Make Me Believe

by Karen Ferry

  Hint: because she is gorgeous, and I'm horny.

  Despite the fact that she showed up on my doorstep this morning, wanting us to get to know each other, she didn’t ask me any questions at all throughout the day. To tell the truth, we didn’t have much time to do that seeing as it was my first day in the bookshop, so maybe it isn’t that odd, after all.

  I wish I was the kind of guy who could simply man up, go to her, and kiss her senseless. But I’m not. That isn’t me. I’m quiet, introspective, and let’s not forget the clumsiness and how uneasy Emma makes me feel. If I do that, she’ll most likely kick my arse, and that’s the last thing I want. For one thing, it’ll hurt, and I just know that I’m not into that kind of pain; for another, I want her to come to me first.

  Selfish? Perhaps. I want her to show me if this almost unbearable attraction I harbour towards her is reciprocated.

  Also, I’m pretty certain that I’m a coward, and I can’t handle the rejection right now.

  What I can do, though, is try to get beneath her skin and find out as much as I can about her.

  Setting aside my cold beer, I pick up my phone and text her.

  Me: When’s your birthday?

  Taking a sip, I wait. And wait. It takes a while, but then the screen lights up with her name.

  Emma: June 1st. When’s yours?

  Satisfied that she’s decided to play along, I hurry to respond.

  Me: December 1st. What’s your favourite colour?

  This time, it doesn’t take long for her to answer.

  Emma: Hmm . . . I don’t really have one. But I like green and blue the most, I suppose. What about you?

  Immediately, her eyes materialise in my head, and I text back:

  Me: No real preference, either. Off the top of my head, I’d have to say grey . . . or blue.

  What else should I ask her? I know she has a brother, of course, but I can’t really see her revealing much about him at this stage. The whole ‘fake boyfriend’ thing already tells me there’s a story there, but I sincerely doubt that Emma will open up to me about it.

  Me: What’re the names of your parents?

  Leaning back in my chair, I take another sip of my beer, waiting for Emma’s response, but it doesn’t come. I wait some more until, finally, I text her again:

  Me: Are you there?

  Finally, she replies.

  Emma: Sorry, was just about to have a shower.

  Groaning, I hang my head. Is this girl trying to kill me already? Imagining her body, slick with water and soap, is going to do my head in.

  Taking a deep breath, I text her again.

  Me: Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just wanted to get to know you better. You know, so that I can act like I’m your boyfriend.

  I can’t sit still anymore. Standing up, I gather my beer and then I head inside, eyeing the boxes containing all my belongings. Frowning, I sigh, but then I mentally shake my head and move to the first one. I’ve only just opened it when a ping from my phone lying on my bed alerts me of a text. Quickly, I pick it up, swipe the screen and read it.

  Emma: You couldn’t know so there’s no need to apologise. My mum’s name is Julia -- my dad’s Ralph. Next month, it’ll be their 35th wedding anniversary.

  Looking up, I mutter, “Wow.” Immediately, I type a new response.

  Me: That’s very impressive. I’ll let you get to your shower now. Got a lot of things to unpack, anyway. See you in the morning.

  Moving back to the box, I notice all the books inside, and then close the lid again. I don’t have any bookshelves yet so it’s probably better I leave that one for last. As I move to another one, a new text arrives, and I read it.

  Emma: Sure. See you tomorrow. Sleep well.

  Me: Thanks. You, too.

  I place my hands on my hips and scan the room, trying to get my butt in gear, but it’s futile. It’s impossible to ignore the hard-on tenting my pants now, knowing what Emma is about to do, and I quickly tear off my t-shirt and push them down.

  “Guess I’ll take a shower, too,” I mutter, and, palming my balls, I walk to my bathroom.

  Pursing my lips, I send a final text to Daniel:

  Me: Don’t forget we’re having your first tutoring session tomorrow. Should we do it at my place?

  I stand there, holding my towel loosely around my body, and a sliver of disappointment courses through me when, after some time, I still haven’t received a reply. Shaking it off, I place my phone on my kitchen counter and go inside my bathroom. Hanging up the towel, I reach out my arm to gauge the temperature of the cascading water, and satisfied that it’s to my preference, I move inside and shut the sliding doors behind me.

  Tipping my head back to let the water run through my hair, I pick up the shampoo. As I lather my hair, I think back on the short text exchange we just had and find that I liked it. I mean, apart from Suzy and my mum, I don’t text with other people, but getting to know Daniel even just a little bit feels . . . nice. Normal. Non-threatening, even. Probably because it was done through texting instead of, say, sitting opposite each other in some café or in one of our flats.

  Not having those intense eyes on me, scrutinising my every move as we get to know each other better is safer.

  I rinse out my hair, grab some conditioner, and after having put it in, I pick up my soap and pour it on a small sponge. As soon as I let it glide over my breasts, a set of intense, lust-filled green eyes spring to mind, and I feel immensely turned on at once. Slowing down my movements, I move the sponge to my right nipple, causing it to perk up instantly, and warmth settles in my lower abdomen. Moving the sponge to my other nipple, I put pressure on it which gives the same result as before, and while I continue to massage my body with the sponge, going lower, the index finger and thumb on my right hand close around my nipple. Feeling the sting, a small sigh escapes my lips, and I close my eyes.

  Imagining that it’s Daniel’s hands caressing my stomach, holding onto my hips, a moan escapes me, and I can feel the wetness gathering in my pussy. I want to feel his lips on me . . . His tongue dipping into my navel as he kneels before me, one hand moving up to my breast, pinching my nipple . . . his lips teasing my hip bone as he grabs onto my arse cheeks, fondling them, molding them…his hands moving to my thighs, putting pressure on for me to spread my legs some more…his hot breath fanning above my clit, teasing and torturing me.

  Continuing to pinch my nipples, I drop the sponge, hardly noticing the plop it makes, and I tease my clit with my fingers.

  Shite, I’m horny.

  Feeling the tingle in my core, I finally dip a finger inside, and I moan more loudly. The wetness there spurs me on, and I slap my clit once, allowing the tingle to spread. As I finger fuck myself, I imagine Daniel’s tongue doing it. He licks, sucks, even bites gently, maintaining the perfect rhythm, and I’m panting, spurring him on.

  Spreading my legs further, I put another finger inside my drenched pussy, curling them up to reach my sweet spot, and I can’t hold back anymore. My thumb rubs my clit over and over until, finally, the most intense orgasm erupts, and I come loudly. Just before the name Daniel erupts from my mouth, I clamp it shut, biting my lower lip, and I sag back to lean on the cool tiles covering wall.

  “Wow,” I whisper, keeping my eyes closed for a while longer. When my legs no longer seem to be mere limp noodles, I straighten up, quickly rinse away the conditioner still in my hair, and I turn off the water. I open the sliding doors to grab my towel, dry off before getting another one for my hair, and then I walk into my room to put on my yoga pants and a tank top to sleep in.

  Pulling my clothes on, I feel unsettled. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard, not even when being with one of my hook-ups, and the intensity scares me a little.

  I’m not ashamed of it, no.

  Only . . . surprised. Uncertain about what it means. And I don’t like uncertainty . . . not knowing what to expect is not something I relish at all. And I have a feeling that Daniel is a factor that will
leave me rattled and insecure, and I can’t say I’m looking forward to that. I can’t deny, though, that the way he looks at me thrills me. He makes me feel desired . . . wanted. And not just for my body, no. He actually seems to want to get to know me. But what will it mean in the end? Am I brave enough to let him in completely?

  Sighing at my jumbled thoughts, I pull back the duvet from my bed and begin to settle in. Remembering I left my phone in the kitchen makes me get up immediately to fetch it, and I can’t resist swiping the screen to check if Daniel replied to my last message. When I find none, disappointment settles within, but I try to ignore it, and walk back to my bed and jump in. Reaching beside me where my always present ereader lies on my bedside table, I switch it on, determined to become lost in a book for the next few hours.

  Yet even though I’m enjoying it, a pair of green eyes is never far away from my thoughts.

  Chapter 18

  “Help me,” the little girl whispers, her frightened eyes filling up with tears.

  I can’t move my body, and my lips are unable to form words. Trying to tell her how much I wished I could help her with my eyes alone, I don’t even dare blink in case she can’t see the sincerity in them.

  “Please . . . ,” she begs, openly crying now. I push and push, trying to break free from the bonds holding me, but, as usual, I can’t. I’m being held captive by my own body. I hate this weakness.

  A shadow looms over the little girl, and, for once, she sits up and skirts to the other end of the bed, trying to get away. Tucking her legs under her, clasping them tightly with her arms, she tries to appear smaller. But it’s no use; the shadow moves closer and reaches its arms out to her.

  She turns her gaze to me and screams, “Help me! Please!”

  At last, my voice breaks free, but my body is still useless. “How?!” I cry out to her. “I can’t move!”

  The shadow draws ever nearer, and the girl is openly sobbing now. “Just . . . speak up,” she whispers.

  As the bonds loosen from around my body, I fall to my knees, and I scramble to get up again. Frantically pushing my hair from my face, I look towards the bed, and my steps falter. The shadow has engulfed the little girl – me – and I can no longer see her at all.

  I scream . . .

  Waking up, I clutch my head, and the nausea sets in right away. Kicking away the duvet covering my legs, I hurry as best I can and, finally, I storm into the bathroom and pull up the toilet seat. I only just manage to pull my hair away and collect it in my right fist on the nape of my neck when the sickness overtakes me, and I throw up. Shutting my eyes tightly, I wait it out until only dry heaves are what’s left in my stomach.

  Sitting back on my haunches, I lean my head back and scrub at my face, wiping away my tears.

  Why the fuck can’t Tom leave me alone?! Why must he haunt me after all this time?

  Grabbing onto the sink, I pull my weakened body up, and just when I’m about to turn on the faucet, banging on my front door interrupts me. Pausing and slightly panicking as well, I hold my breath, which, to tell the truth, is kind of silly, given the circumstances. I quickly grab my toothbrush, put it in my mouth and scrub vigorously, hoping the mint will get rid of the nasty taste, and I turn and leave my sanctuary.

  “Emma! Are you alright?!” Daniel shouts from behind the door, and hearing his muffled voice fills me with warmth. Not thinking twice about it, I hurry to the door, stubbing my toe in the process, and skipping a bit, I finally manage to grab onto the handle, turn the locks, and I wrench the door open.

  Whoa . . . be still my beating heart.

  Standing before me is definitely not a gangly geek. Only clothed in a pair of sweatpants is my neighbour, looking all disheveled and flushed . . . and lickable.

  “Emma! What the hell just happened?” he asks me, but I can’t tear my eyes off this chest. A small smattering of hair covers his chest, and my gaze wanders down his abs – yes! Abs! – following his very happy trail down his navel and disappears down his pants.

  Oh . . . my . . . god. He has a ‘V’?!

  “Emma?” Daniel’s concerned voice halters my silent perusal of his body, and my head snaps up to lock my eyes on his. He’s wearing his glasses, of course, and a frown mars his face, but even though he’s obviously tired, he’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.

  “Gorgeous,” I croak out.

  “Excuse me?” he says, frowning, and my befuddled brain finally catches up.

  Clearing my throat, I quickly say, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  Crossing his arms, he gives me a quick once-over before pulling his eyes back to mine, and then he asks me, “Why were you screaming?”

  My body freezes automatically. “Erm . . . what screaming?” I ask him and avoid his gaze. Not a good idea, actually, seeing as it’s now focused on his lips. Uh-uh.

  He sighs. “Come on, Emma, don’t play daft. I woke up to your horrible screams and instantly thought that someone had broken into your flat and was assaulting you! Are you alright?”

  Taking a more defensive stance, crossing my own arms, I answer irritably, “Well, as you can see, I’m fine. Sorry I woke you up.”

  Disbelief and hurt flashes in his eyes, but it’s only there briefly, leaving me wondering if that’s actually what I saw.

  Raking a hand through his already messed up hair, he looks away from me, not speaking a word. “Thanks for checking up on me, though,” I say quietly, and take a step closer to him. I’m not entirely sure what to do, but before I even know it, Daniel’s taken my arm and is pulling me to him and into a tight embrace. I barely avoid hitting my forehead on his chest, turning my face at the very last moment, and as soon as his arms wrap around me, my body relaxes, and my toothbrush slips from my fingers.

  I feel . . . safe, actually. A feeling so foreign to me, yet I know instantly what it means, and I don’t want to lose it; I quickly manage to wrap my own arms around his waist, holding on tight, and I never want to let go.

  “Scared me,” Daniel murmurs into my hair, his face bent down close to my own. If I turned my head now, I’m sure our mouths would be perfectly aligned . . . The longing to feel his lips on mine for the first time is close to overwhelming me. The warmth of his breath on my neck instantly covers my entire body with goose bumps. Unable to ignore the flush on my cheeks, I remain silent, willing it to go away on its own without Daniel noticing it.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my hands grabbing onto the waistline of his pants. I don’t want to move out of his embrace. I think I could live here forever . . .

  “Don’t be,” he replies gruffly. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  Tensing a bit, I say vaguely, “Yes . . . I have them now and then.”

  “I see,” he whispers, and that’s it. He doesn’t ask any more questions . . . there are no demands coming from his mouth, and for that, I’m grateful.

  Knowing how late it must be, I pull back slightly, but his arms only strengthen the hold they have on me. Instinctively, I’m aware that this means he doesn’t want to let me go, and thinking, ‘Sod it,’ I relax further into his arms.

  We stand just like that, keeping our silence, for I don’t know how long. Eventually, though, a certain hard object begins to poke me in my stomach, and a snort erupts from me.

  “Err . . . Daniel?” I say quietly.

  “Yes?” he answers, and I can tell that he’s some place far away from reality. When he turns his head and buries his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply, the butterflies intensify and they’re no longer fluttering; no, they’re doing somersaults. Wait . . . did he just sniff my hair?!

  “I think junior wants to come out and play,” I tease.

  His body stills for a heartbeat, but then he moves so suddenly, wrenching his arms from around me, that I almost fall flat on my face.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he stammers, reaching a hand out to my shoulder to steady me, and laughing erupts from me.

  “It’s . . . no . . . problem,” I gasp, and al
though I’m trying to hold it back, I just can’t. It must be the fatigue causing this fit because there really isn’t a reason to laugh.

  “I’m . . . sorry.” I hurriedly wipe tears from my eyes. “It’s not funny, I know. Just . . . please give me a minute.”

  Daniel has moved to stand directly behind the doorjamb, only his head peeking around it, and the flush on his face intensifies the need in me that appears to grow stronger each time I am near him. I want to reach out to him, yank him inside my flat, and violate him -- in a good kind, of course -- and have my wicked way with him.

  Looking into Daniel’s embarrassed, yet amused eyes, I smile a little, hating how awkward the situation has become.

  “It’s really late . . . ,” he murmurs, his gaze zooming in on my mouth, and I instinctively lick my lips. Daniel takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

  Nodding, I ask him, “What time is it?”

  “Around three am,” he answers, still holding my gaze.

  We stand there, just staring at each other for awhile. The reluctance to let him go is almost staggering, and the longer he stares so intently at me, the ability to breathe becomes more and more difficult.

  Finally, he asks me, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yup. Fit as a fiddle,” I reassure him and take a few steps back, forcing my body to be released from the spell his gaze has on me. Reaching for the door, I move to close it, and when he doesn’t say anything else, only keeps on watching me silently, I say, “Thank you for coming to my rescue, my white knight,” and I wink at him.

  Laughing, he says, “I’ll be your knight anytime, sweetheart,” and butterflies flutter in my stomach.

  Get a grip, I admonish myself, but, obviously, I don’t say that to him. Instead, my lips pull up in a cheeky smile and just as shut the door, I say, “Goodnight, Daniel.”