by Stacey Lewis
Then, her soft voice whispers, “Yes,” and I squeeze harder. Looking around the room quickly, I can see that both Emmett and Max’s doors are closed. It’s late enough that neither should be coming out. They’re probably asleep, and that’s a damn good thing. I don’t want either of them to hear what I’m hearing, or intrude on this moment. Once I’m sure it’s safe, I grip the back of my shirt with one hand and yank it off. Then, I push my pants down far enough so I grip my cock with my right hand. The head is already slick with pre-cum and I can’t believe just how close I am. Kat continues to mumble, but her words are now incoherent.
I use the slick liquid to stroke myself, biting my bottom lip to try to keep my own moans silent. I don’t want anything to startle Kat or alert anyone else to what’s going on here in front of my bedroom door. Kat’s moans grow in intensity and I can tell she’s getting close. Her voice is higher, the moans more breathy than before.
I stroke faster, using my other hand to squeeze my balls. They’re pulled up tight against my body, and the pressure of my hand brings me that much closer to the edge, especially since I’m imagining in my head that it’s hers. I imagine Kat on her knees, her tongue sliding around the head of my cock instead of my hand, lapping up the pre-cum each stroke produces. She closes her eyes at the taste, and takes me deep. I can almost feel the heat of her mouth closing over me, sucking me hard and doing her damnedest to make me come.
I’m so close, my orgasm boiling at the base of my spine, when I hear Kat sigh, “Oh Clay.”
Knowing she’s thinking or dreaming about me tips me over the edge and I mutter, “Fuck yes,” as I aim my dick at the floor where I threw my shirt. My dick pulses over and over, the orgasm going on longer than any other solo session I can remember, although granted, my brain isn’t capable of much thought at all. I pull my sweats back up, just in case I was louder than I thought and someone comes out to investigate, then grab my soiled shirt off the floor.
I didn’t think this through very well, because now I’m going to have to either throw away the shirt or open my door enough to toss it beside the dresser. I’m not sure which is the better option, but I do like this shirt. It’s a tight enough fit girls like to look at me when I’m wearing it. Standing just outside the door, I waffle back and forth for a minute before deciding, screw it.
All is silent in my room, and if her orgasm was half as strong as mine, she’s probably fast asleep. I push the door open slowly, listening for any protest, but there’s nothing. As soon as it’s open enough to put my hand in, I reach in and drop the shirt. I’ll just have to remember to get it before I wake her up tomorrow and toss it in the hamper, along with a few other things since I’m pretty sure it’s empty.
Pulling the door shut, I turn to walk back to the couch, shirtless. I settle back against the cushions, the sounds she was making playing on a continuous loop in my head. I wanted nothing more than to join her in my room, but I know sleeping with her wouldn’t be a good idea, no matter how much I fucking loved the sounds she made. I can already see her under me, her hair spread out against my pillows and her eyes half-mast in arousal. I know her breasts will be tipped with light pink nipples, the same color as her lips. Her skin is probably soft and smooth—I have got to stop thinking about her or I’m going to be tugging another one out before I go to bed.
Needed to get my mind off her, I turn on the TV and the Xbox. A little Grand Theft Auto should banish any and all thoughts of Kat being naked in my bed. Fuck.
Eighteen
I wake up slowly, my head still fuzzy from last night, and it’s pounding. For a second, I think I’m going to throw up. I’m tangled up in unfamiliar sheets. My legs are twisted up in them and my shirt has ridden up almost baring my breasts. What the hell happened? I sit up slowly, and—I’m not in my room. In fact, I have no idea whose room I’m in. Last night is pretty much a blur after I told Clay I wasn’t going home alone. Looks like I didn’t. I start to freak out but realize the faint scent of cologne on the sheets is familiar. I know that particular smell. Oh God. I’m in Clay’s bed. My freak out returns. I’m lying in Clay Mitchell’s bed, the sheets tangled all around my legs, my clothes are askew, and my hair is matted to my forehead and the back of my neck from sweat.
On the plus side, I am still dressed, but I have no memory of what might have transpired while I was drunk. I don’t think anything happened last night I’m going to regret this morning, at least physically, but what happened in my head? My heart is still racing and my entire body is flushed, the way it has been in the past when I’ve been dreaming about Liam Hemsworth. Plus, my panties are damp in a way they only are after those sexy dreams. Please, for the love of all that’s holy, let me not have had a sex dream. I cover my mouth because ohmigod, please don’t let me barf. That will only make things worse.
The door opens slowly, and even though I know I’m dressed, I still pull the comforter up to cover as much of me as possible. Clay pops his head in, and my eyes widen when the door opens further to reveal him in loose sweats that sit low on his hips and no shirt.
“Morning,” he murmurs, walking closer to the bed and handing me the bottle of water he’s holding, along with two tiny brown pills. “Here, take these. I bet you’re feeling pretty shitty, huh?” He’s careful to keep his voice low, but it still causes my head to pound in a way it never has before.
My groan is pained and I hear him chuckle at my discomfort. My head pops up and I glare at him, instantly regretting the sudden movement because it makes my head hurt worse. “Shut up,” I say grumpily, before popping the pills in my mouth and taking a long drink of the cool water. I don’t feel well, and dealing with him isn’t high on my list of things I want to do today, especially since I don’t know what the hell happened. “How’d I get here?” I ask him, a little scared of the answer.
“You passed out at the party last night,” he says matter of factly, a small smirk on his face that makes me worry there’s more to what he’s saying.
He doesn’t elaborate, and I’m sure not going to ask. I’m already ready to die from mortification. Not only did I make a complete ass out of myself in front of him last night, I passed out too, and possibly had a sex dream in his bed. Stop it, Kat! “What else happened?”
“Uh, you don’t know?” I shake my head slowly. He tilts his to the side. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”
I think about it for a minute, trying to push through the fog in my head. “The last thing I remember is telling you I wasn’t going home alone. Everything after that is a blur.”
Clay rubs a hand across the back of his neck as he looks at me sheepishly. “Yeah, about that.” He clears his throat. “You, uh, went inside and found some random guy, stuck your tongue in his mouth and tried to climb him like a tree.” My mouth drops open in shock. That so doesn’t sound like something I would do. Unfortunately, I can’t say that, because for all I know it did happen. I mean, I woke up flushed, sweaty, and damp in places I’m refusing to think about.
“Okay,” I say, dragging out the word. “So I tried to hump some guy I don’t know. How’d I end up here?”
Clay continues to look embarrassed, his eyes turning wary. “I caught you just as you passed out and carried you out to my car. I couldn’t find your phone, or Becca, so I brought you here. You were mostly out of it. I didn’t want anyone asking questions about what you were doing here, so I put you in my bed instead of dropping you on the couch.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but for him, it is. Clay never does anything just to be nice, so knowing he did last night for me warms me all over.
“Thanks,” I tell him, momentarily forgetting that I threw myself at a random guy last night. My selective amnesia doesn’t last long though. What on earth was I thinking? It’s a good thing Clay was there to take care of me. Huh, there’s a sentence I never thought would come out of my mouth.
“Uh-uh.” His incredulous voice catches my attention once more.
“What?”
He shakes his hea
d. “Don’t start thinking I’m your hero. That’s not what this was about. I would’ve done it for anyone. You aren’t special.”
His words cut me, though I shouldn’t even care. Grimacing, I stand, swaying slightly on my feet before he steps forward and grabs my arm. I jerk out of his grasp and almost fall back on his bed. “I would never think you’re a hero,” I spit out, pissed beyond belief at his words. Why couldn’t he just leave it at he helped me? He didn’t have to rub it in that I’m nothing special. I scramble around the room trying to find my shoes, ignoring his softly spoken “fuck.”
“Kat,” he starts, coming toward me as I struggle to untie my laces. “Hey. Please stop.” He grabs the shoe out of my hand and drops it on the floor. I sit down heavily on the edge of his bed. Clay crouches down in front of me, cupping my face in his hands and using his thumbs to wipe tears I didn’t know I was crying. “Shh,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” He studies me intently, his indigo eyes darting back and forth between my wet, chocolate colored ones. “I just don’t want you thinking it was more than it was. I wasn’t trying to get in your pants or anything. I just didn’t want anything to happen to you.” He looks away, his jaw tightening before he says, “Max would kill me if you got hurt.”
I laugh, but it’s watery. Tears are still falling down my cheeks, and he’s telling me how Max would be upset if I got hurt. “Max wouldn’t care,” I say sadly. “Besides, he hurts me way worse than anyone else ever has.” The look Clay gives me is full of pity, and it pisses me off. I’m feeling every emotion possible this morning in just a few minutes—joy, shame, surprise, rage. Grabbing my shoe from where Clay dropped it on the floor, I’m able to get the laces unknotted and I slide it onto my foot. I’m glad Clay gave me a safe place to crash last night, but I’m done with the Mitchell brothers. Between Max’s indifference and Clay’s ability to anger me, I’m exhausted. I just want to go back to my dorm and sleep for the rest of the weekend. I’ll worry about how I’m going to face Clay on Monday later.
Clay grabs a shirt out of his dresser before backing slowly out of his room, leaving me with my thoughts, and surprisingly, giving me a little privacy. “There’s some food in the kitchen. Emmett made sausage biscuits.” I start to decline, but my stupid stomach growls at the thought of food. How can I be starving and nauseous at the same time? Stupid body. Thankfully, Clay doesn’t comment.
Once he’s gone I let out a groan and flop back on the bed, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping when I open them again this will have all been a dream. The only thing about closing your eyes? It makes all of your other senses wake up and take notice. Where I didn’t notice before, I can once again smell the fain scent of Clay’s cologne and my nipples bead against my bra. I mentally chastise my traitorous body. Don’t even think about it, Kat. Clay is not the guy you want to get a crush on. Not now, not ever.
I walk slowly out of the room to where Clay’s standing in the small kitchen, and he hands me a plate before grabbing the sausage out of the microwave. I almost roll my eyes. Emmett didn’t “make” sausage. He warmed up frozen, pre-cooked sausage in the microwave. The patties are less than a quarter-inch thick and greasy as hell. My stomach rolls at the sight, and I back away. “Chill out. Greasy food is the best cure for a hangover.” He grins boyishly. “Plus, these are pretty good. It’s hard to screw up food you just have to microwave for thirty seconds.” Clay looks around quickly before telling me, “You might want to tear off the bottom of the biscuit, though. Em isn’t great at setting the oven timer, so they’re a little burnt.”
I pick up a biscuit and look at the bottom. “A little burnt? The bottom looks like charcoal.” My eyes meet Clay’s and we both laugh.
“Hey! I heard that!” I turn to see Emmett, his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. “I never claimed to be a chef. If you don’t like my food, don’t fucking eat it.” He leaves the small kitchen before I can apologize, and Clay tells me not to worry about it.
My appetite is gone after seeing the burnt food and microwavable sausage, so I set my plate back on the counter. “Thanks for the offer, but I should get going. I need to find Becca and my phone.”
Clay nods, grabbing his keys off the bar and heading for the door. I stand still for a second before following after him. For some reason, I thought he’d try harder to get me to eat something, but he doesn’t seem to care. I don’t know why I’m disappointed. When we’re in the car, he finally turns to me and says, “Let me know where you want to stop and I’ll grab you something on the way.” His Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde act is confusing. I can’t even begin to figure him out. Sometimes I’m sure he couldn’t care less, but other times he’s almost friendly. My head still hurts too much to think about it though, so I relax into the seat and close my eyes after telling him he can stop wherever. He’s been around me enough to know what foods I’ll willingly eat.
After a quick run through McDonald’s, we pull up outside my dorm, and I hesitate to leave his car. It feels like we’ve maybe declared a truce. I’m afraid it will be over once I go inside. There’s this push and pull between us that doesn’t make sense. Clay and I have never been friends, but I think maybe we’re heading in that direction. He’s still an asshole, but he has moments where he shows he actually is a human being. I don’t know quite what to do with that.
Clay clears his throat. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Why is this so awkward? So, I slept in his bed. We didn’t sleep in it together. No one even knows about it. Well, except for maybe Emmett, but he’s not going to tell anyone. He and Clay are tight, possibly tighter than Clay and Max. Pulling up my big girl panties, I grab my food and get out of the car. I start to shut the door, but before I do, I lean back down to say, “Thanks, Clay. I really do appreciate you taking care of me last night.”
He waves me off. “It was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.” I don’t correct him, but he’s wrong. A lot of guys would have taken advantage or just left me to fend for myself. He can downplay it all he wants, but I’ll never forget what he did. I shut the door, probably harder than I needed to, and watch as he pulls away. He never looks back, and eventually I have to head inside.
Nineteen
Everyone in the apartment is awake when I get back from dropping Kat off. Emmett is on the couch playing Madden and Max is in the kitchen with Sophie making something to eat. Well, I guess that answers last night’s question. When Max sees me, he grins. “Where’ve you been? Taking home last night’s guest?”
He doesn’t have a clue. Max was already in his room, I guess with his girl, when I brought Kat inside. I don’t answer, and Max being Max, he doesn’t let it go. “C’mon man,” he cajoles. “You gotta tell us who the girl was.” He turns to Emmett and tries to pull him into the conversation. “Right, Em? Shouldn’t he tell us?”
Emmett doesn’t acknowledge him. I don’t have time to worry about it though, because Max’s girl chimes in. “Maxie, leave your brother alone.” God, her voice is annoying. I’m talking nails on a chalkboard, migraine-causing annoying. She puts a hand on Max’s arm, running it up and down in a soothing motion as she goes up on her toes to say something in his ear. It’s low enough I can’t hear it, but based on the way his eyes widen before he glares at me, I can guess.
“Kat? Kat is the girl you took home?” Before I can tell him she just slept here, alone, he moves Sophie out of the way and gets up in my face. “What the fuck, bro? Kat hates you. How’d you get her to agree to that? She never would’ve come with you willingly.”
His implication gets my back up. Now I’m pissed. I shove him backward, but he’s not as easy to push around now, so he doesn’t go far. This time, I’m the one who’s up in his face. “First of all, fuck you. I don’t have to get a girl drunk to get laid.” Max narrows his eyes, but I don’t let him say anything. “Second, if she was here for that—and I’m not saying she was—it would be none of your goddamn business. You’ve made it pretty clear you d
on’t think of her that way, so don’t you fucking dare put that shit off on me.”
“Then why was she here? You can’t make me believe she did a complete one-eighty and suddenly she’s all about your dick. Kat’s better than that.” I know full well I can be an asshole, but I’m nowhere near the person he’s acting like I am.
What a douchebag. “Man, for someone who’s supposed to be such good friends with her, do you know her at all? Even a little?” I step closer, to the point we’re almost nose to nose. Or, we would be if he wasn’t two inches shorter than me. “Your girl Kat, she got drunk off her ass. Drunk to the point she passed the hell out. I couldn’t find her roommate and her phone was missing, so I brought her here to sleep it off.” Max backs down, but I’m not finished. He takes a couple steps back, and I throw my hands out at my sides. “What would you have me do? Call her parents? Her sister? You?” I scoff. “Obviously, you were otherwise occupied, so that wouldn’t have worked.” Now, I’m the one backing up. I’m disappointed as hell in my little brother.
“Not that I owe your ass an explanation, but she slept in my bed. I slept on the motherfucking couch. Alone.” Throughout this entire conversation, Emmett hasn’t moved. That pisses me off more because all those times people were giving him shit about Livvie, I had his back. Even when I didn’t agree with him, I took his side. And now? He’s just watching the show. “Fuck this. Fuck you. I’m out.” I slam the door to the apartment when I leave and stomp down the stairs to my car.
After sitting in my car for a few minutes in the cool air, I’m able to calm down enough I’m no longer itching to go back upstairs and do damage to my brother. In fact, I don’t want to go back upstairs at all. Instead, I shoot Wyatt a text asking if I can come over.
