The Envy of Idols

by Stunich, C. M.

  "Because," he breathes, leaning down and capturing my bottom lip between his teeth. He sucks it into his mouth for a minute, teasing it with his tongue and making me moan. He releases me before finishing his sentence. "That's where you're going."

  Creed moves back onto the bed, covering me with his body, settling himself between my thighs. I wrap my arms around him and kiss him like I never want to let go.

  As things start to get hot and heavy, the thought occurs to me.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I whisper against his ear, groaning as he kisses his way along my throat, probably leaving hickeys that I'll have to cover up in the morning.

  “Anything.”

  Poor Creed. He may very well regret saying that.

  “Are you a virgin?” The words slip past my lips before I can think better of them, hanging in the air between us like a cloud, like a comic book speech bubble attached to my big mouth.

  Creed Cabot freezes, and then sits up, looking down at me with his golden hair mussed and his beautiful mouth twisted into a frown.

  “Why would you even think that?” he snaps and I cringe slightly. It only takes him a minute to figure it out, and his lips purse into a thin line. Creed closes his eyes, and puts two fingers up to his temple. “Fucking Miranda. I have never wanted to kill my twin more than I do in this moment.”

  “So … it's true?” I ask, feeling this strange, silly surge of excitement. But there's nothing wrong with that really, is there? It just seems … like it might be easier if we're both inexperienced and don't know what we're doing.

  “You and your stupid, asinine rules,” he growls glancing over at me like he isn't sure what to think or do. “No lies, right?”

  I smile, touched by his sudden insecurity. It takes all of that smooth, polished perfection of his and gives it a lovable, little flaw.

  "No lies."

  "Shit." Creed runs his fingers through his hair, and then turns to look at me. "Yeah, it's true."

  My heart trips, falls, skins its knee, and gets up again. I feel all bruised and tender, and my cheeks flush with heat.

  "Damn," I whisper, holding back a giggle. "Do the others know?"

  Creed gives me a look that clearly says I've lost my mind, and shakes his head.

  "No, and you're not going to tell them are you?" I shake my head, and he looks away sharply, almost like he's ashamed.

  "Don't be upset. It's not like the entire academy doesn't know that I'm one, too."

  Creed turns around, leaning back over to kiss me again. Some of his reckless abandon is gone, so I try to bring it back by curling my arms around his neck. Our mouths work furiously at each other, tongues sweeping across lower lips, chasing the edges of teeth. My nails dig into the bare skin of his upper back, and his left hand slides up the slit in my dress, teasing my thigh with the warm, dry heat of his palm.

  Our bodies work together much like they did in the hot tub that day, and soon we’re both moaning, grinding against one another in all the places that count.

  This time, when his left hand slides along the waistband of my panties and dips lower, I don't put a stop to it. Creed keeps his fingers on the outside of the fabric, sliding them against the warm throbbing in my core, and teasing more dampness from my body.

  "Tell me when you want to stop," he whispers, biting my earlobe. The thing is … I'm not sure that I want to stop. I keep finding myself in these situations, and wondering, wanting, needing, but then I deny myself and I just end up frustrated.

  No, I don't want to stop.

  Those long beautiful fingers of his tease me until I'm panting, moving my hips to meet each touch. He works me until I'm a complete mess, my hair tangled, my skin sweaty, my heart thundering like a herd of horses. And then, with all of that lazy, insouciant perfection of his, he moves the panties aside and teases my opening with a single finger.

  Our kiss deepens just before he slides it in, all the way to the knuckle. Pleasure of a sort I've never felt before shoots through me, and I dig my fingers hard into Creed’s back, making him grunt. We sit there together for a moment, frozen in an intimate position, letting the newness of the situation settle over us.

  And then he begins to move, slow strokes, in and out, until I’m shaking and quivering and wishing for more. My lips move, but no sound comes out. Creed is shaking, too, sweating. A bead drops from the end of his nose and lands on my lips. I lick it off and he groans, closing his eyes as he inserts a second finger. It gets a bit tight then, but not uncomfortable.

  I bite his lower lip, suck it into my mouth, and then shiver as he sweeps a thumb over my erect nipple. Suddenly, I’m just desperate to get out of the dress. It feels tight, almost confining.

  There’s a knock on the door, and we both pause. Creed swings an irritated gaze in that direction.

  “Hey. Tell the idiot I’m done showering, so he can have the bathroom.”

  “I’ll tell him,” I choke out, wondering if I sound weird, if she can tell, if she knows.

  “KK, night-night.” I can just imagine Miranda waving as she pads off toward her bedroom. Sighing, I lean my head back into the pillows, and Creed curves his fingers, stimulating parts of me I didn’t even know I had. His thumb slicks upward and over the throbbing ache I didn’t realize needed so badly to be sated.

  We start kissing again, and it’s like breathing, to touch my mouth to his. I need him suddenly in a way I’ve never needed anyone before. My hips move against his hand until he’s cursing and pulling away, leaving me gasping and achy. I sit up on my elbows as Creed rises to his feet, panting.

  “Condom?” he asks, and my cheeks flush. He stops then and looks at me, really looks at me. “That is, if that’s what you want.” He just stands there and stares at me, a beautiful shirtless aristocrat with the bone structure of a prince, and the haughty air of a king. That vicious mouth of his, equally good at insulting and kissing alike, turns up in a half-smile. “I’ve waited this long, and so have you. There’s no point in pushing through something that doesn’t feel right.”

  “It feels amazing,” I whisper, feeling a pang of guilt.

  What about the other guys? What about Zack, and the sweet, soft sadness he carries in that big, muscular body of his? What about Zayd’s confession in the library, and the shame he carried for a whole year? And then there’s Windsor and Tristan … I imagine sex doesn’t mean much to either of them. They’ve had enough of it, that’s for sure. No, I want something more from them. I want to be held, and cuddled, and touched. I want to be talked to, listened to … loved.

  I need to see their vulnerability.

  “This feels right.” I sit up and put my feet over the edge of the bed, nodding my head in the direction of my suitcase. “I have condoms in my bag.”

  Creed cocks a blond brow.

  “How? Why?”

  I give him a look, my face flushed, my body on fire. An ardent storm swirls through me … aaaaand, I’m waxing poetic again. Ugh. But it’s so true.

  “I’ve been having condoms thrown at me, shoved in my locker, and piled on my doorstep since first year started. I’m a virgin, not an idiot. I knew sex would happen eventually, so why throw away perfectly good condoms.”

  “They might have holes poked in them,” Creed says, and my blood chills at the implication. That’s beyond bullying, that’s practically sexual assault.

  “No, I only keep the ones in the sealed boxes,” I say, and he nods, bending down and unzipping my suitcase, pushing aside some embarrassing lacey pink panties until he finds what he’s looking for. As he stands back up and reaches down for the button on his slacks, I lean over and turn out the light.

  Standing up, I almost stumble, my legs weak and shaky from all the new sensations.

  Creed catches me by the elbow and pulls me into the curve of his left arm. With the right, he uses his long, beautiful fingers to slide the straps of my dress down until it falls into a glittery puddle near my feet. It’s dark in here, but the city lights catch just enough of a gl
ow that I can see the outline of his beautiful face.

  “Don’t prank me with this,” I whisper, feeling the slightest sting of tears. I’m strong now, but I don’t want to have to be strong through something like this. I want to lose myself in the moment, and then find myself again in Creed Cabot. That’s the whole point. That’s why I’ve waited until now, until seventeen. This is how and when and where I want to do this. “Don’t make a bet out of me, Cabot.”

  “Never again,” he snarls, and there’s such a ferocity in his voice that I shiver. I think of the tattoo on the side of Zayd’s neck for the briefest of moments, and then Creed’s kissing me again. He undoes my bra with one hand and then helps me out of it. His hand relieves the heavy weight of my breast, palming it and kneading the soft flesh. His thumb grazes my nipple, and I tremble.

  We find our way onto the bed, the sparkling lights of San Francisco limning our profiles as we kiss, and Creed pushes his pants down and out of the way. There’s a bit of an awkward fumble as we figure out the condom, and get it on, and then my panties are coming down, and I’m so short of breath I’m lightheaded.

  Creed climbs on top of me, curling his fingers through mine and pinning them above my head.

  “Last chance, Marnye,” he whispers, letting go of me with one hand and using the other to reach between us. I expect there to be a bit of trial and error, but Creed is competent, even in new endeavors. Holy crap, this is happening. Closing my eyes, I exhale, and I wait as he touches me between the legs with more than just his hand.

  Slowly, almost agonizingly so, Creed moves his hips forward and enters me. In a single moment, we go from virgins to … not virgins. At least, in one narrow world view of how virginity works. There are so many other ways, so many other opinions, but at least we have this, a single perfect moment of being joined together.

  “Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice so much softer than usual.

  “No,” I whisper back, and he lets go of my hand, so I can curl both my arms around his neck. He uses his elbows to keep himself partially propped up, but I can feel the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress, the smooth hard shapes of his muscles as he pulls out, and then slides back in. “It feels good.” My voice is husky, deep, almost foreign to my own ears.

  “So it does,” Creed purrs, nuzzling my neck. He moves slowly at first, until we’re both slick with sweat, and then he moves faster, deeper, harder. There are no boundaries between us, and I feel like I’m coming apart in the best possible way.

  We both make soft, easy sounds, grunts and moans that tangle together in the darkness.

  A desperate ache builds in my lower belly, this throbbing motion that feels so good it almost hurts. When it breaks, I arch my back and press into Creed as he kisses my neck, and continues moving his hips, pushing me over the edge to the other side.

  I’m shaking and panting as he finds his own climax, shuddering above me, muscles going taut as rocks before he relaxes suddenly and collapses on top of me.

  We stay there like that for several minutes before Creed groans and rolls off, sliding off the bed to dispose of the condom before he joins me again.

  I’m basically paralyzed, lying there on my back and staring up at the ceiling. In the distance, I can hear the faint cry of a police siren.

  Creed lies down on his side, pillowing his head on his hands and watching me. He’s still breathing hard, and I shiver as he runs his tongue across his lower lip. Honestly … I could probably do the whole thing all over again. Maybe a hundred times more. A thousand.

  “Are you going to tell the others?” he asks, and I glance his direction. “About the sex, I mean.”

  “I …” That’s a very good question. Didn’t I just get on them all for lying by omission?

  “I mean, I know you’re not going to pick me just yet.”

  “Just yet,” I whisper, and he sits up, scooting closer to me and sweeping some hair off my sweaty forehead.

  “No. I don’t expect you to pick me yet. Not until I’ve proven myself.” He leans down and kisses me on the mouth, hard, possessive. My toes quite literally curl into the sheets. “And I will, Marnye. Mark my words, I fucking will.”

  The next morning, I wake up feeling a bit sore but wholly satisfied in a way I didn’t expect. I’m grinning like an idiot as I sit up and swipe my hands down my face, glancing over to find Creed naked and angelic in slumber, his lower half just barely covered with a sheet.

  “Hey,” I whisper, pushing at his shoulder. He grumbles and one, beautiful blue eye opens. “We have to get up. I think we’re—”

  The doorknob jiggles, and then as I gape in shock, the whole thing swings open.

  “Shouldn’t leave your key lying around if—” Miranda starts, and then pauses. I’m sitting up, totally bare on top with her naked twin beside me. Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. “Oh my god,” Miranda chokes out, dropping the key card on the floor and slapping both hands over her mouth. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”

  “Miranda,” Creed says, sitting up and making sure the sheet’s covering all of his, um, bits. “Wait.”

  But my bestie’s already turning and making a run for it, the door to the suite slamming as she disappears. I’m beyond mortified, and I feel slightly sad, too. I know Miranda has a crush on me. I know she does. And I love her beyond words, but just … not in that way. I can’t choose my sexuality anymore than she can choose hers. If I could, she’d be my first pick in the whole world.

  “Goddamn it,” Creed growls, standing up and then turning, the sheet still bunched around his hips. “I don’t regret this. I’d do it all over again. I just …”

  “Go get your sister,” I say, and he nods, disappearing into the main part of the suite.

  Even though I get dressed as fast as humanly possible, Creed beats me to it, striding out of the room in jeans and a tight white shirt. I throw on a yellow sundress, some flats, and head into the hall, bumping right into Zack’s broad, muscular chest.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, and I bite my lip.

  Crap.

  I’m a bit sore, and totally lost in la-la land. My head is definitely in the clouds.

  “Miranda just took off. I’m … I’m looking for her,” I say as Tristan, Zayd, and Windsor appear from around the counter, juggling items from the breakfast buffet. Zayd grins and tosses me an apple that I somehow miraculously catch.

  “What’s wrong with Miranda?” Zayd asks, but I swear, both Wind and Tristan are looking at me like they know.

  “She …” I start, and I have to lean my back against the hotel room door to keep my balance. “She saw something she didn’t like.”

  Zack cocks a dark brow and puts a palm on the door above my head, leaning in and giving me one his narrow-eyed looks. He’s so tall and wide, and he smells like grapefruit … My body shivers, and I realize I’m working with a full truckload of hormones today.

  “You fucked Creed, huh?” Tristan asks, and he seriously sounds bored out of his mind. I can’t quite see him around Zack’s big frame, so I can’t tell if it’s a façade or not.

  “Fucked wouldn’t be the word I’d use,” I whisper as Zayd frowns, and Zack goes completely stiff from head-to-toe. “But we had sex, yes.”

  “How was it?” Windsor asks, and I swear, if I could see more of him than just his red hair sticking up behind Zack, I might’ve slapped him.

  “Seriously?” I choke out, trying and failing to push Zack out of the way. He just stands there, this immovable mountain of muscle and looks at me with a sort of sadness in his eyes that quickly gives way to … determination? He looks like he’s ready to kick Creed’s ass. “Please move, so I can find Miranda.”

  “Are you choosing him?” Zack asks, but then I look up and into his brown eyes, and that ache inside of me just intensifies.

  “I’m not choosing anyone. I told you all that. It’s your turn to realize that you don’t always get what you want, that sometimes you have to share, and that there are consequences to
your actions. The rest of us learn it in kindergarten.” I start to push past him again when he grabs me by the wrists and pins my arms above my head, slanting his lips to mine in a kiss that defies the ages.

  There’s so much written in the warmth of his lips: a promise to fight, a fire that burns, and a possessive claim that makes me shiver. He swirls his tongue over my lower lip and pulls away, leaving me to face a frowning Zayd.

  He hands me a milk, and then grabs onto my hand with his inked fingers when I take it.

  “She ran up the steps to the executive lounge, and Creed followed her.” Zayd acts like he’s going to let go and then tightens his grip again briefly, looking me dead in the face before he smirks. “Eh, I told you I’m not much for virgins anyway. Guess you’re fair game now, huh?”

  “Don’t be crude,” I say as he finally lets go of me with a chuckle.

  “I’m a rockstar, Charity, it’s what we do!” he calls out from behind me, and I have to hide a small smile as I race past Tristan and Windsor. Neither of them looks particularly bothered, but I can’t decide if that’s because sex really doesn’t mean anything to them, or if they’re just impossibly good actors.

  Grabbing the banister, I race up the stairs and search the executive lounge. When I don’t find her there, I head up to the rooftop deck and see her slumped in a chair with Creed kneeling in front of her. She’s crying, her white-blond hair hanging like a shiny sheet on either side of her face as she swipes at her delicate little nose with a cloth napkin.

  “Miranda,” I say, and she looks up at me with teary eyes. I sit down in the chair next to her and reach out to take her hand.

  “I knew you weren’t interested in me like that,” she whispers as Creed and I exchange a look. “But I … at least I had hope before. Even if it was just a shred. But now that you guys have … god, eww. I’m sorry, but now that you’ve been together, I know it’s never happening. Not ever.”

  “Mandy,” Creed whispers, and it’s so sweet and affectionate that I almost melt into a puddle. “Marnye and I both love you. We didn’t mean to hurt you.”