## Chapter 2: The First Week
The key to Room 314 clicked with a rattle that echoed too loudly against the linoleum. Chloe was already inside, wrestling a suitcase twice the size of the twin frame into the closet. "Move over," she chirped, tossing a pile of sweaters onto my mattress. "I need to show you my mini-fridge arrangement. It's an art form."
The walls here weren't just drywall; they were paper. A dropped pen sounded like a gunshot. Chloe's laughter traveled instantly to my side of the room, vibrating through the shared partition. I pressed my palm flat against the surface, feeling the faint tremor of her movements through the other side. Separation had already carved a hollow in my chest, but the dorm amplified it. Every noise from the hallway, every burst of chatter from the common room, felt like a reminder of a world moving on without me.
Chloe was a storm of motion in a space too small for her energy. Freckles dusted her nose, scattered like cinnamon on toast. She didn't just speak; she projected. "He's picking me up at six," she announced, pacing the narrow aisle between the beds. Her phone was glued to her ear. "No, the red one. It matches the way your eyes look when you're drunk. Love you too, bye." She hung up and flopped onto her bed, feet kicking the mattress springs. "God, he's sweet. You look like you're mourning a ghost, sweetie."
I offered a tight smile, tucking my knees to my chest. "Just tired."
The truth was, I was tuned to a frequency only he could broadcast. My phone sat on the pillow like a live wire. Since the morning's call, the silence had been heavy, pressing against my eardrums. I missed the specific weight of his presence, the way his voice dropped an octave when he was pleased. It wasn't just distance; it was the absence of an anchor.
The phone buzzed. *Daddy.* The vibration pattern was ours. I snatched it up, thumbing the screen awake. A video call request blinked, waiting. I slid the flimsy door shut, the aluminum barely containing the sudden rush of blood to my cheeks.
I answered. His face filled the screen, slightly pixelated by the dorm Wi-Fi. He wasn't there, physically, but the angle was intimate—shot from his lap, the camera tilting up to catch the rise and fall of his chest.
"Princess," he murmured. The audio crackled, spilling sound into the room. Chloe was already scrolling through her phone on her side, but the walls were thin. If I spoke too loud, he'd hear her. If she screamed, they'd hear me.
"Check the hall," he instructed. His voice was low, a command that curled around my spine.
I pressed my ear to the door. Quiet. The RA, a guy named Marcus with heavy boots, would be doing rounds in ten minutes. He'd pause outside every door, listen for music, for shouting. I turned back to the screen. "Clear."
"Good. You're in your uniform?"
He knew what I wore. I was in the oversized t-shirt he'd bought me, the one that hung loose, the hem riding up. I hooked my thumbs into the fabric and pulled. The material bunched, revealing the smooth skin of my stomach.
"Yes, sir."
"Tell me what you're thinking."
My throat tightened. "Thinking about how small this bed is. How I can fit three of you on it."
A chuckle vibrated through the speaker. "Liar. You're thinking about my hands."
"I am."
"Then show me. Lift your hips."
I rose on my elbows, the thin mattress springs groaning softly. The glow of the phone illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air. On screen, his eyes tracked every movement, dark and focused. He didn't just watch; he directed.
"Spread the legs for me. Let the camera see."
I obeyed, shifting my thighs until the knees rested against the headboard. The angle was perfect. I could see the way his jaw flexed as he swallowed his smile.
"Perfect," he whispered. "Now, touch yourself. Slowly. I want to hear it."
I brought my hand up, fingers tracing the seam of my panties before sliding beneath the cotton. The friction was electric, sharp and grounding. I bit my lip to stifle the gasp.
*Thump. Thump. Thump.*
Heavy boots. Two floors down. I froze, hand pausing mid-stroke. On screen, he noticed. "What?"
"Rounds."
I breathed, the word barely a whisper. "Keep going. Don't stop unless he's at the door. I want to hear the risk."
He was ruthless like that. I resumed, sliding two fingers inside. The stretch filled me, a familiar fullness that bridged the miles.
*Scritch.*
The sound of a key in a lock. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. I glanced at the door. The handle didn't turn. He was checking Room 312. I exhaled, a shaky breath that fogged the screen slightly.
"Louder," he commanded. "Let the walls carry it."
He knew the acoustics. He'd read the dorm manual. "If you moan, it travels through the vent?"
"Yes."
"Then let me hear you breathe."
I closed my eyes, focusing on the texture of the mattress, the scratch of the wool blanket against my ankles. My fingers moved in rhythm, deep and steady. Each thrust sent a jolt up my neck. On the screen, his thumb stroked his own throat, mirroring the pulse jumping in my neck.
"Cum for me," he said. "Right now. Let go."
The command snapped the last thread of control. My hips bucked, fingers working faster, the coil in my belly unraveling with a sharp, silent cry. Heat flooded my core, washing away the hollow ache, replacing it with a throbbing pulse that spread to my toes. I collapsed back against the headboard, chest heaving, phone slipping from my grip to rest against my collarbone.
"Good girl." The praise was warm, wrapping around my flushed skin. "Did you get caught?"
"No. Marcus paused at 312."
"Smart."
A pause. The connection held, the silence comfortable now, filled with the shared aftermath.
"I miss you," I whispered, the admission slipping out before I could catch it.
"I know, sweetheart." His voice softened, losing the edge of command. "But I'm right here. In your pocket. In your head. You carry me too."
I reached up, pressing the phone to my lips, kissing the screen. "Always."
"Always. Sleep now. I'll call you when I'm awake."
"Okay."
"Love you."
"Love you."
The call ended, leaving only the digital clock blinking on the wall. 11:42 PM. Chloe shifted on her side, murmuring something in her sleep. I placed the phone carefully on the nightstand, the red dot fading from the corner. My body hummed, sensitive and satiated. The separation hadn't vanished, but it had narrowed to a thread, and for now, that was enough.