Over the Fence Box Set

by Aarons, Carrie

  Why am I nervous? This never happens. My hands are sweating, and suddenly little black dots appear in my vision. I sit back, closing my eyes, halting the straddle split I’ve been pushing my body into moments before. Taking deep, drawn out breaths, I flood my lungs with overly heated air from inside the auditorium.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Miles’s concerned voice fills my ears. I continue to breathe, just thinking that if I can take a two-second break from the chaos of this room, I’ll be fine.

  “Hey …” And then his big, strong hand is rubbing my naked back, the calluses on his palm scratching my skin. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

  He’s whispering soothing sentiments into my ear, working his digits up and down my tailbone. Goose bumps follow in his wake, and tingles electrify my bones, heat pooling in my core. The feeling that the walls are closing in on me recedes, and I lean into Miles’s comfort, his body now bracketing my side.

  “We’re up, Chloe. We have to go. Just take my hand. We’re going to do great.” I look up at Miles, whose kaleidoscope eyes burn into my own. As if in a trance, I allow him to pick me up off the floor and lead me out onto the dance floor.

  The judges’ table, where three gleeful professors turned dance-scorers sit, resides on the left side of the dance floor. The rest of the laid hardwood is packed in on each side by the audience, who are mostly students and Greek life members.

  Miles holds my hand firmly as he trots us onto the floor, plastering a showman’s smile on his beautiful lips and elbowing me to do the same. I follow, fixing my mouth in just the right sexy, happy smile. I begin to regain some of my confidence, and when we take our starting position in each other’s embrace, I flash my eyes in challenge to him.

  “Let’s dance the hell out of this.” I smirk at my renewed giddiness.

  The beginning notes of the saucy Latin beat I picked for us drift loudly over the room. Then we are moving, and everything else falls away.

  Miles twists and turns me, moving my figure where he wants it, when he wants it. I become pliable, moving with him elegantly and easily, but strong in my dancing as well. Our feet stride in tandem, one replacing the other as we burn the dance floor up in our wake. He’s all but eating me up with the cocky, sultry grin that marks his face for the entire performance. I know it’s his expression that’s fueling me to get even more into our dance.

  We’re almost done, all that’s left us the lift and the ending pose. I saunter across the dance floor, rolling my hips as I remain in character, the saucy Latin temptress. I face Miles, and see him give just the slightest nod of his head for reassurance, a gesture meant only for me. I sashay to him, and then I’m up, my head thrown back, my bent legs almost touching the crown of my scalp. Miles’ strong hands clasp my waist. He’s almost able to encircle the entire thing, and I’m not sure why but it turns me on. The idea that he can so easily overpower me, make my body do whatever he wants.

  We end with my body slithering down his and wrap each other in an embellished lover’s caress. My body shivers with lust as his big frame swallows me.

  And then the world is rushing back, the audience is on its feet. I see Minka and Owen screaming right at the front of the dance floor, and the judges clap with such enthusiasm I feel like we’ve just won the entire competition.

  The same blonde who interviewed us before, I find out her name is Brooke Sayers, comes to stand beside us as we face the judges. Miles is standing in back of me, his hands on my waist, doing the supportive partner stance.

  “Judges, let’s hear your comments on Miles and Chloe’s tango!” Her pearly-white veneers glint in the light of the camera.

  The short, rotund sociology professor, Mr. Janglit, goes first. “Wow. The interaction between you two, I was fanning my face the entire dance. Your bodies worked in such harmony with each other, I think we have real finals potential on our hands here!” He nods at the crowd while snapping his fingers like he’s at a poetry slam.

  Brooke motions to the second judge, my own dance theory professor Ms. Merilee. “Brava, Chloe and Miles. Your form was fantastic, the way you led her Miles, I can see you are classically trained. Your steps were on point, and although there was a disjointed hand or leg movement here or there, it was, overall, very, very good for the first week.”

  The crowd claps again, before quieting down for the last judge’s comments. “One word.” Mr. Vittle, the British Literature teacher, scrounges around under his chair.

  “TEN!” he cries, holding up the scorecard, indicating our dance hit the highest mark for him.

  The other two judges hold up tens as well, and then Brooke Sayers is screaming, “And we have our first perfect tens of the season!”

  I jump and turn, launching myself into Miles’s arms. He swings me around, both of us smiling ecstatically at each other, before he kisses me on the cheek. Setting me down.

  Brooke motions for us to exit the dance floor, the last couple has to perform, and we make our way back to the dressing rooms. Which are really only utility closets in the campus center.

  I run in, a flurry of excitement at our near perfect dance.

  “We did it!” I do a little happy jump, surprised that I’m this jazzed up about a performance. Don’t get me wrong, I love ballet, but I’m always wholly content afterward. I’m never enthused to the point of skipping. I never feel like going out and partying after.

  “Yeah.” Miles rubs the back of his neck. “Thank God you didn’t have a full-on nerd theater meltdown before. Oh wait, you did.” He laughs sarcastically, and my happy bubble instantly pops.

  So he was just faking all of that partnerly love for the crowd. Well, at least I know now. Not that it makes the ache in my heart lessen. “Thanks for calming me down.” Embarrassment floods my cheeks.

  “No problem. That’s what partners are for, right? So … I guess I’ll see you at the cast party?” The Dancing with the Greeks parties are legendary. They rotate around the Greek houses every Tuesday night and usually end with multiple visits by both campus police and the Grover town cops. I suddenly had no interest to go at all. I give a noncommittal shrug before I turn around to see that he hasn’t even waited for my answer.

  9

  Miles

  The shade of her eyes matched the shade of her plum-colored lips tonight. It’s branded into my brain, that image, and it won’t get the fuck out.

  Chloe was magnificent tonight. Once she got out on that dance floor she lit up like the giant white-lit Christmas tree my mother insisted on putting in the hallway at the holidays. When she dances, you can’t tear your eyes away from her. I don’t think I’ll ever see anything more beautiful again.

  And that is a fucking problem. Because no way am I getting messed up with the princess.

  A girl on my lap, a beer in my hand. Now, this is what I need.

  Brooke Sayers twists in my lap, and drunkenly pouts as I keep my conversation with one of my frat buddies going, all but ignoring her.

  “Will you teach me to dance? You’re soooo good at it.” She grins, her voice doing that annoying valley-girl imitation.

  Chloe never does that. Weird how I never noticed that before. It’s such a spoiled princess thing you’d think she would.

  “Maybe later, in my room, baby.” I give her a wolfish grin, and her hazy eyes pool with lust. They’re not the shade of a purple sunset though.

  “Mr. Classically Trained, be my pong partner?” Clint yells from across the room. We’re always partners, and we always kill it. Something about being able to calculate the distance of a throw, him at catcher, me at shortstop, gives us a very unfair advantage in drinking games.

  Guess the cat’s out of the bag on my ballroom secret, but most of the brothers don’t seem to care. They aren’t even making fun of me, they’re stoked. So stoked that the asshole they picked can actually do a two-step.

  I’m about to answer Clint when I see her. Chloe walks into the cavernous living room of the Kappa frat house, where tonight’s designated after-part
y is being held, still in her competition dress. That dress should be illegal. It’s black and glittery, exposing entire portions of her skin throughout it. I want to rip it off her with my teeth.

  I see her glance around, her eyes stopping dead on Brooke all but straddling my lap, shoving her tits in my face. Chloe’s expression crumples. It’s a look I’ve seen from her over the years, at various high school parties she’d show up to. Someone else would have already claimed me for the night, and disappointment would show at her missed opportunity to finally take me to bed.

  It never bothered me. Until now. I feel like a total dick.

  She turns on her heel, walking just as quickly out as she did in.

  Brooke doesn’t seem to notice the exchange and continues to shove her overly whitened chompers close to my mouth. I then realize she’s not as hot as I originally thought. I, kind of irritably, throw her off my lap, an angry huff leaving her thin lips as she bounces onto the couch.

  I barely register her pissed off “Hey!” as I leave the room. Looking for Chloe in the hallway, I almost bowl over Owen on his way out of the bathroom.

  “Hey, man, where you off to in such a hurry?” Humor lines his eyes. He’s been in a fan-fucking-tastic mood ever since Minka gave him the time of day over a year ago.

  “Have you seen Chloe?” I must have a panicked look on my face, because he rounds on me.

  “What the fuck did you do to her now? Haven’t you cut that girl down enough? You’re a dick, man.”

  His visceral response almost knocks me on my ass. “What are you talking about, Axel?”

  He sighs, a little bit of guilt marking his expression. “Okay, well. Minka told me what you said to Chloe the night of the fair. How you reamed her out. I can’t believe you’d talk to her like that, Farris. And now this. I know you’ve been treating her like shit the last month. When are you going to get over this Olivia shit? I want my friend back,” he mumbles the last part, effectively ripping my heart in half.

  And that night on the Ferris Wheel comes rushing back at me. I’ve all but forgotten the horrible things I said to her, forgot that I sulked over the side while I listened to her silent tears. God, I really am an asshole.

  I was fresh off being dumped by Olivia, and just that day, fresh off a World War caliber argument with my father. I was flayed open that summer, and being dragged to the fair and forced into a date with Chloe had been like salt in the wound. But it didn’t mean I had to treat her like dog shit under my shoe.

  “I’m sorry, man. I’ve been … there’s been some shit going on in my life.” I implore him to accept my apology with the stare I drill into him.

  “You don’t have to apologize, Farris. I’m your best friend. I’m here to talk. And maybe we can do that. But right now, I think you do owe someone else an apology.”

  Leave it to Axel to sound like a fucking wise monk or some shit. I take off, tearing out of the house and searching both the backyard and front lawn to no avail. She’s either upstairs in someone’s room, a thought that makes me want to spit nails, or gone. I jog down to the sidewalk, swiveling my head back and forth, trying to make out any shadow in the dark.

  A willowy figure appears under a street light about forty feet from the house, and I sprint to where I caught it in the light.

  As I near the person, they begin to turn, the air crackling with fear. And then Chloe is screeching at the top of her lungs, piercing the night air with her blood-curdling yells.

  “Chloe! It’s just me. It’s Miles.” She stops, confusion and relief flooding her toffee-colored complexion. She throws an elegant, slim hand over her heart, trying to stop the labored breaths puffing out of her throat.

  “Jeez, you really scared me. I thought you were going to rape me or something.”

  The thought both sickens and arouses me. I like my sex rough, but I would never, ever take it from a girl unwillingly. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t walk home alone at night, princess.”

  Upset replaces the confusion in her eyes, their twinkle reflected by the moon. I am always starting off on the wrong foot with this girl.

  “I didn’t … fuck. I just … whenever I talk to you it always comes out harsher than I mean it to sound. And what you saw back there … with Brooke. It wasn’t anything.”

  “You don’t have to explain to me. It’s none of my business.” The way she says this, not like another girl would in some bitchy, snide tone, but in a simplistic way while staring at her feet, makes me want to explain more.

  “I’m sorry—” It’s all I get out before she cuts me off.

  “Miles, you really don’t have to apologize. I’m going to go home. Been a long day.” Chloe sighs, turning away and walking slowly down the sidewalk before I can grab onto her arm.

  “You didn’t let me finish.” I bound in front of her to cut her off. “I’m sorry about that, in there. But I’m also sorry about the horrible things I said to you. At the fair, this summer. I was in a bad place. Still am. I shouldn’t have dumped that on you.”

  Chloe is silent, and I can’t quite make out the emotions playing out on her face in the shadows.

  “Thank you.” She finally speaks, and my conscience doesn’t feel any better.

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” I can feel my blood begin to boil. Of course, I chase this spoiled brat halfway down Greek Row to apologize, and she does nothing but act like a total bitch. Typical.

  “I’m not sure what else to say, Miles. You made it very clear years ago you aren’t interested in me, and what you do now is really none of my business. My feelings are my feelings, and those are things I have to deal with.”

  “And what are those feelings, Chloe? Do they start somewhere between your legs? Do those feelings compel you to take a ride on my dick? You’re just like all the other shallow, airhead girls at this school.” I scoff at her, unable to plug the word vomit spewing out of my mouth. It’s times like now, when someone is speaking to me rationally, like I’m a child, that I need to lash out at them. I feel like my flesh is too constricting for all the emotion and rage bottled up inside me.

  Chloe looks like I’ve slapped her, her bottom lip trembles as she bites it to keep from sobbing. She turns again, and this time when she walks up the sidewalk to the front lawn of the Zeta house, I don’t immediately go after her.

  But then my temper gets the best of me.

  I reach her as she slides her key into the door of the enormous red brick mansion. “Why do you want me, huh? What is you want with me, Chloe?”

  I’m yelling at the back of her head, throwing this tantrum like a two-year-old has invaded my body. I can’t seem to stop. She turns the lock, pushing inside, and tries to slam the door shut in my face.

  “Not so fast, princess.” I push inside and Chloe backs up, her face bruised with shock and fear. I’m scaring her, I know this, but I just can’t get a hold on my fury. “You want my money? What is it? My dick? You need me to fuck you real good? Heard about me on campus from your sisters.”

  Her cinnamon-colored cheeks go scarlet, my dirty talk embarrassing her. It makes me hard, my dick bulging into the tight crevices of the tuxedo pants. I’m pissed … no, I’m fucking livid that this is the second time I’ve ended up with this girl at the end of the night. Livid that it seems she’s the only one who makes my cock hungry these days.

  I don’t want to want her. But I can’t help closing the microscopic space between us and grabbing her face in my hands before devouring her ample lips.

  She tastes like strawberries and vanilla, and I realize that I always knew she’d taste sweet like this. Her lips are so full that I sink my teeth into the padded skin and elicit a strangled moan from Chloe. I’m moving her head roughly back and forth, placing it where I want it before diving back in for another brutal exploration with my tongue. I reach down, grabbing her tight, pert ass, massaging the firm globes a little too abrasively.

  Chloe is mewling into my mouth, just barely hanging on as I attack her. My cock is scream
ing to be inside her, sheathed in her wet, tight heat.

  “If you don’t take me to your room in three seconds, I’m going to fuck you, right here, on the staircase.”

  She turns, scurrying up the stairs with me right on her tail. I’m stalking her, like a lion does its prey, removing my clothes as we go. I tear at the cuff links, which make a tinny, metal sound as they hit the hallway floor before I tear the entire shirt off, buttons flying this way and that. I start at the belt but see Chloe turn and disappear into a doorway.

  I follow, marching into her room. I don’t even care to look around. Whipping off my belt, I unbutton and unzip my pants, my cock pulsing with relief at the tiny exposure I give it.

  Chloe stands in the center of the room, looking disoriented, before I grab her and hoist her up onto her desk, knocking textbooks and takeout menus off in the process.

  Her thighs fall open, and I feel a primal instinct to annihilate her. I want her to scream. I want to empty all the anger I feel into her body.

  I rip the straps of the halter clasped behind her neck, and the material hangs at her waist, exposing her small, full breasts. Her nipples, the color of rich red wine, slant up into the air, impossibly stiff. The head of my tool twitches, so sensitive to the cool air in her room that it has a jolt of arousal slamming into my spine.

  I get right up on her, positioning myself between her legs, and rip the slit running up her dress even wider. A black lace thong peeks out at me, and I promptly rip that off of her too. I’m rewarded with a breathy gasp.

  But before Chloe can swallow that moan, I reach in, taking my cock in my fist, and begin to slide deep into her slick, wet box.

  “Fuckkk …” The curse comes out as a plea on my lips, and I drive even deeper into her.

  Chloe is protesting my invasion, her hands holding my hips, pushing them back to slow me down. My temper flares.