Melted and Whipped Read Free

the time, my high school boyfriend and I were still together, at Mike’s insistence. It was easier to stay together than to fight him. After meeting Porter, I knew it was time to move on. It didn’t even matter that Porter and I were just friends. If Porter could leave me breathless with only a look, then my relationship with Mike was doomed.
    Unfortunately, it took several months to convince Mike we were over, but in that time Porter started dating someone else. Someone from his own social circle.
    Jill was beautiful, and she was also very nice. I, like the rest of the student body, envied them both from afar.
    By the end of freshman year, Porter and I rarely saw each other. I started out pre-med and changed to history. During the winter months, I was busy with the ski team. Porter went hardcore with the econ courses and internships. Yet senior spring found us both taking an art appreciation class, fulfilling an elective.
    I sat across from him in the smallish oval auditorium. Whenever the professor showed slides of paintings of bare-breasted women or naked heroes, I thought about Porter and blushed. What kind of women did he like? What did his body look like undressed? Other students changed seats every day, but I didn’t, not when my spot at the end of the row meant a chance to surreptitiously watch Porter. Every so often he’d catch me looking, and a slow, soft smile would spread across his full lips.
    I wanted him so bad it hurt.
    In those instances, I remembered the first few weeks, when we’d taken long walks together and talked about everything and anything. Rumor said he wasn’t dating anyone seriously, and I spent an eternity agonizing over what to do.
    Finally one day I had the perfect angle. I marched up to him at lunch as he was returning his tray to tell him The Riotous Marmots were back in town, and did he want to go?
    Even now I can smell the pizza dough in the cafeteria, can hear the roar of students. Porter’s expression went a little rigid, and I knew he was going to turn me down. I would have run, but I was frozen in place.
    His exact words were, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Emily.
    What could I do? I said something, but I don’t remember what. He might have said something. In the end, I slunk away in shame, vowing to avoid him from then on. Other than that one class, I almost never saw him. It should have been easy.
    Fast forward to the week before finals. I was out with friends, watching a movie. Sitting in the cramped seats was killing my knee, so I slipped out early. There was a shortcut through an alley that would save me some limping.
    The alley was occupied by Porter and a gorgeous brunette I didn’t know. He was half standing, half leaning against a wall, the girl bent over his lap, her dress up over her hips. You’ve been naughty , he said, his voice deep and commanding. She was wearing a red thong—I’ll never forget the shade because it matched her reddened ass.
    He’d clearly been spanking her.
    I stood there, stunned, and Porter looked up. I was in the shadows. Did he know who it was? I didn’t stick around to find out.
    He never said anything to me, and I didn’t say anything to him. Maybe, if we’d come from similar backgrounds, I would have promised him that his kinky secret was safe with me, but it wasn’t like we had friends in common. By then he was part of the group heading for Wall Street, private planes—
    “Are you watching?” Scooter asks, jarring me from the painful memories. We’re staring down a hill of moguls that is blessedly empty. The bumps are just the right size for Scooter and evenly spaced. It won’t take him long to find his rhythm.
    Unfortunately for me, moguls are a surefire way to aggravate my knee problems. However, there’s a smooth path to the right specifically for instructors. “Let me go halfway down,” I say. “Stop when you reach me. Have you skied moguls before?”
    “Of course. Pick my line. Precise turns. Plant my skis