Chapter 40: Rich-Kid Cardio or In Vespera’s Room

(Author Warning ⚠️: she’s weird today)

By the time they finally reached the seventh floor, his arms were fine but his emotional relationship with elevators had improved dramatically.

Vespera unlocked the apartment, pushed the door open, and Damon stepped inside before immediately deciding Blackwood was spoiling these kids.

’Well, money does that doesn’t it?’

The place was basically a three-bedroom apartment that happened to have university paperwork attached to it.

There was a proper common room with large windows, a kitchen big enough to prepare actual food instead of surviving on noodles and cereal, a small dining area, and even a library nook built along one wall with shelves, two chairs, and a reading lamp somebody had probably selected specifically for brochure photographs.

The bedrooms were large too, bigger than some studio apartments Damon had seen listed in Manhattan for obscene monthly rent, which was a funny little reminder that somewhere nearby a grown adult was probably paying four thousand dollars to sleep within touching distance of his refrigerator while Blackwood students called this campus housing.

Damon followed her inside with the bags to her bedroom.

Her bedroom had its own attached bathroom, a large built-in closet, a wide bed, proper desk, and enough space around everything that Damon finally gave up pretending this was anything except an apartment wearing a student ID.

She bent to unzip a suitcase and the skirt pulled tight across her ass again, the round split of it obvious under the dark skirt she nearly showed him her panties, and he set the bags down like a man putting down evidence.

’I need Jesus. Or Camilla. Or both. Not in the same room. That would be a lot. Why the hell did she do that?"

He rolled his shoulder and looked away. "So none of your roommates are back?"

Vespera crouched near one suitcase and began opening it, tits shifting forward with the lean. "One is already somewhere on campus. The other... he’s still in Monaco until Sunday."

Damon nodded, then stopped halfway through the motion and looked at her again. "Wait. One of your roommates is a guy?"

Vespera immediately laughed, that short amused laugh she used whenever Damon walked directly into whatever reaction she had expected from him when she baited him. "Relax. He’s gay."

Damon stared at her for a moment, then leaned one hip against the desk. "I still don’t understand that whole thing girls have with gay guys. Every woman somehow gets one like they’re some kind of therapists and suddenly they’re talking about boyfriends, outfits, secrets, breakups, sex lives, childhood trauma, and thirty-seven things nobody asked them to archive."

Vespera kept unpacking, pulling folded clothes from the suitcase with an amused shake of her head; a silk top, something short, a pair of shorts that were going to be a problem for the roommate whether he was gay or not:

She finally said; "Because sometimes women want a male perspective without wondering whether the man listening is waiting for an opening. They can talk about something embarrassing, or admit vulnerability, without worrying that he’ll repeat it to his friends later or suddenly decide listening earned him a chance to get into her pants."

Damon considered that for maybe two seconds before his mouth twisted. "Sounds inefficient."

Vespera paused with a shirt in her hands. "Of course that is what you took from everything I just said."

"What?" Damon lifted his hands slightly. "I listened."

"That is the bare minimum."

"Different," he said with complete confidence.

Her eyebrow rose. "How?"

Damon shrugged. "Don’t ask me how. It just is."

Vespera stared at him another second before laughing again and returning to the suitcase.

His hypocrisy noticed itself but Damon didnt care due to lack of interest.

The whole male-roommate thing still annoyed some primitive corner of his head more than he wanted to admit, which was stupid considering Vespera could obviously have whatever friends she wanted and Damon had absolutely no claim over any part of her social life.

Still... man living here, hearing her come in at night and existing in the same air as that skirt, those tits, that laugh. She had said it was not a boyfriend... so it was fine.

’It’s cool. Gay roommate. No threat. Great. But he better be as gay as they come! Why the hell am I relieved? I am going to therapy after all this weirdness with Ves... after I lose my virginity. Priorities.’

He glanced around the apartment, decided there were questions better left unanswered, and pushed away from the desk. Maybe he needed hobbies.

Actually, no. Damon had hobbies now.

They were simply becoming increasingly questionable.

"I’m going to find the advisor," he said, reaching for his cap and adjusting it slightly as he started toward the door.

Vespera nodded while arranging clothes on the bed. "I’ll bring your ID when I come down later. My friend has it at the campus."

"Text me when you’re heading over," Damon said, pausing near the doorway. "I’ll tell you where I am."

"I will." Vespera looked up from the suitcase with a small smile. "Bye. Love you."

Damon gave her a lazy little wave. "Mmm. Bye."

Her smile immediately disappeared into exaggerated offense. "That was such an emotional response."

Damon pulled the door open and glanced back at her. "I just carried seven floors of love for you. Learn to recognize affection when it’s sweating."

Vespera grabbed a rolled pair of socks from the suitcase but Damon immediately closed the door before she could throw them.

_

By the time he stepped outside the residence building again, campus had properly woken up. Students were everywhere now, filling the paths between buildings with maps, phones, backpacks, rolling suitcases, and the confused expressions of freshmen pretending they definitely knew where they were going.

Girls in summer clothes cut across the courtyard with iced drinks and bare midriffs and enough thigh to make orientation feel like a bad joke.

Upperclassmen moved through them with casual superiority, while parents lingered near the entrances looking emotional enough to suggest they might begin calling their children twice a day before the week ended.

(image example)

Damon adjusted his cap and started toward the academic side of campus.

He wanted the whole official college thing finished as quickly as possible. Orientation, advisor, class confirmation, ID, whatever forms Blackwood still needed so the university could formally acknowledge that yes, Damon Corvin Viremont existed and yes, someone had successfully convinced a billionaire heir that education was still worth attending in person.

Once that was done, he could sit somewhere quiet and work on the part of his day that actually interested him.

The Service Path.

The idea had already started taking shape in his head; a private website, clean and expensive-looking, with enough discretion that wealthy women would feel safe using it without thinking they had accidentally clicked into some horny teenager’s side project.

Which, unfortunately for professionalism, was exactly what it was.

The page had to be simple. Damon did not want ten forms, six confirmation pages, a questionnaire, and enough terms and conditions to qualify as mortgage paperwork.

Four taps if he could manage it.

Enough verification to keep idiots away, enough privacy to make serious clients comfortable, and a booking structure that did not look like he had built it during lunch using a free template and divine hope.

There was the pictures issue.

His face was staying out of them. Obviously.

He was reckless, not completely braindead.

The rest of him was another matter.

The women needed to know what they were coming for, and Damon had absolutely no intention of advertising himself like some mystery box where the customer found out after arrival whether the prize was decent. Body. Dick... the new weight of it; face off-camera. Everything else on purpose.

’Professional transparency. I should put that on a business card. Then burn the business card.’

His conscience stirred somewhere deep inside.

’Keep sleeping. You had your chance for two years. You chose the bathroom.’

Orientation first, website after, then home.

Home immediately brought Camilla back into his head, because apparently the woman had taken permanent residence there without submitting paperwork.

Damon’s mouth slowly pulled into a grin.

She thought she was slick.

Actually, no. She was slick. Annoyingly slick.

Tonight he was not going to bed a Peeping Tom with premium seating.

He wanted to make an actual move and find out whether that bathroom had been the invitation it looked like or whether Camilla simply enjoyed testing how much pressure an eighteen-year-old virgin could take before his common sense packed a suitcase and left home:

With his hands on that ass, his mouth sealing onto those tits and as much of that wet cunt as she was willing to feed him.

Either answer sounded fun.

He was eighteen years old, had somehow awakened something called the MILF Desire System... classified as a Lust Spawn, had powers with names that sounded like a horny demon had been given administrator access to reality, and after all of that, he was still technically a virgin.

The thought made him snort as he crossed toward the orientation building.

’Yeah. That little problem is getting fixed. Tonight before I grow a second personality made entirely of excuses.’

Damon walked faster, suddenly possessing far more enthusiasm for university administration than any sane student should.

First college, then the website and Camilla.

His schedule was starting to look genuinely productive.