by Tara Brown
When I finally did break the seal over my mouth, I moaned into the pillow, certain I didn’t know what sex was until this moment.
This geeky, weird, English-Scottish dude I didn’t even really know was rocking my world.
And he kept going.
He fucked me like a warrior, like a Spartan. It was camera worthy, and even when he came it sounded savage. I was sorry I missed the show as I shouted into my pillow some more.
His fingers had to be leaving bruises and his hips had to have left welts, but I didn’t care. Everything was right in the world.
I fell as he landed on top of me, unable to hold us both up.
“Oh, fuck, Cherry,” he whispered breathily into my ear. “Oh, fuck.” He kissed the side of my face, kissing me for the first time. His sweat rubbed against mine, and I nodded into it, not even slightly caring about anything in the world.
“Well done,” I muttered, not even really sure what to say. What did one say to life-altering sex? Did I clap and offer a tip? Did I thank him?
“You’re so beautiful.” He kissed my cheek again, nestling in my hair that was everywhere, lingering and inhaling me.
I had nothing to offer back.
I wanted to ask if he was a professional fucker.
I wanted to laugh at myself for even thinking that, but I’d also forgotten the word for fuckers. There was a word, wasn’t there?
I wanted to turn around and kiss him, but I was worried he wasn’t looking for that. He didn’t want kisses and snuggles. He wanted to fuck me from behind and call me out on my shit and then maybe leave.
“Do you have a bathroom in here?”
I nodded against him, noticing my breath was calming, though my heart wasn’t.
I was scared of what his next move would be.
If he got up and left, I might die. I might never make another decision again.
Only when he finally pried himself from me and crawled off the bed, he glanced back at me over his muscled shoulder. “You coming?”
“Where?”
“To the shower.” He turned around and offered me his hand. “Come on.”
“Hooker.” The word popped into my mind and out of my mouth.
“What?” He squinted, confused.
“Nothing.” I took his hand and let him lift me off the bed.
“Did you call me a hooker?” He laughed and pulled me along.
“No.” I shook my head, feeling the heat on my cheeks. “I couldn’t remember the name for—” This wasn’t improving the situation. “Nothing. Anyway, yes, I am coming to the shower,” I answered after briefly panicking, thinking about the fact that I’d never showered with another human being before.
But when he stared in the light of the bathroom, it was the kind of staring a girl wanted, right in my eyes. At one point, while the water was heating up and we were standing awkwardly waiting for there to be something to do beyond not look at each other’s bodies too obviously, I thought I heard him sigh.
He opened the large glass door wider and stepped in, offering me a hand again. I took it like we were going to dance in a Disney movie, not that Disney would ever consider making a movie based on what we’d just done.
The warm water poured down on me, drowning me and hardly getting him wet. I hadn’t realized how tall he was. I covered my breasts, shyly. It felt strange being naked in the shower, being stared at by him after he had stripped me so bare in conversation last night.
I stepped to the side so he could get in the water; there was no way I was washing the important stuff in front of him. He wasn’t modest about that, though. He started soaping up, using my flowery body wash, cleaning what I confirmed to be a beautiful cock right in front of me. He lifted his arms and washed his hairy armpits and possibly even the crack of his ass.
There was no response for someone cleaning himself in front of you.
So I stared, watching the way his muscles flexed. He wasn’t ripped like a body builder was, but he was fit. Very fit for a nerdy engineering student.
“Do you work out?” I asked, blatantly staring at him.
“Yeah.” He laughed. “Everyone works out to some degree. You have to. Robotics engineering can be a lot of sitting. Do you?”
“Yeah. I do yoga and of course run in the park.”
“Yeah, I noticed last night. You’re a great runner.”
“Keeps me skinny,” I said, cracking a grin.
“Shut up.” He laughed harder. “I meant weights.”
“I don’t lift weights; yoga only.”
“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
“You’re really good at—” The words fell out, and I paused, scared of where I was taking this. Was I complimenting his fucking? Was I that weird? My eyes darted to the bedroom the same moment his did.
His cheeks flushed, maybe the same color as mine. “So are y—”
“Don’t say that.” I lifted my finger to his lips, both of us staring at each other, drowning in the shower. “I didn’t do anything but lie there.”
“You said yes.” He tried to be cute, but we were past that.
“Do a lot of girls say no?” I was being serious. I couldn’t help it. I took sex seriously.
“No.” He shook his head, losing the charm and gaining more blush.
It was late for modesty and reminders that we were in the real world. We were in my parents’ house. My childhood bedroom.
“I already told you, I wanted you the moment I met you.” He leaned closer, and his eyes got that look, the one that suggested he might kiss me. Finally.
“Well, I picked you.”
“But what you hadn’t realized at the time was that I picked you too,” he whispered as his hands lifted, cupping my face and tilting it up to meet his. The showerhead hit the back of him, and that protected me from the water as he lowered more, his eyes locked on mine as our lips met.
He became a blurry, beautiful mess in my vision, but I stopped seeing with my eyes. I started seeing with my lips, imagining with my mind, and tasting with my tongue.
The kiss was more—more than being fucked, more than being stroked into oblivion, more than being possessed.
It was he and I dancing in the shower, sealing our fates in the downpour of everything. Water. Emotion. Seduction. Bliss.
Kissing him finally was too much.
I wanted more of everything I’d just received.
I hadn’t even washed off the last sexcapade and I was ready for round two. So was he. He pressed himself against my stomach, making my body ache for more.
His hands left my face, lowering to my body, cupping my ass and lifting me into his arms. I wrapped my legs and arms around him, clinging to him as he entered me again, pressing my back against the shower wall.
This time was different.
Our mouths never left each other.
They didn’t speak words.
We didn’t grunt or jerk.
We moaned into each other, dancing, filling each other up at the same time that we took everything the other person had to give.
Kissing him for the first time was better than any other thing I’d ever done in my life.
I wanted there to never be enough.
I wanted it to go on forever.
For a minute I believed it would.
We stumbled into my bed again, wrapped in each other and ready for more sleep.
“Won’t your parents come in?” he asked.
“No.” I laughed. “My dad’s in the city today until Friday night, and my mom doesn’t really come in. She sends for you if she wants you.”
“What about the staff?”
“They won’t tell,” I whispered, and kissed him again. “I’ve never spent a Sunday in bed before.”
“Me either.” He nuzzled my neck. “Not the whole day anyway.”
“I wish we were at the Weinbergs’ weird house and we were able to just go into the kitchen and make food.”
“That is the best part of not havin
g a staff of fifteen roaming the grounds, ready to pop in on you at any moment.”
“I suppose being poor has its benefits.” I giggled, tormenting him.
“It does.” He knit his brow. “We’ve kind of broken the rules of Fling Club already.”
“Maybe so.” I grinned wide. “But if Cait chose you last night like she was supposed to, then this is my first time ever, stealing her fling.”
“Does it make it sweeter?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “You already made it sweet enough.” I laughed at my own cheesy line and closed my eyes.
I was half-starved, half-asleep, completely satisfied, and a lot smitten.
It was a fabulous way to fall back asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
NEW CHECKLIST
Cherry
Waking up Monday with him gone and my bed cold sucked.
But Rachel texted and asked me to come over for brunch. Not feeling like being alone, I said sure.
She smiled wide when I arrived. “Hey!”
“Hey. Sorry about selection night. I bailed. I couldn’t do it.” I was embarrassed. This girl didn’t really know me, and I was flaking on her hard.
“That’s okay. I mean we were all kinda worried when you left and didn’t come back. And then Ashley left, and we all sort of assumed maybe—”
“Maybe what?” I tried to sound like I wasn’t reliving every second of it.
“Maybe you left together.” She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows. “Went and had a quickie before Cait got her grubby hands on him.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t lie, so I lowered my face, hating that my expression was giving me away as we walked into the front room to sit. “Yeah, no. I left with my sister.”
“I got that story. Ashley came back to the party. That was awful, watching him and Cait talk. He looked like he wanted death.” She wrinkled her nose. “So, Ashley got picked by Cait.” Rachel’s eyes looked like my insides felt. I hated it.
“I knew he would. She’s so predictable. And how did selection go for you?” I asked, trying to be present. It was rough after being stuck in a ball of pleasure for a day and a half. I was on a routine from the bed to the shower and back to the bed again. I was lost in noises and sensations and whispered words.
I was hung up on feelings that I hadn’t even known were possible.
There were also the feelings I didn’t want. Feelings like remorse and confusion over everything Ashley had said to me at the party. Things we still hadn’t discussed.
“I don’t know. It was weird.” She sounded worried. “Felt like buying a farm animal at an auction. I got some guy who seems nice. I picked him ’cause he sort of looked like he didn’t want to be there. It doesn’t really matter who we’re stuck with; Ashley and Cait is the important stuff.”
“Right. Ashley never mentioned it, so I assumed it all went according to plan.”
“You spoke to Ashley? Did you see him last night? Fling Club hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already hanging out behind Cait’s back?” For a new friend, she was a bit intense. But she was real, something I was working on.
“No.” I tried so hard to be cool about it. “I mean, it wasn’t like that. I was upset. I’m having a tough time being around Cait. And just wearing this fake skin I’ve always put on here. It’s rough being back to a place where nothing changes, while I desperately want to be someone different.”
“Did you guys hook up?” she blatantly asked, going for the jugular.
“No,” I lied.
“Liar, liar, panties on fire.” She tossed a pillow at me. “Just tell me it was half as amazing as I assume it would be.”
“What?” I gasped. “Why do you think it would be amazing?” Jesus.
“I don’t know.” She grinned like a cat. “I guess ’cause he’s so confident and yet nerdy and comfortable with his nerdiness, like he knows he’s better than other people but wouldn’t dare say it. Those kinds of guys are always so unsuspecting and freaky. Like female librarians. Freak flags a mile long.”
“Shut up!” I tossed the pillow back at her.
“Well?” She caught and hugged it. “Spill. I know you hooked up.”
“It was nice.” I cracked a grin, fighting so hard not to be that loser who kisses and tells.
“Niiiiiiiiice.” She said it like Joey on Friends. “I could use some nice, just personally. So, if he turns out to just be the kind of guy who’s down to fu—”
“No.” I lost my humor.
“Ha!” She pointed. “I was testing you. You like him a lot, you filthy liar. He’s amazing, isn’t he?”
“Amazing.” I wanted to gush and release the hounds, my emotions and truths. But I stayed calm and collected. “I mean, he calls me out on my shit, which is weird for me. You know what it’s like being with someone like my mom; it’s all plastic.” I wondered if I was making sense.
“Oh my God.” She widened her grin. “So jealous. I need some of that. Maybe not someone to call me on my shit, though. I have a brother for that.”
My phone buzzed, drawing my eyes down. It was a text from Ashley.
Morning.
I grinned and texted back. Morning.
So, day one of Fling Club, and I’m already her little whipping boy. She made me come for breakfast and flaunted me all over the country club. I can’t do this.
What should we do about that? I laughed.
Go back to New York and forget about the Hamptons completely? You can be my chubby little pastry girl and I’ll be your daily dose of reality.
I grinned at his response. “Asshole.”
“What did he say?” Rachel asked.
“Who?” I asked.
“Please, like I can’t tell it’s him by that grin.”
“He hates Cait.” I laughed again. “He wants to run away and pretend none of this ever happened.”
“Poor guy. I mean, I feel sorry for him even if you’re paying him to be here and date Cait.”
I parted my lips to argue, but she was right. Jesus. I’d technically just paid Ashley to have sex with me. Correction: my brother technically had paid him to have sex with me. I shuddered. I hadn’t handled the money aspect, but that changed nothing.
Rachel winced, no doubt seeing my simple math adding up on my face. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Right. Of course.” I cringed.
“I didn’t mean you’re paying Ashley for anything. I mean you aren’t. It’s not like that.” Rachel tried to reason with me, no doubt seeing the twist in my stomach on my face. I was certain my pallor had turned green. I felt green.
She tried again. “Ashley isn’t like—”
“It’s okay.” I cut her off. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right. Ashley’s here for a reason, and it’s not to frolic about with me all summer. He has a job.” I swallowed down the nausea and got up off the sofa. “I should go, though. I have to figure out who my fling is. I’ll see ya later.” I waved.
“Cherry, don’t be angry with Ashley. He likes you, and you got him into this mess.”
“Yeah, I know.” I nodded, still queasy over the fact he was being paid to fake-date Cait but ended up screwing me.
For money.
Jesus.
This was what came of me making decisions.
I couldn’t even be trusted with a simple thing like sex.
I drove home with the window open, desperate to shake the icky feelings, but nothing helped.
Not even seeing him, Ashley, when I got there.
Not even seeing him in a swimsuit by the pool, laughing with my dad and brother.
Not even seeing him holding a drink and wearing sunglasses, being casual like nothing in the world was wrong.
From the living room I watched them all outside, remembering the feel of every inch of him, inches I couldn’t see but wouldn’t ever forget.
“You’re so screwed.” Ella sauntered in eating ice cream from a bowl with cat ears on it. “You’re so into him.”
I glanced at her, not speaking, and stole the spoon to take a large bite.
“What happened to your keto home regime?” she mocked.
“Not a word, Ella; not a single word.” I took her bowl, too, scooping a huge bite and shoving it in my mouth. Pushing my feelings down with some Cherry Garcia.
“So, are we talking love or lust? I know it’s only been, like, two weeks, but I’m struggling to tell exactly what that look on your face is.” She nudged me, taking back the bowl.
“Conflicted mess is what I would label it.” I stared, unable to break away from watching him.
“You look like a creeper.”
“I know.” I nodded. “I am a creeper.” My words hushed, becoming something not fit for the world, not fit for my sister’s ears or my lips, but I couldn’t hold them back. Even here in the Hamptons I couldn’t hold them back. “We had sex. Andy’s essentially paying him to have sex with me. Who’s the rule breaker now?”
“Oh, wow.” She handed back the bowl. “Yeah, that’s aggressive.”
“He made a joke about this being like Pretty Woman, and I laughed.” I turned to her. “I don’t feel like laughing now.”
“Maybe Andy can write you into the contract as part of his payment.” She burst out laughing, nodding and taking a step back. “So you’re the hooker, not him.”
“Shut up, Ella,” I snarled, and went back to the ice cream.
She had her laugh, then stepped close again, speaking with a smile. “He likes you. You like him. That’s bigger than getting revenge. I want you to get revenge, but more than that, I want you to find yourself. I want you to forget old you and try to embrace new you. Being with him, even if it’s just sexual or fun, seems like a good start. He’s not like us. Like this bullshit.”
She held her arms out. “He’s normal. He can take you home to meet his parents and go to movies, and you can make out in the car, and no one will be watching or comparing him to anyone else. He doesn’t have to sneak around, pretending to be something he isn’t. Just pay out his ‘services’ for the summer, because you owe him the money, and end it there. End the contract so it’s done, and you can both start fresh. What the hell do we care for money anyway?”