by Corgan, Sky
“Me, pursue you,” he laughs. “That's not exactly how I recall it happening.”
“You know what I mean.” I roll my eyes at him before unwrapping my silverware.
“Well, I tried to resist at first. If you hadn't noticed, I did try to push you away on several occasions.” He picks up one of his fried shrimp and dips it into his little cup of cocktail sauce before taking a bite and making a pleased moaning sound. “This is good.”
“It is pretty good for being out in the middle of nowhere.” I stare down at my deep fried soft-shell crab but don't move to dissect it.
“It's strange, you know. I didn't really see fear in your eyes when I tied you up in my office, but I still wanted you. There was apprehension there, but not fear.” He picks up his fork and stabs at one of the quartered red potatoes on his plate.
“I wasn't afraid. I was just horny,” I admit.
“But that fear was definitely there in my basement, and how it turned me on.” He keeps his eyes fixed on his food as he speaks. “You were so hot.”
“And so were you until you told me to take the walk of shame.” I'll never forget that for as long as I live.
His shoulders slump, but he still doesn't look at me. “I've already apologized for that. And I'll keep apologizing for it. It was wrong. I never should have said it. I knew it was a horrible, nasty thing to say when it came out of my mouth. But as I told you before, I was trying to protect myself from the things I was feeling. Not just myself, but you. I kept thinking about what happened with Charla. I didn't want to take you to that dark place that I led her.”
It's understandable. Knowing that his actions led to someone's death must be horrifying. The idea of starting a relationship that could end the same way has him feeling apprehensive. But that brings about a new set of questions.
“So if you wanted to push me away because you were worried I'd end up like Charla, does that mean you're just aggressively pursuing a booty call right now?” I arch an eyebrow at him. If that's the case, he just wasted both of our time. There's no way I'm going to put myself in a position to get mind-fucked by him over and over again until I do want to kill myself.
“No.” He shakes his head. “This isn't just a booty call. I do feel something with you, something that I never felt with any of the other girls. That's why I've been pursing you so vehemently.” When he glances up at me, I can see the sincerity behind his eyes, and it makes my stomach flutter. “What I feel for you is so rare and precious to me that I'd go to the ends of the earth to pursue it.”
“Wow.” I've never heard a declaration of attraction quite like that before. Talk about making a girl feel special.
“And I just want to fuck you again.” He cocks his head to the side with a smirk that lets me know he's being playful.
“You're a brat. You know that, right.”
“I don't know about that.” His grin is infectious. “What I do know though is that I'll do whatever it takes to make my douchiness up to you.”
“You have a lot to make up for.” I grin at him over my plate. “But this is a good start.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You're not really my type, you know,” I tell him.
We're standing outside of the restaurant with our bellies full of food and wine. My head is spinning, and my hormones are on overdrive. I'm not sure if Trent has ever looked more attractive to me than he does right now. While he's dressed down in a pair of faded jeans and a plain black T-shirt, I'd really like to see him wearing nothing but the charming smile he's giving me.
“Oh? You could have fooled me.” He nudges me with his elbow.
“Not physically.” I squeeze my eyes closed, realizing how horribly rude that sounded. If he wasn't my type, I never would have let him bang me in the first place. “I mean emotionally. You're leagues away from what I usually go for.”
“What do you usually go for?” He walks me to my car and then lingers next to it.
“Normal guys.” I have no idea how else to say it, and the wine has chopped down my vocabulary to the most basic syntax.
“Normal is boring.” He wrinkles his nose at me.
“I know, but that's not what I mean.” I hop up and down, frustrated with myself.
“Then tell me what you mean.” Trent reaches out to take my hands in his. The warmth of his fingers sends desire coursing through me and a blush across my cheeks. I'm instantly stabilized.
“I mean that,” I fight for the right words. “I know that there are things you need. We've already discussed that. But there are things I need to make me happy, too.”
He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, and when our eyes meet, I feel like I might melt right on the spot. I definitely had way too much wine. “Tell me what you need, Fennel.”
“I need girly things.” I cringe at the stupidity of my words and quickly try to recover. “I need romance and kissing and sex on an actual bed.” That only sounded worse.
“Sex on a bed?” He grins. “I think I can handle that.”
“I'm not playing.” I slap at his chest weakly before resting my hand there. “I get that you need to be in control. I do. But you're really stingy with your lips and letting me touch you.”
“Stingy, am I?” he says in complete disbelief, but I know he's just joking. “I suppose that's the first thing I can work on changing.”
Trent's fingertips graze my cheek, holding my face gently as he cranes his neck to kiss me. When our lips meet, fireworks go off inside of my head, and I know that he's won me over. Completely.
***
What he denied me in his sobriety, he gives to me full force in his drunken state. I can taste the wine on Trent's lips as he backs me up towards my bed with a torrent of kisses. Somehow, it tastes better on his mouth than it did coming from the glass. Then again, maybe I've just been waiting for this for so long that everything in the moment is sweet to me.
My fingers fumble with the hem of his T-shirt before I get a good grip on it and force it over his head. Once his shirt is off, I work to unbuckle his pants, but he grabs my wrists and brings them back up to his chest, holding them in place there. It's his need to control me that's taking over, the part of him that I'm struggling to come to terms with.
“Get on the bed. I need to taste you,” he tells me before letting me go. I can sense that he's trying his best to find a balance between what I want and what he needs.
My eyes are all hooded lust as I do what he tells me to, meeting his gaze as I take a few cautious steps backwards, leaning over to pull my panties off at the same time. Alcohol gives me courage, and right now I'm all sexual energy and impatience. We could play the slow tease game, but I want him inside of me. Nothing would feel better right now than to have him pumping into me with the intensity that I know he possesses.
He follows my every move, catching my panties when I throw them at him and tossing them aside without missing a beat. As I crawl backwards onto the bed, he follows. His head never makes it all the way up to mine though. By the time I reach the pillows, he's hiking up my skirt and spreading my thighs.
I bow my legs, showing my desire for him. I've been wet ever since that first kiss, but he probably knows that. If he didn't before, he does now.
“You want me so badly, don't you?” he purrs before bending to kiss my inner thigh.
“Don't flatter yourself. You're the one who was chasing me, remember.” I relax against the pillows with a satisfied grin playing across my face. Everything feels heavenly, and he hasn't even gotten to my core yet.
I close my eyes and wait for the moment when his mouth connects to my sex, but it doesn't happen. His weight shifts on the bed, and when I open my eyes again, he's taking off his belt. Such a control freak. Only moments ago, I was trying to do that for him. He must really enjoy denying me.
“Give me your hands,” he tells me once the belt is off, and he's holding it precariously by the buckle.
“No.”
“No?” He cocks his head back in su
rprise.
“No,” I enunciate the word.
“Why not?” He pulls the belt into his other hand so that he's holding a length of it.
“Were you planning on binding my wrists?” There's no question in my mind that he was.
“Yes,” he admits hesitantly.
“Then no.” I prop myself up on my elbows. “I don't want to be denied the pleasure of touching you. I want to curl my fingers in your hair and score your back with my nails. I wasn't able to do that the last two times we were together. If you truly want me back, then that's the price tonight. We're going to have to work on compromising to meet each other's needs, and this is the start.”
I expect him to argue with me, but instead, he tosses the belt to the side and descends on my cunt so quickly that I cry out when his tongue deftly swirls around my cleft. My hands slip into his hair as he aggressively works his tongue against my clit, drawing my climax to the surface so quickly that my entire body bucks from it. I choke on my own breath as I watch him, as I feel the contractions race through me and his warm wet, mouth working me over.
“You come so easily,” he moans into me.
“It's your fault.”
“I bet I can make you come all over my face a second time.” He glances over my mound at me, and I can tell that he's smirking without even having to see it.
“I bet you....ohhh God.” His mouth is on me before I can even finish the sentence. My fingers curl into the comforter below us as he sucks my clit up between his lips before nibbling on it gently. “Just like that,” I pant. “Don't stop.”
He slides his hands around my thighs and pulls me into him to the point that I worry he might not be able to breathe. My lust is deeper than my concern though, and I push my hips up to meet him, gripping the back of his head and forcing him down, making sure he doesn't pull away before I've had my fill. Within seconds, I'm shattering, crying out so loudly that I'm worried my neighbors might hear. That shouldn't matter though. I plan to get a lot louder with him very soon.
“Jesus Christ.” He pulls away, looking up at me in disbelief.
For a moment, I'm embarrassed. Strangling him to death with my pussy was never my intention, but a little payback never hurt anyone, especially after what he put me through in his basement.
“You're fucking incredible.” His hard body rubs against me as he kisses me so passionately that it feels like we might devour each other. If anything, my aggression seems to have turned him on more. We savor the taste of one another, and I explore the slick cavern of his mouth with unadulterated glee. The damn alcohol has left me feeling all giddy, and the fact that I'm about to have Trent the way I've always wanted him, even more so.
“Fuck me, Trent. I need your cock inside of me.” I drag my nails down his back in a warm up stroke.
He rests his forehead against mine, catching his breath for a moment before he rolls off of me and sits up. “Not tonight.”
“Not tonight?” It feels like my heart has stopped beating. What does he mean not tonight? If he doesn't fuck me, I think I might die, especially after that tease.
“You're drunk.” He puts his hand on my chest to force me back down playfully when I try to sit up. “And so am I.” Trent leans over me, brushing my hair away from my face, a tender gesture to sooth the discontent stirring within me.
“So? That just makes things better. Alcohol always makes things better.”
“Not this.” He shakes his head, looking sincere. “Believe me, I want to have sex with you. But I don't want you to feel like I took you to dinner and got you drunk just so that it would lead up to this. I want you to know that you're special to me, and I don't want you to launch into this without a clear mind.”
His words are endearing, but God damn it, I'm horny. “So now what?” I grumble.
“Now we spend the night together. I hold you in my arms, and you get part of what you want.” He twirls his finger around a strand of my long black hair as he talks to me. “We wake up in each other's arms, and hopefully you won't kick me out of your bed.”
I can't help but smirk at that last part. If I was truly wasted, I could definitely see that happening. As it is, I've only had two glasses of wine. It's doubtful that I'll regret this in the morning, but you never really know.
“Fine,” I sigh. “We'll do things your way.”
“It's not my way, Fennel. It's our way. It's our way, from now on.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
There is no walk of shame. Though if there was, he would be the one taking it.
Instead, I wake up the next morning to the smell of booze and sweat. It's so hot that we don't even have a sheet covering us, but that's entirely my fault. Electricity doesn't come for free, so we rode the night out naked and miserable, barely even able to cuddle each other because the heat was more than either of us wanted to endure. He never complained though, and for that I'm grateful.
Trent is awake when I open my eyes, and he's watching me with a content look on his face.
“Creeper,” I tease.
“Is this the part where you say you don't remember anything and chase me out of here with a pillow?” he quips back.
We're both all grins, and it's quite obvious that I don't want him going anywhere, even though he'd probably like to dive headfirst into a refrigerator right now.
“I figured the lack of air conditioning in here would be enough to drive you away on your own.” My eyes fix on the beads of perspiration dotting his brow.
“And I figured that after all I've been through to get you back, you'd know that I'd walk through fire for you.” He looks around the room with a smirk. “This isn't quite fire, but I have to admit, it's pretty hot in here.”
“And I thought it was just you.” I poke his chest before rolling over to nuzzle against him. It feels odd having him in my apartment, almost unbelievable that we're together like this now, especially since just yesterday I wouldn't have pissed on him to put him out if he had been on fire. He seems like a completely different man though, loving and considerate and truly willing to try to be with me.
“So when are you going to come back to work for me?” He rakes his fingers through my hair to brush it over my shoulder.
“I'm not.” I look up at him, hoping he's not offended.
“Why not? It really doesn't look like you enjoy your job. And I know you don't want to be a gopher anymore. I could put you in the shipping department.”
The corners of my mouth dip into a frown as I think of the taxidermy zoo in Tony Peterson's office—a collection that rivals Trent's. That entire department is sausage central. Only one other woman works in it, and she's a lesbian. “I think I'll pass.”
“Or would you rather be in the order entry department?” Trent presses his forehead lightly against mine, and I can hear the grin in his voice.
“Are you kidding me?” I pull out of his grasp with a playful huff. “And have Zelma spy on me for you, reporting back everything I say.”
“I rather like some of the things you say about me, when they're not all nasty and angsty.” He pursues me, wrapping his arms around me to pull me tighter against him. I love this side of him. It's affectionate and warm and oh so perfect.
“Seriously though.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “It's a generous offer, but I really don't want to work for you anymore. Yes, my job sucks. But if we work together, it's just going to feel awkward, and if we are going to really try to have something more than a friendship, then I don't want the strain that working for you would put on our relationship.”
“You're stubborn,” he whispers into my ear before kissing my earlobe.
“And you're tenacious.”
“It works for me.” He kisses the back of my head before letting me go and rolling out of bed.
I try not to pout as I turn to face him, drawing the sheet up over my chest to hide my nudity. “Where do you think you're going?”
“To make you breakfast. You do have eggs and stuff here, right?” He grabs his
boxers off of the floor and pulls them on, and I mourn the loss of the sight of his naked flesh.
I screw my face, partially because I don't like that he's getting dressed and partially because my fridge is completely desolate. There's nothing in there but a half a gallon of milk and a whole lot of empty space.
Trent catches my expression and understands it instantly. “So, is there anywhere around here that serves good breakfast?”
***
I have more fun with Trent during breakfast than I've had with anyone in a while. We talk and laugh and joke and tell stories about our pasts. It's worlds away from the first time I dined with him, when we both acted completely stiff. If I didn't feel comfortable around him after his confession last night, I definitely do now.
We walk out of the restaurant together, so close that our arms are practically touching. Since we took separate vehicles, Trent follows me to my car, opening my door like a gentleman. I know he has to get back to work after this—he took part of the morning off just to be with me—but I don't want him to go. Everything with us feels fresh and new and amazing, the way it should have been when we first met. I want to prolong our time together as much as I can, even if that's kind of selfish.
“So, what now?” I ask as I lower myself onto the driver's seat, keeping my legs outside of the vehicle so that I can still face him.
Trent leans on my car door, looking down on me—looking delicious. “I guess now I ask you to be my girlfriend.”
The way he says it is so shy and adorable and high school. How could I possibly say no? “I'll think about it,” I tease.
“You'll think about it?” He doesn't look convinced.
“Kinda hard to resist a guy who would walk through fire for me.” I tug on the hem of his T-shirt, wishing I could pull it off of him and ravage him in the backseat of my car.