My cock is practically weeping with joy at the fact that we’re getting another chance at this, and though I’d like nothing more than to toss her onto the nearest flat surface and have my way, I’m starting to see the upside of waiting.
I trail my hands over the firm skin of her calves, the baby soft skin behind her knees, the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs. She hesitates when I press her legs apart, urging her to open, but finally she does, letting me see that smooth pink flesh again. I can smell her and see her and now I touch her, one fingertip tracing back and forth, lightly then harder, seeking, finding. I push inside with one finger and part her folds with my other hand, exposing her for my mouth.
“Kell...” she says, her voice raspy, fingers twining in my hair and pushing my head away after just a few seconds. “I can’t.”
My heart stops. My hand stops. Everything stops. “You can’t? Why...why not?”
“I can’t stand up when you do that. I’ll fall down.”
Relief washes over me and I laugh, my forehead pressing into her thigh as my shoulders shake. “Oh fuck,” I mumble against her. “Oh fuck, Andi. I thought you... Okay. Okay, lie down. I’ll eat your pussy lying down.”
Her jaw drops and she slaps her fingers over her mouth. “Kellan!”
I laugh louder, pleased to see not everything is different from that summer. She’d only agreed to try oral a few times, mortified by the mere prospect, and never once had she gotten off from it. To be fair, I had no clue what I was doing, but now I can show her what I’ve learned. I lean in and find her clit again, sucking it against my teeth. She mumbles something and stumbles away.
“Lie down,” I tell her again.
Her eyes dart from the coffee table to the floor to the couch, and to help with the decision I pat the cushions. “Right here.”
She sits down and hesitates again, the kind of nervous politeness like when someone tells you to have as many cookies as you want and you want the whole plate but only take one. I rise onto my knees for another kiss, distracting her as I open her legs around my hips, bear her back onto the cushions, and kiss my way past her jaw, her throat, her clavicle, her breasts, her stomach, her hip bones.
When I’m kneeling on the floor, back where I started, her skin is flushed and she’s got one leg bent on the couch, the other resting on my shoulder. She’s slick and wet when I touch her, admiring the view as long as I dare, still remembering how she’d scolded me last time for staring.
I open my mouth and cover her, licking, kissing, sucking. I leave no spot untouched, feeling the clench in her thighs, hearing her muffled moans, looking for cues to tell me all the things she won’t say. I work two fingers inside and fuck her, gently at first, then harder. I hear her breathing grow rough and uneven, feel the dig of her fingernails in my skull as she seeks out something to hold on to. I steal a glance up the length of her body, her flat stomach and peaked nipples, her eyes closed tight, head twisted sideways, buried in the arm that’s clutching the side of the couch like an anchor.
I smile and use my thumb to expose her clit, sealing my lips around the tight bud and working it until she’s whimpering, incoherent pleas that almost make me come. When Andi comes she cries out, the sound muffled against her arm, her body squeezing my fingers in frantic waves. I continue to suck until the spasms ease, licking gently as she finishes, releasing my head like she’s giving me permission to stop.
“Oh my God,” she murmurs, blinking up at the ceiling.
I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and try not to look self-satisfied. Easy enough, given the erection straining at the front of my boxer-briefs, still begging for attention.
I force myself to stand and go into the kitchen for water, giving us both a moment to recuperate. On my way back to the couch I detour into my bedroom and grab a condom, returning to find Andi in exactly the position I left her.
“I can’t move,” she says, watching me sit near her feet.
“You can have two minutes to recover,” I say kindly.
She laughs and struggles to sit up, eventually succeeding. She kisses my cheek. “Thanks.”
“Any time.”
Her hand slides down my chest, over my stomach, and covers the aching bulge at my crotch. “Why aren’t you naked?”
I take her hand away. “Because I don’t know how much longer I can last.”
She kisses the corner of my mouth and opens the condom packet. “Find out.”
A minute later she’s lying back on the cushions and I’m following, her legs opening like a gate, welcoming me home. I take my time pushing inside, watching her face as she watches mine. When we did this after Open Mic I’d had to tell her to look at me, but now she does it because she wants to, she wants to see. And I want her to see.
When I’m buried as deep as I can go, I just stay there, my arms trembling as I hold myself up, not sure I have the strength to move. After a minute Andi nudges my chin so she can kiss me, tongues twining lazily. At some point I realize I’m moving, slow, deep strokes that feel like they’re going nowhere and everywhere all at once. I can’t recall the last time I had sex where it wasn’t just about getting off. Maybe never.
I don’t know how long it goes on like this, but at some point Andi sighs and shudders and her orgasm quietly initiates mine, intense and all-consuming. I collapse on top of her, my face hidden in the side of her neck, as the orgasm wrings me out and leaves me exhausted and weak, every last muscle in my body sated and replete.
“Ermahgahd,” I mumble sometime later.
“Yeah,” Andi says.
I lift my head but she’s got her eyes closed, peaceful and content.
From the corner of my eye I spy the television, the sound muted, the game over. They’re already recapping the highlights.
L.A. won.
Hewlett hit a game-winning double in the top of the ninth that will send his team to the World Series.
I turn off the TV.
I’ll tell Andi later.
chapter fourteen
I blame it on the break in. I wake up in pitch darkness to a muffled thud from the living room and sit up in bed in alarm, picturing the people who trashed this place coming back for seconds. I’m buck naked but I don’t care, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and tiptoeing to the closet to retrieve the baseball bat I stashed there for just such an occasion.
I fold my fingers around the doorknob and twist it as quietly as I can. Then I yank open the door, lift the bat with both hands, and leap into the living room screaming at the top of my lungs.
A female scream joins mine.
For a long second, we just scream. Then my eyes adjust to the light and I see Andi crouched by the coffee table with her shirt half on and a couch cushion held up like a shield. Beneath the cushion I see her penguin panties and bare legs.
“You asshole!” she bellows, chucking the cushion at me. It’s too big to sail far and lands harmlessly near the television.
My pulse is racing so fast that it’s making me dizzy and I have to grip the wall to steady myself. There’s so much adrenaline in my veins that I feel a bit sick. And more than a little mortified.
I risk a glance out the corner of my eye. Andi has pulled on her shirt and is straightening her jeans so they’re right side out.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
She glares at me. “A baseball bat?”
“It’s your favorite sport.”
She’s not buying it.
“I was thinking about the robbery,” I admit.
Her shoulders soften slightly as some of her irritation ebbs away. “Are you just going to stand there naked?”
I finally remember I’m nude. “You like me best this way.”
She smirks and sticks her foot in her jeans.
I check the time on the microwave. It’s two-thirty. I don’t know what time we went to sleep, but it wasn’t very long ago. Once we’d recovered from the couch sex, we’d moved things into my bedroom. I left the desk lamp on so I could
see Andi’s hair splayed across my pillow, the pale glow of her skin against my dark sheets, the way she bit her lip when I moved inside her, the way she smiled a little as she came again.
And again.
Her sneaking out in the middle of the night is a slap in the face.
“Where are you going?”
She doesn’t look up. “Home.”
“Why?”
Now she looks up. “Seriously?”
“What? It’s late. And there are vandals in this area.” I say the word “vandals” with as much ominous intensity as I can. “And I need the baseball bat, so you can’t take it with you.”
She fixes her hair. “I’ll be careful.”
“Andi.” I cross the room and stop her when she puts her second leg in the jeans. “This is a very dangerous neighborhood. Don’t go.”
She covers her eyes. “Oh my God, Kellan. Please. Put some pants on.”
“I don’t want to put my pants on. I don’t want you to put yours on, either.”
She parts her fingers half an inch and peers out at me. “Why not?”
“Why not? I...” I rack my brain, trying to think of a decent answer. The truth is, I don’t really have one, I’m just acting on instinct. I want Andi to stay because I want her to be here. “Because we have class together in the morning,” I say. “We can walk over. I can make you breakfast.”
She looks unconvinced.
“Because if you leave I’ll have to drive you home and it’s cold out and I’m naked.”
Her mouth twitches and I know I’m winning. I pinch the hem of her shirt between two fingers and slowly lift it to see her panties. “Because I’m not ready to say goodbye to these penguins just yet.” I stroke a finger across the front of her crotch. “And because you were going to leave without saying anything.”
She meets my eyes. “That’s what you do.” There’s no vitriol in the words. I’ve seen Andi angry enough times to know the signs; she’s just being honest. And she’s not wrong. That is what I do. Correction: it’s what I did.
“Don’t be like me,” I say softly, watching my thumb pass over a penguin building an igloo while pretending not to notice that my other hand is raising the shirt. There’s a moment of resistance, then Andi raises her arms and lets me take it off. She hadn’t bothered with the bra and we both feel it when my cock takes notice, bumping against her thigh as it hardens.
She laughs tiredly. “Kellan, I can’t again.”
I let go of her shirt. “Oh. In that case, maybe you should go.”
She laughs louder. I see the chipped tooth.
“Jerk.”
I lead her back to bed, watching the penguins as they disappear under the covers, and pull her against me, back to front, smelling her hair when I inhale. It doesn’t take long to hear her breathing quiet as she fades away, her soft snores as she dreams. Despite the energy jolt from the non-attack, I have no trouble drifting off right behind her.
It’s our first time sleeping together.
* * *
The following morning I make breakfast while Andi showers. When she comes out of the bathroom wearing my Burnham hoodie, I feel like I’ve won the jackpot. Maybe it’s old-school, but I like seeing my name on her.
“I made waffles,” I say, sticking two on a plate and sliding them across the counter as she takes a seat on one of the barstools. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Juice.”
I pour two glasses, plate up my own waffles, then join her. We eat in silence for a minute, then Andi asks, “Have you ever thought about being a chef?”
I add more syrup. “No.”
“You’re a good cook.”
“Thanks.”
“And you’re undeclared.”
“I don’t want to be a chef; I just like cooking. And I’m not going to get a degree at Burnham then turn around and go to culinary school.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“What are you going to do?” I counter. And though I asked the question because I wanted to avoid hers, I also want the answer.
She puts a large piece of waffle into her mouth. “Finish my degree and figure it out,” she says around the food.
“In Avilla?”
She makes a face. “Could be anywhere.”
The words are like a hundred locks turning on a hundred doors, opening an entire world of new possibilities, new visions of Andi someplace, any place. Places I didn’t have the nerve to invite her. College. Halloween party. Sports Banquet. It’s not too late for that last one, but she speaks up before I can open my mouth.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she says. “It’s your third year and you’re still undeclared. What are you going to do?”
“Dodge my course advisor, probably.”
Which, of course, is easier said than done, when I open the front door to find Bertrand on the frost-covered street. He’s still wearing his soccer shorts, but this time he’s added a puffy black jacket to the mix. It’s bright and sunny but the air is crisp and the road quiet, the grass tipped with white as we crunch our way down the stairs, Andi in the lead.
“Hey,” Bertrand says when we approach.
“Hi,” Andi replies.
“Stalker,” I say.
He extends a hand and Andi shakes it. “I’m Bertrand, Kellan’s course advisor.”
“I’m Andi.”
“She’s in the film class,” I say, when he looks at me. “The one you signed me up for so you could ogle Ms. Shaw. He’s in love with Ms. Shaw,” I tell Andi.
“Shut it, McVey.”
We start walking down the sidewalk.
“I met with Ms. Shaw a couple of weeks ago,” Andi says after a block. “She mentioned she was looking forward to the Italian film festival coming up next week.”
“You should invite her,” I tell Bertrand.
“Thanks, Kellan. That wasn’t incredibly obvious.”
“You should also stop wearing those shorts all the time if you’re not actually playing soccer.”
He gives me a dark look.
“Love is pain,” I add.
“Is that what this is?” He nods between Andi and I.
“He did try to attack me with a baseball bat,” Andi says.
“Andi!” I exclaim. “I didn’t attack her. I was just prepared to.”
“That’s so much better.”
“I mean, if she was a robber.”
Bertrand’s trying not to laugh. “Relax. You got robbed. Now you’re frightened. It’s normal.”
“I’m not frightened.”
Andi snorts.
“I’m just ready.”
Now Bertrand snorts.
“You know what?” We stop at the doors to the Klein Building. “Just go inside, Andi. I need to talk to Bertrand for a second.”
“I’m not talking to you about Ms. Shaw,” he says firmly.
“It’s not about her. Stop being so obsessed.”
Andi leaves us to bicker.
“What?” Bertrand asks.
“Sociology.”
“What about it?”
“That’s my major. I’m declaring it.”
“Sociology? Why?”
“Did you think I was going to become a film critic? Sociology is sensible. It leaves a lot of options open.”
“You just picked it because it was easy.”
Through the open doors I see Andi disappearing into the crowd. “Or maybe sometimes I get things right on the first try, even if it takes me a while to appreciate it.”
“Are you just saying that so we can stop these walks?”
“I would say anything to stop these walks.”
“Because nothing will stop them.”
“God, just ask her out already.”
He clears his throat. “I bought tickets.”
“To the film festival?”
“Yeah. Full passes.”
“Do you like Italian film?”
“I like it as much as I like Portuguese and Ru
ssian and Thai film,” he replies. “Which is to say, I don’t know anything about it.”
“So we’re the same.”
He nudges me toward the auditorium. “We’re nothing alike.”
I crane my neck to see Ms. Shaw in her usual position at the far set of doors, speaking with a student. She wears some sort of strange feather hairpiece and she’s touching it self-consciously.
“Compliment that feather thing,” I whisper as I get swept into the swarm of last-minute students arriving for class.
Bertrand ignore me and strides down the hall.
I’m smiling when I drop into the seat next to Andi.
“What was that all about?” she asks.
“I’m helping Bertrand with his love life.”
“I heard about what you said to Nate,” Marcela says.
“Fuck!” I jolt in my chair and find Marcela waiting in the seats behind us. “It’s too early for this, Marcela.”
“I’m an early riser.”
I unclench my fists. “Are you two doing it now? Can this be over?”
“I can’t kiss and tell.”
“That was literally the whole purpose behind our ‘relationship.’ Minus the kissing.”
“Whatever. Not everyone needs to advertise their love story. Some things are private. I just came to say thanks.”
“As in...thank me?”
“Yeah. You’re not as awful as everyone thinks.”
“No one thinks I’m awful!”
“All the girls at The Sling do,” Andi pipes up.
“Not now, Andi.” I stop glaring at her and glare at Marcela again. “So we’re done? You can stop sneaking up on me?”
“I’m in this class. I’ll always be here.”
“You’re here for five minutes.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day. I’ll be here for fifteen, since we’re getting the outline for next week’s in-class essay.”
“Just tell me if you and Nate hooked up. Was he the life of your party?”
“Stop trying to make innuendos. You don’t know what they are.”
“Are they different than puns?”
“Yes,” Andi says. “Give up.”
The conversation is interrupted when Ms. Shaw switches on the microphone and clears her throat. It might just be me, but it looks like she’s blushing. Like maybe somebody invited her to a film festival and complimented her weird feather. I take notes as she explains the in-class assignment will consist of an eight-hundred word essay, written in class, detailing what we learned from the films we watched. Normally when a professor gives us an outline for the exam or an essay, my mind stays completely blank. But with the exception of boring Citizen Kane—which became semi-interesting after the fact—the movies we watched were pretty good. I understand why we’re watching them, and even if the story isn’t necessarily to my taste, I understand why they’re important and relevant and I like being aware of it.
Undeclared (Burnham College #2) Page 20