Hustle

by Ashley Claudy

  “You've got a pretty smile.” His hand is steadying my back.

  And I know I hate the feel of his hand on me, so I step away but bump into a girl who's giggling with a group of girls.

  “Is he really here?”

  “I just saw him in the hall.”

  “You're high, Andrew Fayden wouldn't come to the freshmen dorms.”

  “I know him,” I interrupt, too excited at the sound of his name.

  “Everyone does. He's the quarterback of the school.” That boy, Adam, must have followed me. He's standing beside the couch.

  “I know, but I really know him. Where is he?”

  “Oh my God.” One girl's mouth opens. “He's there. Damn he's hot. Look at his size.”

  I don't have to see him to know what she means. I love his height, how he dominates the room even when people are taller. The room streaks as I turn, but I can't see past those around me.

  “And those hands,” the girls are speaking lower.

  “He's got great hands,” I agree, my body tingling with the memory of those hands, an ache starting low in my stomach. “His voice though, have you heard him? He sounds like—”

  “Brooklyn,” my name comes out even deeper, raspier than I remember, and my body vibrates.

  My heart stops as his warm palm grips my arm and turns me to face him.

  “—like batman,” I finish my earlier statement.

  “I'm batman?” He quirks his lip at me.

  “Nailed it.” I laugh but drop it when I glance around to see that group staring. Their hungry gazes are too close to him, and I step closer, a protective urge consuming me.

  “How much have you had to drink?” He pulls me in the rest of the way.

  “Enough,” my fingertips travel up the front of his shirt, around his neck, and I make him look at me with that grip he's done on me so many times, “that you could take advantage.”

  His groan vibrates from him, through my arm, and his burning eyes close. “Don't say stuff like that.”

  But the idea of stepping away feels like drowning. I know why he's here. I know why he always shows up. And tonight, I want it. I want to know what I've been missing. Tonight, I don't care about what happens tomorrow. I don't want a future. I want this sexy, dirty talking, football hero turned bad for myself. Even if it’s only for a night, it’s better than never. So I lift up on my toes, bringing myself as close to his lips as possible, and breathe out my plea, “Please.”

  His lips crash to mine in a brief, fiery kiss, and then he's got his arm hooked around me, pulling me from whatever dorm we’re in.

  I'm snuggled to his side as we walk out of the building. The strong night wind rips through my hair. “Where are we going? My room's back there.” I point in the general direction of the large building.

  “Your bed's too small for me. I'm taking you to my place.” His arm squeezes me tighter, and he places a kiss on the top of my head.

  “Oh,” a pulsing excitement beats in my bones, and my thoughts spin with what this means. But there’s no doubt or panic, only anticipation. “Wait, my phone.” I pat at my empty pockets. “I must’ve left it.”

  He kisses me and I let go of everything, draping my arms around him and floating in his embrace. He speaks against my mouth, “Do you really need it?”

  I shake my head, my lips grazing the rough stubble on his face. I can't even feel myself walk, all I feel is him surrounding me, warm and inviting, and I sink into it. Then I'm lifted, and he's holding me in his arms. In a blink we're at the main road, sliding into a cab.

  Everything moves slow and quick. All I know is his hands stay on me, rubbing my back, tickling the skin at my neck until we're at his place, until we're in his dark room.

  He lay's me on the bed, and I stretch out, my muscles soaking up the feel of the cool sheets and lying flat. When he stretches out next to me, I slide to his side and lazily try my best to seduce with kisses along his chin and neck.

  He captures my lips with his, sliding his hands up my back as my hands slide lower to the edge of his boxers, his pants are off already. He captures my hands with one of his, and the other slides to my face. “We don't have to do this tonight.”

  “You promised.” I moan as his fingers run through my hair and my body shivers, my hands stuck in his grip. “You said you'd be my first. I want it to be you.”

  I'd be embarrassed about begging, but I feel him growing against me, the length of him rising against my stomach as I press into him.

  He kisses my face in-between an airy laugh. “We have time.”

  “No, we don't.” I shake my head, brushing away his lips, upset that he’s still keeping me from touching him.

  “Why?”

  “Because tomorrow, I'll remember.” My breath hitches with the struggle to forget.

  He drops my wrists and wraps me up in his arms. “I know. That's why I'm taking tonight. Just relax.” His fingers slide rhythmically through my hair as he rolls onto his back, using one arm to hold me against him. “Close your eyes, and relax. I'll take care of you.”

  18: Warning

  A heavy warmth pulls me in, wrapping around me, tightening till the lines of my body blur and I don't know what's me. The light of the day is slow to burn away the haze of my mind.

  I crack my eyes open, the bright sun streaks on the ceiling where it sneaks through the top of the dark curtains. The hum of the fan almost lulls me back into slumber. But the heat around me snaps me awake, and at the same time, it invites me to relax.

  I stay still, taking inventory. I'm on my back. Andrew's arm is under me and wraps around my shoulder. His other arm drapes over my middle, his hand curling on my side in a light grip. But it's his leg that traps me, crossed over my own.

  His body is a furnace, but despite the heat, my skin goose bumps as my stomach dips with memories. I'd offered myself to him, but I'm still fully clothed in last night's jeans and sweater. The stale smell of alcohol seeping from my pores only makes the spinning worse.

  As I try to rise, Andrew's hands clamp down, holding me in place. But he keeps that same quiet look on his beautiful face, his strong jaw soft in sleep, except he isn't sleeping. His fingers un-flex and coast slow and light over me, over my clothes, only moving up and down as far as his fingers can reach without moving his arms.

  “Drew?” My voice comes out raspy.

  His eyebrows lift and the corner of his mouth turns up, but he doesn't say anything. His fingers on my shoulder slip into my hair, turning circles in the strands.

  I'm torn between wanting to stay just like this and wanting to run and hide before he can see me.

  I don't move. I take advantage of his closed eyes and drink him in. While I'm fully clothed, he's not, and the sheets only cover us from the waist down. He's on his side, his bare chest pressed against me, so heartbreakingly perfect and defined. Lean and strong. The ink cutting across him entices me. I want to trace it, follow the lines like a map that could lead me to understanding him, understanding the way he makes me feel, understanding why I can't stay away.

  My heart stretches to near snapping just thinking of staying away. Somewhere along the line he's taken it, or I've given it like a fool. And waking up like this, in his arms, brings all those feelings to the surface.

  His hand flexes on my ribs, massaging and pulling me closer at the same time. My body follows his demands, on the verge of shattering. I roll to my side so we're flush against each other, my face at the crook of his neck. His smell surrounds me, and I want to inhale him. His arms wrap around me, crossing to hold me tight as he rests his chin on the top of my head.

  “Don't wake up yet. Let's go back to sleep,” he speaks it with a hopeless regret that makes me curl up closer, denying the daylight, clinging to this intimacy.

  “I don't want to get up yet, either.”

  His chest sinks in and stomach tightens as my palms graze his sides, sliding around him. He speaks with little air, “How do you feel?”

  “Okay.” But my he
art's beating at the speed of hummingbird wings, about to take flight at all our hesitation, all our uncertainty in the moment. I close my eyes and swirl my fingertips over his back, absorbing the warmth of him. “How do you feel?”

  “I'm good, baby. But last night—”

  “Oh God.” I sit up and sweep my legs off the bed.

  “Brook, it’s okay.” He grips my wrist before I can rise to my feet.

  “I have to use the restroom,” I mumble and he lets me go.

  I escape to the hall bathroom and close myself in. I made a fool of myself, throwing myself at him, but too drunk to even stay awake for it. Kyle was right; I’d never please him.

  I wipe last night’s mascara from under my eyes and rinse my mouth with water from the sink, but my embarrassment only grows. I’m making it worse by delaying.

  He’s staring at the ceiling, lying on top of the sheets now in only his grey boxer briefs. When I walk in, he sits up.

  “Brook—”

  “I'm sorry, can we just forget about last night?”

  “What do you want to forget?” He asks, sitting on the edge of his bed.

  “Everything.”

  Hiss sharp intake of breath cuts me, and I lift my gaze. “Why?”

  “I fell asleep on you. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. It's so messed up.” Shame makes me want to disappear.

  “Come back over here, sit down.” He pats the mattress beside him. “Please.”

  I don’t resist, and when I sit, he grabs my hand.

  “I brought you here to sleep, that's it. And I enjoyed every minute of it.”

  I’m unable to read his soft grin. “What are you doing with me? I don't understand. Why did you show up late last night, if not for something more? I was ready. I thought that's what you wanted.”

  “I do.” His next breath is painful. “But you deserve better than that.”

  Too many thoughts strangle me, and I can't speak. Panic that he may be ending this just when I'm willing to give in.

  “I know I messed up.” He drops his eyes to our joined hands in his lap. “And you deserve someone better. You deserve to be treated better. Much better.”

  “Why can't that be you?” I swallow the hurt burning my throat.

  “I want it to be,” it's barely a whisper. He lifts his gaze to mine and I'm frozen in the space of his next breath, waiting for more. “I want to do better, for you. I want to try.”

  The air is thin but bright, and I don't dare breathe in the hope or fear that I'm hearing wrong. I have to be misunderstanding him. “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” his smile stretches till his dimples show, and he slides his other hand into my hair, fingers curling around the back of my neck, “dates and real talks and whatever else it is that people in relationships do. Whatever it is you need to trust me. Whatever it is I need to do so you’ll sleep in my arms again.”

  “A real relationship?”

  “Keep being patient with me, though. Talk to me.”

  I'm on a knife’s edge, pain no matter which way I step.

  “Are you okay? Is this not what you want anymore?”

  “No, it's not that, I'm just—surprised. Why now? You didn't call, and then last night—”

  He drops his hold on me and takes a deep breath. “After last week, I knew I had to make a choice. I would have said something after you came to the football field, but you left, and then I didn't call because I wanted to be sure things could be better.”

  “So last night…”

  “Last night, I had to find you.”

  “But you didn't want to have sex?” I poke at the still fresh bruise to my ego, unable to look at him when I ask. This Drew didn't seem like the same Drew.

  He snatches me in his arms lightning quick. “Baby, of course I do.” He nuzzles into my neck as he pulls me into his warm body. “But you were drunk. If I thought you actually meant it, and wouldn't wake up regretting it, I would have been inside you in an instant. It was hard to turn down—” his chest shakes against mine as he laughs. “Literally hard. But I couldn't risk it.”

  “I did mean it,” I whisper into his hair, and I think he stops breathing, his head stills mid kiss on my neck. “It's easier to say when I'm drunk.”

  My bodies buzzing with the rush of my decision, at the leap I know I'm taking. I may never have acted the way I did last night if I hadn't been drinking, but the decision was still my own, and after what he's said this morning, I know it is what I want. I’d been regretting not doing this all week, when I thought I wouldn't have another chance. And now that he's offering me more. This is the only way for me to know if he's real or not. Before I get any deeper, before I give him any more of my heart, I'll give him my body and see if he uses it—like my fears still warn me he will.

  But as he pulls back and looks me over, his green eyes are lit with questions and a swirl of emotions flit across his face. “Well damn. I was trying to be good, for you. But I really wish I knew that last night.”

  I don't know if he actually gets it. So with a pounding pulse, I press my palms to his bare chest and glide them up to his neck in a slow and soft caress as I move closer. My leg slides over his lap and his excitement grows against me, giving me confidence. “You know now, though.”

  He drags his thumb over my bottom lip, keeping me from kissing him and teasing me at the same time. “Are you sure, baby? You seem… nervous.”

  “I am.” I shrug one shoulder and thread my fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “It's my first time. But I'm sure, so kiss me.”

  He does. His lips cover mine and his tongue sweeps into my mouth in a cool, minty kiss. But as he lowers me to the bed, pressing me to the mattress with his body, and his hands slide up my shirt, fires ignite where he touches, and the heat of him consumes me.

  I interrupt the kiss to slide my shirt over my head, pulling him to me, craving his skin against mine. He moves slow, hands trailing along my stomach and back, and then the clasp of my bra gives. He kisses down my neck, and the tips of his fingers slide my bra down my arms in a whisper.

  My certainty wavers the lower his hands get, the closer we get. Nerves rise in my gut, clashing with the sensations he causes with his touch, his lips. I started this but am unsure how to be what he wants, how to please him. I'm frozen, letting him take control, but it's Kyle's voice in my head warning me that I can't please him.

  But when his mouth finds my nipple, all voices stop, and all doubt ceases. Sensation takes over. It all centers on him. My hands clamp on his shoulders as he plays with me. Pleasure shoots through me, building in my core, and my hips rock under him.

  He squeezes my breast together, slipping his tongue between them and then to the next nipple. My hands slide down the firm muscles of his back and under the elastic of his boxers, grazing the top curve of his butt, it's solid and round, but my arms can't reach further.

  The way he licks and sucks and nibbles is driving me wild, and I wrap my legs around his back, giving in to the need of pulling him closer, pulling him in. My body demands it.

  His hands slide up my legs, and my chest aches to get them back. But he unwraps my legs from him and holds my thighs to the bed as he kisses down my stomach, till his lips hit the edge of my jeans. He dips his tongue under the waistband as his fingers jump to the buttons.

  But it's his stare that slows me down. He locks his gaze with me, his eyes fevered bright as he slides my pants down my legs.

  “These are nice.” He runs his fingers along the edge of my lace underwear but doesn't break his stare to look at them.

  I have to look away when his finger slips past the thin material and plunges into me without warning. My body pulls tight, and I close my eyes with a moan as he continues his skillful touches.

  “So pretty,” he murmurs as he slides my underwear down my thighs and they disappear. “So sexy,” his breath hits my inner thigh, and I melt with desire. “And it's all mine.”

  He pulls my hips with his hands,
lifting my center to his lips. Within moments he has me shaking and spinning. And I want more. I want him to fill me completely, to shatter me. I want everything.

  I pull on his shoulders, maybe I'm begging for him, but I can't hear it. There's nothing besides this hunger, this desire surging through me.

  He's hovering over me, body everywhere, but no weight on me. Except there. I can feel the tip of him between my legs, pressing, rubbing my slickness.

  “Brook.”

  I open my eyes, but I’m clinging to him. He uses one hand to cup my face and lifts off of me some.

  “Look at me. You're sure?”

  He's so still, and I take a second to still myself in the chaos. He's naked, over me, every muscle in his body tight and ready, so much restrained power radiating from him. I nod with a held breath.

  But he barely moves. The searing heat between my legs is slow as he presses forward, and I bite down the cry at the pain. It's not that bad, but it's uncomfortable and new.

  “Are you okay?” His question is strained.

  “Are you all the way in?” I pat at his back, unsure what to do with my hands, antsy to do something, to grip something, to bite down.

  “Almost.” But he's not moving.

  I grip his shoulders, the muscles there vibrating. “Keep going.”

  That burning continues, increasing till I think I may break. Every part of me is touched, stretched, on fire.

  He drops some of his weight onto me and buries his head in my hair, pressing against my neck. “Aw, tell me when you're ready. When I can move.”

  I take a few breaths, trying to adjust to the pressure, but I don't. I can’t. It's not all bad though and my hips ache for something. When his fingers slide between us and hit that sensitive spot at the top of my sex, the pain eases into pleasure, and my body gives him permission to move with a rock of my hips.

  He's cautious and slow, following the rhythm I create, a rhythm that straddles pain and pleasure. And my cries are a mixture of both. He keeps the pain down with soft kisses to my neck, and chin, and then my lips. The taste of myself on him doesn't last long as his tongue circles in my mouth with intensity and care.