not to over think things.”

Easier said than done.

“Okay, I’ll try.”

“I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“Yes, I’ll see you then.”


The taste of Emily’s lips stains my soul.

A light feeling fills my chest as I run across the wet sand. Sweat pools at the back of my neck, but the wind quickly offers relief as it whips around me. My lungs take in the cool mist as heavy waves crash only a few feet away. A million thoughts race through my mind as my lungs burn from the cold air.

This morning I woke with a start that felt like a shot of adrenaline coursing through my veins. My head is still swimming with flashes of her in the sheets beneath me. Last night, I crossed the line between Emily and me again. As much as I know I shouldn’t have, I wanted to. I still want to.

I’m not the type of man she needs in her life. I’ve been with more women than I’m comfortable admitting, and while I’m not living the BDSM lifestyle twenty-four-hours a day, I can’t hide that I like things most guys her age wouldn’t be into. She should be focused on finishing school and getting her first job. And much as I hate to admit it, she should be doing other normal college age things like dating other men. I can’t steal that learning process from her. She might hate me for it years down the line.

And yet, I don’t want her to be with anyone else. Maybe that’s selfish… No, it is selfish. What am I doing? Why do I keep doing this?

One thing’s for certain—the spanking I gave Emily last night ignited something wicked inside of her. Each rapid inhale of air that came from her only turned me on more. If my cock hadn’t been so needy, I would’ve taken my time exploring every curve and dip of her body.

Fortunately for me, there’s still time for all of that.


I’m drawn to the kitchen by the sound of a deep tenor singing. It isn’t until I’m standing in the doorway of the kitchen I realize it’s Tristan’s voice. As I enter, I spot him shirtless, standing in front of the stove as he flips what looks to be a pancake. My eyes trail down the well-defined muscles of his back to the indents just above the waist of his black jeans. Taunting me, his jeans sit low, bringing back the delicious memories of him on top of me.

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