by Teagan Kade
“Because big, burly football bros don’t know the dictionary?”
She looks at me wryly. “Something like that.”
We talk for a good half an hour before we reach her place just out of campus limits. She talks about her dream to become a big-time journalist, her mother’s love of the written word and her father, or lack of, rather. I talk about my own life, growing up under the spotlight of the sports elite, my father’s indiscretions and their effect on the family. I don’t know why, but it’s so easy to talk to her. Things are spilling out of me I’ve never told anyone.
We’re shoulder to shoulder as we stand in front of her apartment block.
It starts to rain in earnest, thunder booming above louder, lighting following sooner than before.
“You better get inside,” I tell her, watching the sky. “It’s about to pour.”
“Your bum leg tell you that?” she jokes.
“My legs are just fucking fine,” I reply, “though I can’t say I’m looking forward to the walk home.”
I don’t mean for it to sound like an invitation, but Erin nods all the same. “Why don’t you come inside, just ’til the storm passes over?”
And I’m thanking someone – God, Shiva, the man in the moon — for this turn of events.
The rain really starts to hammer down, both of us making for the front door of the apartment block, Erin laughing as she fumbles for her keys in her pocket. She drops them and we both drop to pick them up. As I do, I realize her dress has ridden up, her legs parted just enough for me to see the peachy strip of material that’s covering her crotch.
I’m hypnotized, handing over the keys and standing back up quicker than I should, brushing myself off. “There you go.”
She smiles and unlocks the door, but I know she saw me looking, know that she knows I liked what I saw, like her maybe more than I have anyone.
Her apartment is smaller than I expect, just two bedrooms, a bathroom and a single living space and adjoining kitchen decorated oddly with a sea-shanty kind of feel — curious considering we’re hundreds of miles from an ocean.
Erin sees me looking at an old diving helmet. “Oh, it’s all Mindy’s stuff. Her parents raised her on an island, for real. She’s obsessed with mermaids and sea junk stuff, got pretty hot and bothered when she watched Aquaman the other night.”
“Mindy’s your roommate?” I clarify, not sure if they’ve talked yet.
Erin’s looking flustered, spinning left and right. “Yeah. She was looking for someone, one of those ads on the campus noticeboard. We actually grew up together, sort of.”
There’s an actual old-school life preserver on the wall. “For when guests go overboard?”
Erin leans back against the kitchen counter, placing her house keys down. “I’d joke and tell you we’re on the Titanic, but…” She points to a piece of weathered timber on the cross-beam that reads ‘SS Titanic.’
“We can go out on the balcony, do the whole ‘King of the world’ thing if you’d like?”
“Fitting for you,” she retorts, smiling.
“Or is the car scene more your thing?”
She raises a wary finger. “Careful now.”
“Yes, sorry.”
The rain gets even heavier, the windows washed out completely. My cell buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. The Queen herself could come calling and I wouldn’t open the door.
“Can I get you anything?” Erin asks, filling herself a glass of water.
“I’m good.”
“Take a seat,” she says, motioning to the turquoise two-seater by the wall.
I do, sitting there unsure what to do next when Erin joins me, bringing her legs up together on the sofa, placing her water down, one elbow on the back. “So, tell me, Mr. King, what’s it like being the campus hero?”
“Stressful as fuck,” I reply honestly, “but I can handle it. I wouldn’t be gunning for the NFL if I couldn’t.”
Her eyes look lazy, but the walk here worked well to sober us up. “You’ll make it.”
“You sound certain. You know something I don’t?”
She looks me over. “Let’s just say I have an eye for these things.”
We keep talking, moving from football to movies and back to family, a breakdown of my brothers following a lengthy monologue from her on what life was like as an only child.
I lose track of time. It disappears and it’s only us stuck in this little bubble at the bottom of the sea.
We draw closer and closer the deeper the conversation gets, moving onto ex-lovers and the meaning of life, the whole thing like a scene out of Before Sunrise. I smile more than I have in months, and when she finally tells me of her mother’s death, I pull her into my arms and hold her there, words left lingering as I bury my face in her hair and breathe her in.
We talk and laugh, talk until the storm’s long gone and first light strikes the kitchen window. I barely remember falling asleep with her in my arms, just the feel of her body — hot and welcome — against my own.
CHAPTER NINE
ERIN
“Wakey wakey, hands off snakey.”
I blink to a semi-awareness and find Mindy holding my shoulder, her eyes looking behind me.
I turn and jerk forwards surprised to find I’ve canoodled into Peyton’s arms during the night — those big, strong, surprisingly cuddly, arms.
I’m perhaps more surprised to find him here at all.
I spread my legs subconsciously testing to see if… but nope, I don’t believe we did.
“You didn’t,” confirms Mindy, standing backwards with a shit-eating smirk on her face. The shirt she’s wearing says, in bold red letters, ‘I shaved my balls for this.’ “You’d know if you did, trust me.”
“My head is killing me,” I whisper, yawning and slowly closing my legs.
“Just be thankful it’s not your vagina. Now, you want to start explaining before Sleeping Beauty here wakes up?”
I try not to move too much, slowly pushing myself from his arms and standing. It’s not a good feeling being on two feet. The apartment really is starting to feel like a ship. “It’s a long story.”
Mindy crosses her arms like the good momma bear she is. “Mmm-hmm, sounds about right.”
There’s a compressed pause as we watch Peyton sleeping. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone sleep so peacefully.
“Fuck me, he’s really beautiful, isn’t he? It’s like the best sculpture in the world. Can we keep it… him?” she pleads to me with a pout.
I stroll towards the kitchen because I need a serious caffeine injection. “He is not home décor. Besides, he doesn’t fit in with the nautical theme.”
“Mmm,” considers Mindy, leaning over him for a closer look, like he’s a museum exhibit. “A sailor’s cap would fix that. He’d be rocking your boat in no time.”
His shirt is untucked. Mindy reaches down to the hem and pulls it up.
“What are you doing?” I whisper in alarm, abandoning my coffee-making, but it’s too late.
Mindy whistles low and loud. “Holy fuckballs. Have you seen this shit? It’s like actual girl porn, like right here in our living room.
I walk over and slap her hand away before it reaches said pornography. “Don’t you dare.”
Mindy nods with understanding, the corners of her mouth pulling inwards. “My, my, we seem awfully protective over someone we wanted absolutely nothing do with, what? A day ago?”
“We connected, okay.”
Mindy laughs, quietening herself when Peyton stirs. “Over chicken wings discussing the best of College Humor. Come on now. Be real.”
I am unusually defensive. “He’s actually,” but I’m not sure how to phrase it without coming across completely smitten and pathetic, “quite complex.”
Mindy doesn’t look convinced, taking a seat beside him on the sofa. “Look, I get it and you don’t need to make any excuses. It’s cool.”
“That’s not what I’m…”
Bu
t her hand goes up before I can say more. “Totally cool. In fact, I’m kind of happy you’re finally getting some action. Truth be told, the lack of it was kind of becoming contagious around here.”
“Of what?”
“Cock,” she blurts out, Peyton stirring again and wriggling his nose.
“I’m not… I mean, he’s…” but I’m too tired. I don’t have the energy to argue running on empty with a pothole for a head.
Mindy slaps Peyton on the thigh and jumps up.
I pin her with a double glare.
“Anyhow, I’m going back to bed, maybe get my own Magic Wand out,” she winks.
I give her a short wave and she replies by thrusting her hips in Peyton’s face.
“Go!” I whisper.
She slaps herself on the butt before heading into the hall.
I steady myself against the kitchen counter. I’m so insanely tired, my head drumming. Did I imagine it all? Well, nope, because he’s right there on the sofa, probably heard the whole cursed conversation.
I look up at the cupboard but cannot summon the energy to even get a coffee pod.
What you need to do, I tell myself, is ship ol’ brown eyes there out and get back to bed, get a little clarity back into that stupid noggin of yours.
I yawn again watching Peyton. Mindy wasn’t wrong. He is beautiful, side-lit there with golden morning light and basically Saint Jock himself. We did connect. I remember that much. We kissed, and then (coming back to me in fragmented pieces of cotton candy) the taste of his mouth and his scent, lips against my neck, thickness against my leg, a hot iron, scalding…
I pull in a long breath and exhale, preparing myself for what needs to be done, my head screaming ‘sleep, sleep, sleep’ the whole time.
Peyton’s face remains unmoving when I sit beside him. I try shaking him by the shoulder. “Peyton, wake up.”
He startles awake, pearly eyes searching the room before settling on me. He smiles. “Morning.”
“Morning,” I reply, “and quite a night, too.”
The same look of alarm I had only a minute ago. “Did we?”
“No,” I reply, too quickly.
He leans his head back, closing his eyes. “Pity. I suppose you want me to go then?”
That was easy. “Is that okay? I’m just really, really tired.”
His eyes open and he looks at me smiling. “How do you look so stunning for six in the morning?”
That’ll be the ship’s helm clock on the wall behind me. “I’m immune to flattery, you know.” In the light of day, I’m feeling extra ridiculous in this minidress.
“That smile says otherwise.”
With more agility than seems human, he’s managed to stand and scoop me up in his arms, carrying me towards the hall. “So it’s this way to your bedroom, is it?” He pauses in the middle of the hallway. “Better let me know or your roommate’s going to get a surprise.”
“Right,” I get out, trying to whisper but still in shock.
“Right it is.”
He walks and kicks the door open, laying me down on the bed and closing the door with his foot. It clicks closed. His shoes fall on the floorboards — one, two — before he’s climbing into bed beside me, drawing me against his chest. “It’s only sleep,” he says. “Nothing to get your panties in a twist about.”
I don’t know how to reply about this turn of events, so I don’t. I close my eyes instead and enjoy the warmth of the body behind me, the way it seems to perfectly enclose my own its own personal cocoon of comfort.
I let my head rest on the pillow, dimly thinking, You’re being little-spooned by the biggest player at Crestfall Academy. Feels kind of good, doesn’t it?”
I smile to myself and fall deeper into the pillow.
Yeah, it kind of does.
*
I wake squinting against the light. The blind’s not doing a damn thing anymore, which means the morning is well and truly over.
Peyton.
I reach behind myself, but he’s gone. That’s okay… I guess? Better to remove temptation and all that.
“Looking for me?”
I sit bolt upright and find Peyton sitting at the end of the bed, watching me. I swallow. “How long have you been…?”
“Sitting here? Quite a while. You’re beautiful when you’re sleeping.”
I claw sleep dust from my eyes. “As opposed to the mess I am when I’m awake?” I toss my hair around. “I’m a mess now.”
“You’re beautiful,” he retorts.
“A mess.”
“Beautiful.”
“A mess.”
“Fine.” He raises his hands. “A beautiful mess.”
I’m about protest when he grabs me by the ankles and pulls me down the bed. I scream, taken by surprise.
He slides off the bed, dragging me right to the edge. “Don’t worry. Your roommate left an hour ago, wished you the best.”
He’s crouching on the floor, his hands placed on my knees. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
My breath hitches. “Several times this morning, actually.”
“Let me show you.”
I roll my eyes, act nonchalant, but inside I’m a tempest of burning heat, a vixen, a volcano — ready to blow.
“I’m serious,” he continues, a hand sliding up the back of my leg. “You’re fucking amazing, Erin Nash. You’re amazing, but you’re mine.”
I look down into his eyes, into those endless pools of hazel, earthy sorrel tones that speak of dark wood and rich soil. There’s no inhibition in them.
When I speak, my voice quivers. “Flattery won’t get you far, mister.”
His hands shift up to my inner thighs. He spreads my legs. “It got me this far, didn’t it?”
My breath hitches again, my throat tight. I don’t know how much more of this slow burn I can take.
His fingers press a little firmer into my flesh. He’s asserting himself.
My dress inches back. He’s staring right into the heated shadow beyond. It feels like he can see into my very soul there, see all of my once carefully guarded sexual secrets coming to the fore.
“You know what I want, don’t you?” he says, husky and dry. The way he speaks… with such confidence, so assured, only deepens my desire.
He’s getting closer, moving forward. I know where this is going and it’s doing my head in. I can’t process this all out once, can’t bring myself out of this state of intoxication.
Because I shouldn’t.
But I want to.
Which is wrong.
But it could be right… right?
Wrong.
Right?
Wrong.
Right.
The argument in my head rages on while he works.
His right hand dips further down my thigh, sliding forward until it’s sitting right against the damp, peachy crotch of my panties. I know he’ll be able to sense how wet I am for him — smell it, feel it.
His head lowers and he kisses my leg, those beautiful lips pressing and releasing against my goose-fleshed skin. His free hand pushes my dress back further, revealing more and more of my bare skin.
And maybe he’s right. I am a beautiful mess, but what does that make him? On a purely physical level, he’s perfection. There’s no other way to put it.
I can’t sit still, shifting and writhing on the bed. I pant faster, losing control, because everything is happening too fast. This dream I’ve had of this moment, this build-up… and now it’s all coming to completion in real, vivid life before me.
There’s no doubting the bulge in his pants as he continues to push my dress back, slowing adding pressure to my pussy with his palm, my panties the only barrier stopping skin from contacting skin.
When the dress can go no further, he brings both hands back to my knees and spreads my legs wider still, dipping forward between them.
Oh, God.
“Peyton, I—” but whatever I was going to say is lost as his head drops and d
isappears towards my sex. The next thing I feel is his mouth, pressed up against the silky bridge of my underwear. He inhales, a low groan of delight following that sends shivers through my skin.
He holds himself there before pressing up off my knees. He stands tall, looming over me, before shifting down and driving his lips against mine.
It happens and I’m completely and utterly powerless.
Lost.
I’m vaguely aware of his erection tented between us, the way his tongue moves in my mouth. Finally, I can savor him. My fingers claw at the back of his head, move with urgency to try and meld us together.
I grow wetter below, the shame I felt at first shedding fast, replaced with something far more primal and instinctual: a need to be filled, and taken.
To be remade.
The bad boy I was fearing hasn’t materialized yet, but I know he’s there, simmering under the surface.
I see the way he looks at me. He stands and stalks around the bed, the imprint of his cock a right angle to his body. And it looks big. Real big.
There’s such hunger in his eyes I do start to fear what he might do to me, that sex will be skipped altogether and I may just be eaten alive.
Somewhere deep in the back of my head there are doubts. I can taste him on my lips, that distinct scent of desire heavy in the room, but I want him so bad. Need him.
This need not taint my article. I can still remain subjective.
Are you sure? Are you really sure?
He stands at the end of bed and, as if to answer such doubts, slowly undoes his belt buckle, the belt whispering as it passes through the loops of his jeans. He lowers them and my god, there it is.
Clouds must have crossed the sun outside, because the room dims. Even so, I can clearly make out his cock, the mighty arm of it solid and firm.
My mouth literally drops wide because the rumors were true. This isn’t a cock. It’s a god damn weapon of mass destruction.
My sex twitches and I know I’m in trouble. I expected big. I didn’t expect the Eiffel Tower of penises.
He sees my hesitation. “Don’t worry,” he coos, breathing in. “You’re wet enough.”
He strips away the rest of his jeans, stepping out of them and approaching the bed. He comes onto it, taking hold of my dress. I lift my arms and it’s pulled free. He doesn’t bother reaching around to unclasp my bra, but simply holds it in the center, drawing it away from my skin and tearing it in two, the cups flung outwards and my breasts suddenly on show, nipples fiercely erect on the cherry pads of my areole.