But Chloe’s not just taking it. She’s reveling in my dominance over her.
Her head is thrown back, long black curls a stormy mist haloing her face. Her slim, lithe body is wrapped around mine, her feet digging into my ass to keep driving me back into herself. She’s making unintelligible noises and biting at her own lips, something that drives me to the brink of psychotic.
I reach up with my free hand, keeping my relentless, pounding pace in her pussy, and palm her small, but amazing tits. They’re so round and perky, they look fake. Even though, just by touching them, I know they aren’t. I’ve touched my fair share of fake tits. I tweak her nipple and she gives a sharp cry.
“That’s what you like, huh? This is what you wanted? My cock?” I bark at her, and I’m so close that it feels like my dick will snap in half from all the pressure it’s experiencing. “You better come, right now, princess. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
With that, I reach down, rubbing hard across her swollen, pulsing clit. Chloe’s crying, there might even be tears, but I don’t care. All I care about is the orgasm I can feel building at the base of my neck, the shock waves hurtling down my spine to grip me by the balls.
“Miles!” she screams my name, and when her pussy grips me hard with the first wave of her orgasm, I see white. I slam inside of her, to the hilt—once, twice—and then I’m coming, sticky pleasure coating her walls. I wrap my arms around her buttery skin and revel in this feeling. Complete bliss.
When I come to from nearly blacking out, I’m still lodged deep inside of Chloe. Except she’s staring at me, her violet orbs glassy with unshed tears, and she’s biting her full bottom lip.
What is her problem? I pull out and realize why she’s on the edge of a breakdown.
I came inside her. Without a condom.
What. The. Fuck.
I’ve never done that. No matter how drunk, stoned, or stupid I’ve been, I’ve never not remembered protection. Yet, I just hate-fucked the girl I can’t stand. Totally bare. Raw dogged her without a second thought.
I hastily pull my pants up where they sag at my knees, and grab my ruined white button-down, slipping it on like a vest over my chest. I don’t know what to say to Chloe, who is still sitting on the desk, completely mussed up from my handy work, trying not to cry.
So I don’t say anything. I turn around and flee the Zeta house without a backward glance.
10
Chloe
The doo-doo-doo jingle of an incoming FaceTime call distracts me from my History of Theater homework. Which I haven’t been concentrating on anyway, seeing as how it feels like my stomach contents could land on my carpet at any minute.
Grabbing my pink-covered laptop from the end of my blush comforter, I hit accept. Kelsey’s tan, freckled face fills the screen, the open slit of a tent her backdrop.
“Hi!” I squeal. I haven’t talked to her in a week with how spotty the wireless is out there. “Where are you now?”
“Jesus, I forgot how pink that room is. I need to adjust my eyes.” She fakes shielding her hazel orbs and sticks her tongue out. Kelsey, ever the grunge hippie, loves to tease me about how girly I am. “I’m in Tanzania, we’re doing a retreat in the Serengeti National Park. It’s so beautiful, Chlo. That word doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
Her eyes go all dreamy, as they always do when she’s talking wildlife. I know how she feels. It’s the same way I feel about ballet.
“That sounds amazing. Take pictures of the elephants for me.” I press my hand to my stomach as another sharp jab assaults my uterus.
I must have grimaced because Kelsey is immediately on me. “What’s wrong?” Her voice is tinged with concern.
I’m glad she has time to talk today. I could talk to Minka about this, but I don’t need to hear the “that was so irresponsible” speech right now.
“So … I had to take Plan B for the first time …” I know Kelsey will get it. I know she’s taken it before. Mainly, because I had to drive her to the drug store to get it.
“Oh, Chloe. Did you have to go by yourself?” This is why I need her home. She reads my mind and feels my emotions like no one else can. For two people who are so vastly different, we could have been twins.
“I did. I went yesterday morning, right when they opened. It was tough, but I’m glad I went.” I’ve been a wreck for the last two days. Right after Miles ran out, without so much as a goodbye, I broke down into a snotty pile of tears. I allowed myself two hours, until the dead of the morning, to lose it. Then, I picked myself up, got a few hours’ sleep, and went to get the pill from the pharmacy at eight a.m. the next morning. I may have been dumb Tuesday night, but it didn’t mean I was going to be dumb in the aftermath.
“Well, who was it? And tell me that little fucker didn’t promise you he’d pull out? Guys who fake that are such assholes.” Kelsey always knows how to make me laugh. I giggle at her crude question. Gosh, I miss her humor.
“It was … um … Miles.” I wait for the shriek which I get about half a second later.
“WHAT! You slept with Miles Farriston? Is this a dream? Minks told me you two have been spending time together with this competition but holy shit. How was it? I heard he’s great.”
I frown at her last statement. I don’t need any more reminders of just how many people Miles has been with. Not that he didn’t brag about it himself when he was stroking into me. I didn’t protest about it then, though. I could barely breathe, let alone think when he was winding me up like a top.
“It was … fantastic. Mind-blowing. The best sex I’ve ever had. And also the worst. He was horrible to me.” I feel the searing heat as blotches of humiliation bloom on my face. Remembering the way he spoke to me, how he pushed into me almost violently. The sex had been completely consensual, I was practically salivating for him. But after, when he ran like his hair was on fire, was when I realized he only fucked me. Hard. Almost as a punishment. Or revenge.
“What? What are you saying … did he, hurt you?” Kelsey looks pissed, but also worried.
“No, no! Nothing like that. I wanted it, very much. It’s just … I get this feeling he was hate-fucking me or something.”
“Oh … that’s hot. Tell me more.” Her tone immediately turns from worried to naughty. Typical Kelsey.
“Kels, it’s not hot. It’s pathetic. I’ve had a crush on this guy since he saved me on the playground at Mitchum Elementary, which by the way, he probably doesn’t even remember, and I let him use me for sex because I figure it’s the only way he’ll ever truly see me? And without a condom, nonetheless. I’m almost as gross as him. I am so stupid.”
“Chlo, ugh, you sound like Minka. Life is not a romance novel. The white knight does not come to sweep you off your feet, sex is just for pleasure, not connection, and it doesn’t end in a happily ever after. Once you remember that, life, and hooking up, get so much better.” She shakes her head in dismay. Miss Sexpert is mad at my overenthusiastic picture of love.
It’s the one area where we differ. Kelsey doesn’t believe in monogamy or relationships. I saw my parents, who have been married for twenty years, more in love with each other on a daily basis. It’s only natural I want to find someone who makes my life complete. The kind of love my parents have.
“So, are you gonna do it again?” Kelsey leans in close, waiting impatiently for my answer.
“Um, no. He hasn’t even texted or called to see if I’m okay, much less ask me to hang out.” Did I even want to do it again? No, and yes. It was the best sex of my life. Not that I’ve been with too many guys, only four. But I just know that no one will ever be able to come close to Miles.
He hasn’t been there for me though. He fucked me in spite of me. Whether it was actually about me, all that anger, or about something entirely different, he took it out on me. And as forgiving as I am, I am not about to be someone’s punching bag. No matter how long I’ve crushed on him.
“Oh shit, I gotta go. There are giraffes migrating toward
our camp. I love you! Say hi to Mink and Clint for me!” And with that, the call went black with her exit.
I sigh, the sound reverberating in my tiny single. I was lucky enough to even get one of these. I was usually gone so late and up so early with studio time that no one had wanted to room with me.
I pick up my phone, willing there to be a text from Miles. No such luck. He hasn’t even tried to get in contact after our night together. Jerk. He’s entirely aware of the fact that he hadn’t used a condom and didn’t even try to rectify the situation. I’d gone by myself, picking up the morning-after pill while the judgmental pharmacist rang me up.
Miles Farriston. I still kind of can’t believe I even slept with him.
I’d been seven years old, he was nine, the first time I laid eyes on him. Bruce Nichols had been bullying me during recess about my height, I was awfully tall for a first grader. I was crying, sitting on the swing while Bruce called me a praying mantis. All of a sudden, Bruce was on the ground, holding his arm and whimpering.
“Leave her alone. Pick on someone your own age, Nichols,” A tough voice said. I squinted up into the sunny spring sky, and Miles stepped into view, blocking out the rays. “Are you okay?”
All I could do was nod. His blond curls, so much lighter then, sprung out from his head, his small smile showcasing a row of uneven baby teeth. He had on a Superman shirt and blue jeans. I fell hard right then and there, for my own personal superhero.
Ever since, I’ve been trying to get him to see me as he saw me that day. It has never happened, despite my many attempts and passes in high school. Until now. And now, he doesn’t see me in any way that is good. In any way that could lead anywhere except for me getting hurt.
So, in my usual fashion, I’ll forgive. But this time, I won’t forget. I’m not going to pursue him anymore. I’ll get through these next five weeks and then we’ll be free to move on completely from each other.
My phone vibrates, and I snatch it up quickly. Okay, so the whole not waiting for Miles thing is going to take some work.
Checking the screen, I realize it’s just an email from Madame Vivienne. She’s a former French ballerina who trained at the French Académie of Ballet. While she’s tough, she’s taken an interest in me, which could catapult me to success faster than I can imagine. I just have to put up with her very strict way of teaching.
Ms. Trabucco,
We’ve missed you in class the last two days. I hope you’re feeling better. I know I don’t need to remind you what two days off will do to a ballerina striving to make a company. Please see me in my office tomorrow after class. That is, if you’re feeling better.
—Madame Vivienne
Oh, just perfect. Not only am I wounded from my stupid sex decisions, but now Madame V has decided to take a stab at me too. Her quiet, guilting jabs hurt more than a knife in the gut.
No, I’m definitely not going anywhere near Miles Farriston again. He left me, alone and scared, to deal with our mistake. But he also cost me two days of studio time, training time. Time that I’m in dire need of to make my dream come true.
No, I’m not wasting any more time on him and a seven-year-old’s fantasy.
11
Miles
When I envision a baseball, I see the seams ripped open, the cottony guts of the thing flying through the air. That’s what I want to do that three-inch-round sphere each time it’s thrown in my direction. That’s why, as it comes at me from behind the automated pitch machine on the mound, I use all the power and strength in my body to swing my bat. With a crack, I make contact, propelling the cowhide-covered circle up into the second deck of seats. That deafening pop, the one that rings in your ears when you know you’ve hit a homer … it’s almost better than an orgasm for me.
“You wouldn’t be hitting like that if I was on that mound.” Owen’s jeer snaps me out of my zone. I’ve been swinging for the last twenty minutes, home run after home run after home run. Too bad this is an empty stadium and not an actual game.
“Dude, are we going or not?” Parker Avery clambers up the dugout steps, with Clint close behind. Parker, that surly son-of-a-bitch. I used to tease him about being such an angry prick all the time. That is, until I joined the club.
“Where are we going?” I say, dropping my bat and wiping my face with the towel I’d shoved in the back pocket of my practice pants.
“Drinks at Sammy’s, you in?” Clint rubs his stomach, which has shrunk since the start of the year. He must be down twenty-five pounds. He looks healthier than I’ve ever seen him.
I don’t really want a beer, and that shocking surprise is not lost on me. It may be ten kinds of fucked up, but I’ve actually felt pretty spectacular after fucking out all of my anger into Chloe.
Yeah, I know. I’m a fucking dick. I left her there and ran like a scared little shit. I didn’t even have the guts to contact her since. Which will end tomorrow, when we have our usual Saturday morning studio time. I won’t be surprised if she doesn’t show up, or kicks me in the balls, or something. Although none of those things sound like Chloe. Which only makes me feel like more of a tool.
But since that night, a lot of my anger has subsided. I finally feel like the darkness that has been shrouding me the past three months has lifted.
“Yeah, I’ll go for one beer. But only if you girls are paying. This is a date, right?” I flutter my eyelashes at them.
Owen looks so shocked, I think he might fall over. Okay, so it’s been a long time since I’ve been my usual goofball self. But it feels really good.
Twenty-five minutes later we walk into Sammy’s, the local college bar right off of Grover’s campus. I nod at Ricky, the owner of Sammy’s, as we pass the bar and slide into our usual table. We order a round when the waitress comes, and about three too many appetizers for the table. Whatever, we’re guys.
“We’re going to shoot a round before the food comes.” Clint and Parker get up to go play pool, leaving Owen and I sipping our beers.
“So, you ever catch up with Chloe on Tuesday night?” I haven’t talked to Owen except for passing each other in and out of the house, but I know his question is loaded. He either already knows something happened, or he suspects it. Might as well come right out with it.
“Yeah. I went back to her house and fucked her.” I swallow as Owen chokes on his beer.
“You … what? Wow. Didn’t think that’s where this was going.”
“I didn’t either. I don’t even particularly like her. Or I didn’t. I don’t know, Axel.” I am so confused, it feels good to be able to talk this out with someone.
“Is it going to … continue?” He’s treading carefully, being used to my moods from the past couple of months.
I laugh sardonically. “Definitely not. I’m a dick, man. I know I’ve been one the last few months, I’ve thought about it all week. But I wouldn’t be surprised if I really got Chloe to hate me this time. I basically hate-fucked her, without a condom, and then ran out as soon as I pounded one out.”
Owen blinks, clearly stunned that I’m being this candid with him. “Dude. First of all … um. Jesus, that’s a lot of information. Let me think … well, the no condom thing. You’re an idiot. But yeah, you’re a dick for running out of there. I hope you called her or at least texted her.”
Smiling sheepishly, I take a slow sip. “Not exactly …”
“Farris! That’s a dick move. Especially to my girl’s best friend. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I know. I’ve been a prickly son-of-a-bitch recently. Olivia fucked me up good. But that’s no excuse for what I did to Chloe. It’s weird actually. Hooking up with Chloe kind of … healed me. It’s like, she took all of my anger and then got rid of it. I’ve been able to think clearly this week, no depression clouding my view.”
“Well, at least there’s that. I have to say, if nothing else, it’s nice to have my normal friend back.” He reaches across the table to offer me a fist bump. I return it.
“I’ve been
thinking a lot about Olivia. How I let her get to me way too much. That entire relationship was such a fucking sham. I guess I was so pissed off when she dumped me because it was the first time I’d actually committed to someone. Wanted someone to be there, unconditionally, for me.”
Owen nods somberly. “I know exactly what you mean. But, Farris … Olivia wasn’t ever going to be that person. And if you need someone to be there for you, you’ve got me. Always, bro.”
I’ve held this weight on my shoulders for so long, that I didn’t know if I could unload it onto Owen. But we’re already here, I am already being open. I take a deep breath.
“I had a brother. Did you know that?” I take a small sip, glance over to where Parker is scowling at Clint over the pool table. Turning back, I catch Owen’s astonished gaze. I press on. “He died in a car crash when I was seven. About a month before Little League started and we met. He was much older than me, about ten years older. I was the baby my mother and father were never really supposed to have. Anyway, Jay … Jason that is, he was the best. Always so happy, fucking smart as hell, he always looked out for me. He was poised to take over the company after college.”
Owen nods, he knows what my family’s business is, even if we’ve never really discussed it. Everyone knows who my family is.
“Well, now he’s gone. And with him went any sense of real family I ever had. My mother, I don’t think I’ve actually seen her in a year come to think of it. She’s off spending my father’s money in Europe. My father, he’s just interested in an heir to the company. Which, now that Jay’s gone, would be me. Even though I’d rather be skinned alive. Even though I’d rather put my blood, sweat, and tears into making it to the majors. Which my father naturally thinks is a joke. ‘Baseball is just a hobby, Miles.’ God, he doesn’t care if I’m shit miserable for the rest of my life, just as long as I toe the family line.”
Over the Fence Box Set Page 27