by Mj Hendrix
“I know you want to know what’s going on, but I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it all,” she says after a few moments of staring into the darkness.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” I say quietly.
Someone gasps, and we both turn to see Kenna walking through the broken-down door, her mouth dragging the floor.
“What happened? Oh my gosh, Riley came and got me and said that…” She trails off, stepping closer to us. “Are you okay?” she asks Harley as her eyes narrow with concern, brows pinched together.
Harley nods, taking another drag on the cigarette.
“I’m good.”
She doesn’t elaborate on the splintered door, and Kenna turns back to look at it in disbelief.
I begin to explain, “I had to—”
Harley cuts me off, stubbing out the skunk-smelling object, “We’ll stay with the guys until it gets fixed. Maybe Levi will get his head out of his ass.” She pats Kenna on the shoulder as she walks into the bathroom and closes the door.
Kenna’s eyes are green balloons, and she clearly expects me to give her some kind of explanation of what the hell happened. I wish I knew.
I lower my voice. “Two men came in here, bald and covered in tattoos. Have you seen them before?” I ask her, glancing up at the closed bathroom door.
She shakes her head, fear entering her gaze. “Who were they? You think…you think she’s in danger?” she whispers back.
I grit my teeth, flexing my jaw. “I don’t know, but I don’t think y’all should stay here even if the door does get fixed. Not until she tells one of us what’s going on and we can make sure they won’t be back.”
I breathe out a sigh, rubbing my forehead with my hand. I’ve always known, theoretically, there were lots of evil people in the world. Over the years, our church has contributed funds to halfway houses and assisted various people who came by, asking for help. But those men were a new brand of evil for me. The way Harley huddled in the corner, clearly terrified, has my blood slowly returning to a boiling point.
She walks out of the bathroom with a little blue bag, and I see that her face is brightened up with lipstick, her skin a little smoother.
“Pack a bag, roomie. We’re having a coed slumber party.” She smiles, wiggling her brows.
Just like that, the mask is back on.
27
Harley
I haven’t fully processed everything that happened to me with Seven. Seeing him again put me into shock. My entire body locked up, and I felt paralyzed. I was hoping I’d never lay eyes on his eerie, fully inked skin.
Looking at Adam’s rigid posture, I know he must be thinking the worst, and I need to tell him I wasn’t raped.
The problem is that I’m not sure if I was.
We’re stepping into the boys’ dorm as he starts to speak, “I was thinking Dan and I can sleep on the floor in Silas and Levi’s room. Give me one minute.”
He walks to the dresser and pulls out two clean fitted sheets. Kenna and I gape at each other. They’re probably the only guys in this entire building who even wash their bedding, let alone have extras.
He starts to pull off the old ones, and I admire his perfectly worn jeans as he bends over to put the new one on. I wonder if I can convince him to stay with me tonight.
“We should watch The Princess Bride,” I hear myself say to his back.
He rises, turning to smile at me. “Okay.”
My stomach does a somersault. He’s so pretty.
The door opens, and Dan and Silas step inside. They both nod at Adam, who returns it.
Kenna speaks into the awkwardness, “Okay, last time I was here, y’all had never seen Man of Steel. I think Batman Begins is up next.”
Silas simply nods, but Dan lights up like a Christmas tree. How have I missed this little development until now?
There’s no TV in Adam’s room, so they all shuffle into the adjoining suite. Before closing the door, Kenna watches Adam step into the closet before giving me a wink. I peek at him, seeing a sliver of delicious, shifting back muscles as he changes into a gray T-shirt. A heavy sigh escapes me.
We settle on his bed with Kenna’s tablet between us, propped up by the kickstand. It feels cozy, being trapped under the upper bunk, like our own cocoon of safety. He’s at least three feet away from me, our backs against pillows on the wall.
All I want is to be held. His legs are crossed at the ankles, honey eyes trained on the screen.
Wesley and Buttercup are rolling down the hill before I decide to scoot next to him, repositioning the tablet. I lay my head on his steel shoulder, sighing softly. I can feel his body rise and fall with his breath, and the emotional exhaustion begins to overwhelm me.
Warm skin envelops me as I gain consciousness. My body is trapped, restrained by strong arms. Panic begins to rise before I smell cedar and another delicious, indescribable aroma. I relax again, slowly opening my eyes. Warm, rich honeypots suck me in. Lips part, and we both watch.
“You can’t kiss me,” I whisper.
He gulps, nodding.
“Because I have morning death breath,” I continue, clamping my hand over my mouth.
He licks his lips, a tiny smirk forming.
“How did you sleep?” He matches my whisper.
It’s my turn to wet my bottom lip. “Terrible. You snore.”
He shakes his head against the pillow. “That was Kenna.”
I laugh out loud, clamping my hand over my mouth so I don’t wake her up.
He’s snickering at me, pulling back slightly.
“I want to take you somewhere today.” He’s got that sexy, scratchy morning voice that sends jolts down into my belly.
“It’d better not be somewhere high up,” I respond. My voice is always a little raspy in the morning.
I’m suddenly aware that down near my upper thigh, there’s a hard, very male shape, and my eyes go wide. His cheeks turn the color of my favorite harlot lipstick. He tries to pull back, but I reach a hand under the covers to wrap around his torso and pull myself closer. His body tenses, eyes dark, breathing a fraction above the normal range. His lips are just open enough to fit my tongue through, but I resist. He tries again to pull away, and this time, I let him, so I can crawl on top of him, our bodies flush together in all the right places.
His neck is corded, straining as he struggles with where to put his hands. Mine are braced on either side of his head, knees pressed into the mattress near his hips. I lean in, my mouth releasing a breath into his ear, the long shape growing.
“What should I wear?” I rasp.
He doesn’t respond for at least thirty seconds. I would check his pulse, but that’s highly unnecessary.
“Maybe, uh, something that’s…uh, you look good in red,” he finally chokes out. His hands that were on the mattress have finally begun to drift onto my backside, over the blanket.
“Hmm, what are you going to wear?” I ask, nibbling at his ear.
“I didn’t know the guy was supposed to wear anything,” he replies, voice wheezing a bit.
I lean back, finding a comfortable place where we fit. He’s winded, like a marathon runner near the finish line.
“I meant, to wherever we’re going today.” I quirk a brow at him.
He grabs my hips, hard, twisting us around in the blankets, pushing me onto my back. “I know exactly what you meant, buttercup,” he whispers, his teeth grazing over my neck for a brief moment before he lifts off, strutting toward the bathroom.
I notice the front of his athletic shorts is stretched out.
I lie breathless for a moment before muffling a laugh with the pillow.
I feel the top bunk shifting, and a mass of blonde curls starts to crawl down the ladder on the side. She lies beside me, eyes closed.
“Are y’all back together?” she mumbles sleepily.
I roll onto my back, staring up at the slats holding the twin mattress up.
“I hope so.” I pause, biting in
to my lip. “I was pretty awful to him when we…cut things off,” I admit, thinking of my angry screaming in the storm behind Billy’s Pub.
She doesn’t hesitate. “He’ll forgive you, Har, but you have to forgive yourself too. You deserve a good one. I hope you know that.”
I gulp at my friend’s words. Do I?
The good guy in question walks out of the bathroom, going to the dresser and selecting fresh clothes.
“Either of you want to jump in the shower before I do?” he asks.
“Harley could just jump in with you to save the hot water for the rest of us,” Kenna blurts without hesitation, the smile in her voice evident.
His wide shoulders tense.
I laugh, laying my head on her shoulder.
“She’s kidding,” I breathe out through the giggles.
He turns to us, strategically placing his bundle of folded clothes in front of himself. “Maybe you should, Harley, to preserve the…hot water,” he challenges.
Our chuckles halt, and I sit up in bed. “All right, Farm Boy, you’re on.”
We don’t back down. The shirt challenge set the stakes.
I hop out of bed and walk toward the bathroom. Pulling open the door, I wait for him to follow. He does, slowly clicking it shut. I’m struck with a sense of déjà vu. He reaches over me, our eyes tied together as he locks the opposite door into Silas and Levi’s room.
He already started the water, the steam swirling around us.
Friends. Friends. Friends. I chant to myself.
I clear my throat. “Well, are you gonna shower with your clothes on?” I ask, indicating his shorts and T-shirt, like a total hypocrite.
He looks over my equally clothed body.
“Only if you do,” he says, his voice a little weaker than in the bedroom.
I lift the hem of my shirt over my body, tossing it on the floor. I’m wearing a thin black bralette. He sucks in, slowly expelling his breath. His eyes drink in my covered breasts that are slowly moving with my lungs. Then, he quickly removes his own shirt to reveal his muscled torso. I want to get on my knees and thank that old farm for having so many heavy things to push around.
I bravely step out of the denim shorts I fell asleep in, noting he must have gotten up to change before choosing to crawl back in bed with me. He removes his, and we’re both down to our underwear. Our eyes are slightly wide, breathing a bit labored.
Someone from the boys’ side bangs on the door, and we jolt. I wrap my arms around my torso, gripping my elbows.
“I’m taking a shower. Use the one down the hall,” Adam barks out, checking the lock.
“Hurry up!” Dan’s muffled annoyance leaks under the door.
Adam doesn’t reply, and I look down at my chipped toenail polish, suddenly feeling less brave. I won’t be the one to back down.
Without thinking, I jump under the stream, still wearing my lacy bralette and black thong. The water is scorching, and I’m sticking to the wall, fiddling with the knob.
He steps in, still wearing faded blue boxers, an obvious tent situation in the front that heats my cheeks.
His hand covers mine, pushing the single knob in the correct direction to bring the water down to bearable human temperatures. I study his face, dark brown lashes dripping water down his cheekbones. His mouth is perfection, shaped equally on top and bottom, that perfect shade of pink. His jawline rivals every male model I’ve ever seen in a cologne ad.
His hand reaches up, and I hold my breath. He doesn’t touch me, just presses his large palm into the cold tiles above my head to brace himself. I must be losing my mind. I keep assuming what’s about to happen and being completely disappointed.
There’s a tiny green sliver of soap on a ledge behind him. I reach for it, my mouth nearly meeting his shoulder but not quite. I begin to lather it slowly, debating whether or not I dare touch him.
The status quo is suspended in the unknown. Can we reasonably suggest that friends actually shower together, albeit clothed?
His eyelids are hooded, my lips the only thing he can look at, other than my entire dripping, etched body. I begin to wash myself with slow, deliberate movements, white suds forming over my exterior. His eyes are lasered into every fraction of skin he can see. I want so badly to remove the thin cloth barriers between us, but is he ready?
Wouldn’t he make the move if he was?
28
Adam
The agonizing predilection I feel for Harley is disturbing. Granted, I’ve never showered with a girl, but her roommate is pretty, and I wouldn’t want her in here.
There’s something about Harley that makes my entire body ache with pure, burning need—one part far more than the rest. I feel like I’m the drug addict my parents warned me about as a child, desperate for one thing and willing to destroy anyone to get it.
She’s cleansing herself, and I’m desperately addicted to her hands gliding over the ebony pictures on her skin. She reaches under her black bra to wash her breasts, and I have no choice but to turn away, groaning in agony. She’s in grave danger of me aggressively pouncing on her, and I don’t know what her emotional state is after last night.
I’m facing the opposite wall of the tiny shower, my forehead pressed to the cold gray tile. My focus is on anything outside this world of steam and regaining control of my breathing. She reaches around me to lay the soap back on the ledge near my knee. I’m still breathing out in ragged, uneven puffs.
I finally gain the courage to grab the green bar, turning it over in my hand before obscenely rubbing it on myself. I clean my face first because I’m a sick, perverted man, in love with a woman that I’m inadequate for. I imagine her while I do it because in my head, the desire I feel has no limits or bounds.
“You can turn around now,” a soft voice speaks from behind me.
I obey instantly, continuing to wash my body. It’s her time to watch me, crystal-blue eyes zeroed in on my hands. We’re both in need of oxygen after several minutes of the typically mundane ritual.
Someone with a death wish bangs on the door.
“Geez, Adam, I get you’re all frustrated, but that means it shouldn’t take so long.” Dan’s voice breaks through, saving us from the inevitable.
Harley lets out a raspy laugh, a beautiful smile on her face.
“We’re almost done,” she yells, ratting us out.
Silence is the response, and I doubt my brother will try to hurry us again.
I smile down at her, shaking my head. I guess him finding out where this is going sooner is…better.
“You’re so bad,” I say hoarsely, stepping dangerously closer to her.
She smiles up at me, but it slowly melts off as her eyes drop down, focused only on my mouth. I have no choice now. What she wants is obvious, and who am I to deny this woman?
My head descends, mouth capturing hers, the water licking over us with approval. She’s so sweet, the most delectable, rich dessert at the potluck. The one everybody wants and you race toward it to get the last piece. My mouth is desperate, lips hungry and viciously devouring her. She reaches up a hand to grab for my neck, the desperation in her clear.
We have to do this now. She wants it. I want it. Why shouldn’t we have it?
A feminine moan fills our perfect haven, her leg hitching up over my hip. I instinctively grip her knee. I’m pressing into her, so desperate for contact that I can’t fathom not having it. Our tongues are scraping over teeth, sucking, overwhelmed with the sensations. I strangely feel like I won’t be able to survive outside of this shower, like life without a nearly naked, writhing Harley suctioned to me is unfathomable.
We don’t fight it; giving in without resistance isn’t even difficult. I’ve never been educated with how this works, but my instincts are leading me to the ideal place. I’m pulling down her strappy underwear with my fingernails, greedily searching for the pot at the end of the rainbow. I have to have it.
I’ve waited twenty-one years, but I will not wait another moment. I
don’t care about her secrets, my parents’ disapproval, none of it. She’s mine—forever. I’ll fight until the end of my days to claim her, protect her.
Suddenly, delicate hands stop my frantic movements to position myself between her legs.
“Adam,” she says, voice shaky.
“Wha—baby—what?” I manage to voice through the haze of lust. I’m pressed up against her, ready to make it happen any second.
“Let’s—let’s wait,” she says. Her voice is firm, but I sense a hint of reluctance.
“Wha—what?” I barely form the words, gripping myself hard enough to cause pain. Does she not want it?
“I just—I don’t want you to…regret anything.”
I look down into her blue eyes, searching for the source of her hesitation. “I—I won’t. I won’t regret it,” I gasp. “Will you?” Now, I’m hesitating. I don’t want any part of this if she doesn’t.
She seemed so into it just moments ago…
She lifts a hand to my face, cradling my jaw. “Oh, baby, I do. I want you. I just want it to be right. You have…convictions. I don’t want to be the one that makes you…neglect them. We haven’t even talked about…our beliefs,” she murmurs, staring up at me with vulnerability.
She wants to know if this is what I want, and I smile at her concern for me.
“Yes…yes, I want this. I do. I want you…more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire existence,” I confess, tilting my head down to hers, our heads gently touching, breath filling the gap. I can’t lie to her.
“You want it…now?” she asks. Her hands around my neck tighten, her flawless form cradled in my arms.
I open my eyes to study her, trying to determine what she’s getting at.
“I’ve wanted you from the first moment I met you,” I say softly, my eyes trying to communicate how sincerely I mean it, desperately searching hers.
She closes them, breathing in. Several beats pass before she opens them again to look up at me through the downpour.
“You’re every perfect thing I ever thought existed. You’re like a fairy tale in real life. I know I’m the bad girl, but…I don’t want to ruin your hard-earned state of purity,” she confesses, taking a small step back from me.
