by Box Set
When we were like that, me leaning back into him, letting him control everything from my movement to my orgasm, I thought to myself that my friends calling me Anastasia wasn’t so bad after all. Just look at how sexy giving up control was. When I stopped being nervous about my inexperience, I was able to give myself thoroughly over to pleasure.
And maybe that was why Marc could expertly use my body like a painter with a brush, highlighting areas I didn’t know existed, lighting me up from the inside out. Because I was so overwhelmed by him that I got out of my own head for once, not overthinking things. Or was it because I felt seen by him in a way no one else had ever seen me?
Either way, when he pinched my nipple as he pulled me back, moving deeper inside me, I lost my train of thought altogether.
And who even needed to think as we moved together like we’d done this a thousand times? I came when he bit my shoulder, but he didn’t slow down even a little bit. In my ear, he whispered filthy, sexy things about my body. I couldn’t think straight if I tried. Which is why the Thing happened. The Thing I never, ever meant to happen.
“I fucking love the way you feel on my cock,” his gravelly voice said.
“Your cock feels so good,” I was secretly thrilled to hear myself saying such a dirty thing out loud.
“I love the Kama Sutra. I fucking love books.” I could tell from the sound of his voice that he was getting close. As he thickened inside me, I was getting close to another one too. And from the tightening of my belly, it was going to be a strong, body-rocking orgasm. My legs were quaking, hardly able to ride him without his strong hands on my hips guiding me up and down, pistoning me on him.
“I fucking love books,” he yelled. Which that, he began to pulse, and I went over the edge, gripping around him again and again.
“I love you,” I accidentally yelled back.
The silence and stillness that followed is simply indescribable.
Um. Oops.
Chapter 15
Welp. That was awkward. Beyond awkward. The awkwardest. There was only one recourse after a situation like that, and it was to flee into my room and then never come out. My humiliation was compounded by fleeing in the nude, and forgetting my fancy underpants were still in there with him. He’d paid for them anyway, so I supposed he would just get to keep them as a souvenir.
There was just no circumstance under which I could return.
I wondered if Postmates could deliver food to my window. If not, surely Lizzie would pity me. Scarlet wouldn’t, she would tell me to face my problems. And Ava would force me to face them by taking my door off the hinges just to eat popcorn and watch the weirdness play out when I couldn’t hide anymore.
Marc knocked, but I ignored it.
“I’ll just leave your… underthings out here with your pajamas,” he said, and retreated. I didn’t bother to answer. I burrowed under the covers. What was I thinking? Of all the things to accidentally scream out during climax. Why couldn’t I have just taken the lord’s name in vain like everyone else in the world having sex?
Did I say life was nirvana? Life was hell.
I’d gone from the heights of ecstasy to the depths of despair in a matter of moments. I supposed I couldn’t stay in here forever, after all, if for no other reason than that I didn’t have an en-suite bathroom.
But what on earth was I going to tell my roommate when I emerged? I had to say something. After all, my naked flight from his bed meant I couldn’t very well just pretend it hadn’t happened. So… “Hey, buddy, sorry for declaring my undying love mid-coitus, enjoy that trip abroad and all the accompanying broads, though.” It just wouldn’t work. It raised more questions than it answered.
Maybe I could just crawl out the window and never return. The problem with that, of course, was that I didn’t have another roommate option which was how I’d ended up in this mess to begin with.
No, the only answer was to burn the house down, faking my death, and then to take on a new identity as my own twin sister and collect the insurance money.
It seemed too complicated, though.
It was time to do what I always did when things seemed overwhelming. My head emerged from the blankets first, followed by my arm, which felt around for one of the hundred pencils that littered my room.
It was time to pour my soul out into a notebook, and then let it go… to the internet. It was strangely comforting to have the validation of perfect strangers liking my comic about all this. I supposed that was why celebrities kept Twitter accounts. Maybe I needed one of those, too.
I worked for a little while, sketching out a piece in which the scenario that had just happened, happened. How did I fix this? What would Brandon and his wife like to see?
The fire scenario. For sure.
Maybe minus the imaginary twin. Also, maybe minus the fake death. And minus the arson, fine.
In the comic, I made the fire result from a sexy-time candle and a curtain. A tale as old as time. It was better that way, anyways. Then my audience could wait to find out what Markus would eventually tell Maddy, and I could wait to figure it out, too.
I still could hardly get my head around the idea of an audience. But a quick glance at my page assured me that not only had the number reblogs gone up, but a lot of people were also commenting. And… they liked it. So Markus and Maddy debated whether or not they could plausibly bang in the back of the firetruck, while the Great Unanswered L-Word hung over them. Literally, I drew a dark cloud shaped like the letters L-O-V-E.
Plus, they were still going to collect that insurance money and move into a place with a spare room for a studio. Now that the seed had been planted in my head, I was determined to make it happen. As I sketched and then inked, I felt the tension start to drain out of me. I would upload the file, and then just lay down for five minutes while I figured out what to do next.
While the computer was on, though, I knew I needed to check my email. There was another one waiting from that lady who said she was an agent. Out of curiosity, I googled her name.
Holy of holies. She was an actual factual real life agent.
I slammed the computer shut.
If that was real, then all of this was real.
And if all of this was real, then soon everyone would know what I had done.
My lies would be exposed to Ava and the girls.
My extracurriculars would be exposed to Marc.
And worst of all, perhaps, my mother would know what I’d been doing in my spare time.
And here I thought blurting out the L-word was the most embarrassing thing I could imagine. Nope. It was my mother knowing that not only was I slutting around the place with my roommate, I was also publicizing it for the world to see. Tastefully, of course. But she wouldn’t see it that way. And my father would disinherit me, I was certain.
Suddenly, faking my own death seemed way less complicated than before. Compared to explaining myself, it would be a piece of cake.
My eyelids were made of cement, it felt like, so I let them do what they wanted and close heavily. After all that wine and all that sex, I should have slept like a baby, but anxiety dreams are strong with me even without looming household crises.
That night, it was the usual one. I was walking down the hall at school when I heard the whispers start. I looked down, and the ink blots on my arms were gossiping about my crooked glasses and messy hair and how I was naked. I crossed them over my boobs. My professor walked by and the ink stains told her she looked haggard. She glared at me. “But it wasn’t…” I started, but she stalked off. I had to get to class, I had to turn in my project, but suddenly the school wasn’t even the school anymore, it was a penis-shaped rocket ship and I would never get to turn in my self-portrait from Mars. Alarms started to blare and I realized the rocket was crashing but instead of impact I woke up.
My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry. That was a whole new level of The Dream, and I didn’t need to call Scarlet for an analysis. I was going to have to deal with Mar
c immediately. Because this could not continue.
And, terrifying as it was, if I didn’t just admit my feelings were real, this dream would keep coming back. So, selfishly, if nothing else, I knew what the morning would bring.
With that resolve, I managed to sleep through the rest of the night with only a few more weird images floating through my dreamscape.
The next day, I took an extra long time picking an outfit, making sure all my clothes looked totally grown up and had no paint splatters (or treacherous ink spots) and matched. Cracking open my door, I peered left and right before creeping into my bathroom to shower. The billowing clouds of steam carried the scent of lavender vanilla. It was very soothing, I understood why Marc liked it. And I felt not a whit of regret over stealing it.
After all, it wasn’t like he didn’t know where to find it.
I scrunched my hair with a little mousse, typically something I saved for only the most public of appearances. Took my glasses off and leaned deep into the sink to see what the hell I was doing as I brushed on some eye makeup. Makeup is like having a coloring book attached to your face. So fun.
And it feels like war paint, which was absolutely the reason I was putting it on before heading out to face the music with Marc. I replaced my glasses and stared in the mirror, practicing what I was going to say.
After a few revisions, I did a final swipe of chapstick and opened the door. The scent of coffee wafting in from the kitchen said that the object of my affection was awake. Deep breath, Madison, be brave. My knees were quivery, though, because I was not the kind of girl who was this brave. I thought to myself, “What would Kitty Pryde do?” because lady X-Men are who we should all aspire to be. And the answer was, she would face her fears. I squared my shoulders, and walked in.
Marc was at the table with his books and his laptop. He looked up at me, but he didn’t say anything. That was fine. He’d clearly wanted to talk last night, but I wasn’t ready then.
“I don’t want you to go to France,” I said, all in a rush. “Stay here.” Now that got a rise out of him.
“Say what?” His jaw could have hit the table, it fell open so quickly.
“I meant it. Last night.” Oh god what was I doing? Being brave! Being a lady X-Man! Being so stupid! But I was committed. And maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way.
“You mean—”
“Yes. I mean when I told you I loved you, I meant it. All this time we’ve been spending together, and getting to know you—like the real you, not just the Hot Marc part—it’s changed things for me. I thought this was just going to be a sex thing. Or maybe I just told myself it was going to be a sex thing, but that’s just not true.” I paused for a breath, and Marc didn’t interrupt, so I kept right on baring my heart.
“When I think about the France thing—”
“The bangcation,” he supplied.
“Yes. The bangcation. When I imagine you there, sharing everything we’ve shared, with other people… I just can’t.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Marc said. I waited a beat. He didn’t elaborate. I was feeling better, though, because he was clearly on the same page as me. Thank god.
“And I know you need to research, I wouldn’t ask you to give that up, but I am asking you to give up the trip. I don’t want you to leave when this is so brand new. It’s not fair to go away for months without taking the time to see what this could become. Everything we do together is fun. I have so much fun with you. The sex is amazing. We finally figured out wine! Maybe I can help you with your research. I’m really good at the internet. Or you could go for a week or two, even.”
“You’re asking me to cancel the trip of a lifetime.” The way he said it wasn’t a question. “Because you don’t want me sleeping with other women.”
“Yes. I am. I don’t. Look. It took us ages to figure out seduction and foreplay. Ages. Why would you even want to go through that over and over again? You don’t go to a buffet when the five-star restaurant is right there. And free. It’s right here and free.” I pointed to myself, unsure if the point was as well-made as it had seemed in my head before emerging from my mouth.
“You want me to cancel my trip to France. My research trip. My bangcation. The one thing I’ve looked forward to for the past several years. You want me to stay here with you instead.” Again, these did not sound like questions.
“Yes. I love you. This is what I want.” I heaved a deep sigh of relief, and I waited.
“You want to drink wine together. Have sex. Lots and lots of sex. In impossible positions.” I thought about the Kama Sutra wins from the night before.
“Definitely,” I agreed. I loved books too.
“And go to sex stores. Buy ninja outfits. Fuck in the neighbor’s yards.” Hell yes. Yes I did. In fact, I wanted to do them so badly that I’d—oh god.
There was only one reason Marc would know about those particular fantasies of mine. And it wasn’t because I’d gotten drunk and forgotten I’d told him. My stomach dropped into my knees and I twisted my mouth around nervously.
“I can explain,” I said, but of course I couldn’t. Maybe I could have at one point, early on, but I’d let things go too far. Oh no. I really couldn’t explain. Shit, even last night. I could have used Brandon’s outburst as a way to have a really awkward conversation. But I was nervous, and embarrassed, and instead I grabbed a man’s shirt and threatened him.
All my denial about my little silly webcomic not being important enough to share—suddenly, it was so, so obvious how stupid I’d been. Or how cruel. Because of course he would find out. Any google search would turn it up.
“I was going to order one of your shirts. I love your drawings. I was going to buy a shirt to show you how much I admire your work.” His voice was soft. It would have been so much easier if he was angry. But the look on his face, the tone in his voice—pure betrayal.
And I did this to him.
“You don’t want to share me with other people, but you shared so much more with perfect strangers. You took something that was private between us, and you made it cheap. You made it a joke.”
“It wasn’t a joke! It was just supposed to be speculation, only things kept happening, and you have to admit they make a great story.” Shit! I knew it was wrong. But—I had justified it like this to myself, so maybe it would work on him, too.
Please let it work on him too.
“A great story, Madison. One that ends here. It’s been almost a year now since you moved in. Let’s call that good. I think when I get back from France, you should probably be gone.” His gorgeous brown eyes couldn’t even meet mine as he said it.
What? No! This was not how this was supposed to happen.
It wasn’t how I drew it at all.
“Now hold on just a minute here, Marc. I just told you I love you, fully clothed, and you’re kicking me out? Over a comic?” I just couldn’t believe what was happening. I’d hurt him, yes. Unforgivably, though? Really? I couldn’t believe it. I was going to fight for it.
“I’m not kicking you out over a comic. I just don’t see a future with someone I can’t trust, and I can’t imagine living with you afterwards.” His shoulders were slumped. He might not have been doing the things I scripted for him, but at least he didn’t seem to be taking any pleasure in going through the motions.
“But…” I wasn’t sure what to say that would convince him to let me stay, convince him to stay, but this couldn’t be the way things got inked. I wanted to erase what he’d just seen and thought and said, and surely if I just hit on the right combination of words, they would do the trick.
“Okay. Okay. Maybe you do need to go to France. We’ll just take a long break from each other. And then when you get back, we can have a long talk about boundaries, and renegotiate our terms. As long as you don’t bang anyone while you’re there. I won’t either, of course.” Was I begging? I was practically begging. I wondered if dropping to my knees would actually help or hurt the situation.
&nbs
p; “I don’t want to talk about boundaries, Madison. I want you to have understood the concept to begin with.” It used to thrill me to hear my name in his mouth, but it sounded different now. It sounded like it tasted bitter to him now.
“Okay.” I said again, and sighed. “I fucked up. And I’m really sorry. I should have told you. Or fictionalized it a little bit better. But I swear to Odin, I did not mean to hurt you or upset you, or betray your trust. I really just thought about twenty people would see it and laugh. The idea of a sitcomic had been floating around in my mind forever, and our situation seemed like the perfect setup. But when was I going to mention it, really? Like, after the first time we made out? Oh, hey, hope you don’t mind but I’d really like this to go further so I am pretending it does in drawings. No way! It would have been embarrassing!”
“Embarrassing? You think that would have been embarrassing? Embarrassing is stumbling across a comic in which your genitalia is discussed in great detail. I can’t believe you talked about my junk with Ava. That’s just… gross.” I rushed to correct him.
“No, no, Ava specifically told me not to discuss your cucumber with her. I just added that part to the comic. See? Fictionalized! It’s totally different.” I bit my lip and waited.
I thought the butterflies had made my stomach upset? They had nothing on this sinking, awful feeling that nothing I said was going to bring him back, that he’d slipped out of my arms and life forever while I slept.
“The only difference here is how I see you right now. I can’t do this. I…” But he didn’t finish. He just got up and walked out the door. A few minutes later, I heard a car pull up for him, and then that was it.
The weight of what I’d done fell on me like a sack of potatoes. The hottest, smartest, sweetest guy I’d ever met gave me multiple orgasms and I ruined it all—with comics. It was truly the most Madison thing to ever happen. I was the worst human in the entire world. Or at least on this block. And I couldn’t even pout properly, because I wasn’t the one who’d been wronged.