by Elena Monroe
She turned to me with that same intent stare. “So who are you?”
Her question didn’t sound that simple. It hit me harder than I was comfortable with. I asked myself the same thing and was still waiting for a sufficient answer. I knew who I was on a much less of a deep level—always toying with how evil I was willing to label myself with. I pulled out another joint, showing her exactly how little I cared about her stunt.
“Hunter. Just transferred from NYU. And you are? I mean besides being the campus hook up.”
She leaned back, more relaxed, trying to find something in my face. “Jade, the one and only. Aren’t you supposed to be in class or something?”
My hand opened up, dancing through the air, silently bouncing the same question to her.
“I don’t actually go here. I’m not in college.”
That made things interesting. “Well… it’s been… uh, something. I’m gonna drag my ass to class.”
I got up, more focused on seeing Layla before I started another day that bled into the one before. Being sleep deprived was never something easy to wear, like cologne. It hung on my body like extra weight I didn’t actually have, slowing my long, lean body down. Before I walked too far away I turned back and asked her, “You know the Amherst Sinners?”
She looked up, with this glimmer in her eye that sparked a smirk as she stood up, walking towards me. “You mean Ollie’s friends?”
She didn’t just know the Amherst Sinners, but she knew Ollie by name. I put two and two together, realizing she was probably the one supplying him with whatever drug he preferred. I didn’t justify her question with a response.
“What about them?”
She crossed her arms under her perky boobs defensively. “We have connections.”
I found the most vague lie I could, quickly.
“Are you selling to him?”
Before I could speak, she cut off my ability to think by speaking again. “I’m the only one allowed to supply Ollie. Everyone knows that.”
I threw up my hands, still holding the coffee cup I couldn’t manage to finish and the joint that was now half the size. “Okay, killer, calm down. I’m not selling to him.”
It wasn’t remorse that drowned her pale features; it was possession. How many girls were waiting in line to ride this guy’s dick? Every girl I met had some history, sense of guardianship, and/or desire all wrapped in one for Ollie. Meanwhile, I was putting all my hope in Layla’s hands with no back-up plan.
She dropped down to the floor quickly, rifling through her bag and producing a Sharpie. She popped back up with her eyebrows arched and her hand out. I was too pissed off about Ollie’s back-up plans in each one of these women to read her cues. I squinted my eyes, almost repulsed by her, not that I knew that she was okay coming in second or even third in line for his heart. She grabbed my coffee cup, writing something on the side I couldn’t see. She handed it back proudly, accomplished even, and I read her name scrawled with her number.
Maybe she was smarter than I gave her credit for.
She added an insecure statement to the confident action, leaving me confused. “There. You know… in case, you have questions… or something.”
The statement made no sense and dripped in unsteady words trying to stand between us. Women were confusing.
Layla was herself, even if it wasn’t going to tip any scales in her favor. It didn’t in high school; people called her Adult Supervision when she came to parties with B. Here, Jade wanted to do something and acted on it, only to take it all back.
I went to class, like the good boy I wasn’t. I slouched down in the rock-hard seat next to Layla, trying to not be seen by our prof. I missed 40 minutes already, and I wasn’t going to be apologetic if he drew attention to me.
I didn’t bring a single book or paper. He was lucky I brought my mind at this godawful hour of the morning. I didn’t realize I still had the graffitied coffee cup when Layla’s scowl drew my eyes to the Sharpie on the side.
She didn’t lean in or even attempt to form words. Just a single, long stare of disappointment.
“What? I met her outside. It’s just a number on a cup.”
She held her jaw open slightly, tensed up so much, like she needed it open to swallow any air. She paused, taking in air, while I took in her anger spewing from her every orifice.
“Why… is her name… on your coffee?”
I rolled my eyes, for someone so wrapped in some drug addict she didn’t really know, this sure did seem like jealousy.
“She’s the campus connection.”
She sat back in her seat, not caring why I had Jade’s name and number, but what I planned to do with it.
I kept tripping over words until I found the right one. “I’m not gonna hook up with her. Relax, Layla. What would your boyfriend think?”
Her eyes slanted my direction, before focusing back on the blackboard in front of us, which was covered with vocabulary we were expected to know. The rest of class, every time I glanced her way, she was focused on jotting down every word the professor said. I admired her, respected her in a way I never have for another person. She was still packing up her stuff, long after I jogged down the stairs and out the door. I couldn’t wait to get out of the cage of a classroom.
I waited in the hallway against the wall. Layla walked by me, still mad an hour later about a coffee cup I already tossed.
“We’re friends, right?”
Even when we weren’t. Even when I teased her ruthlessly in high school. Even when we both got so drunk we acted instead of thinking or talking anymore.
“Yes.”
It sounded like a question, but it wasn’t.
“Well, Jade is trouble, okay?”
My curiosity was piqued. I wanted to know how Layla knew his drug dealer, but not the fact that he wasn’t sober. I stepped right into Ollie’s life, looking for a closet filled with skeletons. All I found was dirty laundry hanging from clotheslines out in the open—air drying and on display.
There was no stopping Layla. She had this power over me I didn’t know how to deflect. She could tell me anything with those innocent lips and matching eyes, and I’d believe her. She asked me if things were better with my dad so I countered an equally uncomfortable question while I put my book down on the nightstand.
“Should I worry more or less about your ‘friend’?”
The word “friend” was equally emphasized in my mind as highlighted, underlined, and even crossed out. It had been a quiet few months, as everyone still walked on eggshells, making sure not to mention his name around me and sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for me to rupture if he was brought up. Hunter was around, but not specifically with us. Layla reserved her lunch breaks and in between classes for him, while I commandeered the rest of her time.
The few times he was around me was almost always with Jade. Without Layla, he didn’t have very many friends, which was why I took pity on him and didn’t ask her not to see him. I was living with their friendship, even if I didn’t like it, because not approving and making outlandish demands reminded me too much of Richard. He dictated most of my mom’s life. I wanted Layla to bloom not be stifled.
It gave him more power to know I hated him being here, so I desperately tried to conceal it.
“Oh, stop! He’s just a friend Oliver. Friends, you know, like all your friends.”
Layla was making it a habit to befriend the people who fucked us over, like Maddison and Hunter. I was waiting for her to kiss and make up with Jade to create a trinity of villains.
“I didn’t nearly fuck my friends, beautiful.”
I pushed myself between her legs, resting on top of her. She was under me sinking into my black sheets trying to tell me I had nothing to worry about when it came to Hunter. Her arms were around my neck, and suddenly whatever position I was standing concretely in didn’t matter at all. She was under me not him—a small fact I’m sure he hated while I revealed in it.
I felt her knee
s brush my sides as she whispered, “Do you really wanna talk about my friendship with Hunter right now?”
I pushed myself further back letting my hand smooth up her thigh and pin her knees to the outsides of my hips. Neither of us wore much clothing to bed, eliminating peeling each other from anything. Her light pink nipples shown through her white tank top, not nearly as much as the metal helping me to notice how hard they were now. I leaned down taking her nipple in my mouth with the fabric. I couldn’t help myself when it came to Layla, I wanted all of her and more, always hungry for her. She gasped at my lips tightening and tugging gently, only making her nipples more prominent. Her hips couldn’t decide if pushing them against me or the sheets helped relieve the part of her I hadn’t even touched yet.
I let my hand travel under her tank top, replacing my lips, while my mouth pressed against hers. Our kisses weren’t romantic or feather light, they were out of breath and rushed. We both knew our tongues coiling together only made the ache worse. My cock was pushing against my boxer briefs in a way that was hard to ignore—so hard I thought she could break me if her panties weren’t taken off soon.
She whispered between pants against my lips as my fingers hooked into her panties and drug them down her legs. “You know I love you.”
I did know that, but what part of our love drove her into the arms of fucking Hunter? His comfort, his touch, and now his friendship.
I focused on removing her panties and wanting her to separate her legs for me, like I was granted permission. She bit her lip, while she watched me scan down her body to her wet pussy. She glistened against the dim light in my room and I couldn’t help but touch myself through the material holding me back. I was so turned on, as I pushed my boxer briefs down, just below my hips and where my muscles formed a faint v, pointed at what she wanted: me.
I licked my lips, watching her lift her see-through tank above her breasts, full enough for me and decorated with new metal. Little half-moons and stars stuck to her, making my mouth water with wanting to taste the metal against my tongue again.
She pinched her own nipples between her fingers, barely holding on, as I purposely enjoyed the wait—my favorite part. My hand never left my cock, slowly stroking myself, but getting no relief.
I lowered myself down above, precisely catching her lips against mine in the process. She gasped into my mouth, as I felt my tip push into her clit. Her palm against my ribs was so gentle I thought she just needed to hold onto me as she ached. “Oliver… protection.”
We were constantly on opposite sides of that battle. I was pro birth control and axing condoms, while Layla still had a taste for the safer things in life.
I kissed her neck, groaning words against her warm skin. “Baby, come on. You should be on birth control already.” I purposely pushed myself into her clit, letting myself lower on top of her further, massaging her sensitivity with my tip.
Her eyes clamped shut, and her mouth created a silent moan feeling more of me against her pussy. She took a minute to recover, while I reach between our bodies gripping myself from going too far over her boundaries without permission.
“Oliver, we need to be safe. You’re dangerous enough.”
I knew if I argued any further she’d snatch sex right off the table. I couldn’t help myself when it came to her; I was under her reign and the rebellion at the same time. I was contradicting, but only because she came first and I had to walk the fine line between our opposites. I tongued her nipples making her head drop to one side. “Me? Dangerous? No. Fuck, Layla. I wanna feel you again.”
Again. The last time I didn’t have enough self-control to not come between her legs. Pulling out was like being in heaven for five minutes, then being sentenced to hell.
She opened her legs wider. Controlling how much my tip slipped from her clit was a challenge. I felt myself accidentally push inside her, and my mouth around her nipple went unmotivated as I forced my hips still. I felt how wet she was against me, letting that soak in before I left that comfort to fish a condom out of the nightstand. I committed to moving, drawing back my hand and one foil wrapper.
My brave new girl was desperate to come and her body wasn’t giving her a choice anymore. We could do other things—none of them would be as good as watching her docile expression melt into sheer bliss as she came on me. I took up the space next to her pushing the latex down myself, as her thighs pressed against mine, straddling me. Ever since break, she was more confident, acting on what she wanted sexually. I got the ball rolling, but whatever practice they had shared cemented it.
A breathy tone poured from her mouth, as she sat down on my lap, wrapping herself around me. My hands smoothed down her ass, helping her shift her hips back and forth. I sat up further, letting my head rest back against the headboard as her moans filled the room. She had all the control, and yet she was begging me to make her come.
“Goddammit, Layla…” was all I managed when she started moving her hips quicker.
I was actively trying to push away the release of coming too soon.
Her legs shook against my thighs ever so lightly, and I knew she was close to coming undone. My hand skimmed from her ass to the small of her back as I pushed her down against the bed.
“Stop toying with me, Oliver.”
Her words hit me harder than anything else she could have whimpered out. My fingers tangled with her blonde, now messy, hair, as I tugged her back all of a sudden. She gasped out loud, arching her back into me and let me be rougher with her than I’ve ever even contemplated.
I never entertained the idea before, despite that being my active role in bed. She was fragile, and I was avoiding being Hunter so methodically that I pushed away the things that were me.
My hand continued pulling her hair, keeping her head back, as I thrust into her harder. I wasn’t ignoring my preferences anymore. I wasn’t avoiding any similarities, and I paid my penance for being the reason she left single.
Her nails dug into my biceps, as I pinned her legs up higher. I buried myself inside her, letting my length rub her clit with each thrust. Her legs became stiff against my hips, and her eyes were closed tightly, expecting to come any minute. My palm fell open letting her hair go, and her back fell back down against the bed. I was pushing her over the edge, and I had the best view.
It was hard holding out, just to watch her come, but I did every time. I would patiently wait, making sure I rocked my hips well through her orgasm. Closing the gap between us, my body was directly on top of hers.
“I’m gonna come, Layla…”
Some part of me couldn’t let go of her connection to Hunter even as I came. I couldn’t fuck the discomfort away. I couldn’t fuck her need to keep Hunter in her life away. The only thing helping was my daily dose, not too much to get sloppy, but enough to live with what I had to.
Coming had taken the life out of me. I was stuck waiting until she was sound asleep until I could visit my new hiding spot in the office downstairs, which I had never used, until recently. She cuddled up to me under my arm in bed, looking drained after easily coming more than once. My phone buzzed against the solid nightstand. I read my mom’s message, knowing Layla was reading it too: I made oatmeal cookies. I’m at your door to drop them off.
I kissed her forehead, taking back my arm and stepping into my boxers again. I rummaged in the nearest drawer for sweatpants. Having Layla basically live here meant she cleaned up every article of clothing I left on the floor. She was making my life better, cleaning up one small gesture at a time.
“You can come down if you want. You don’t have to. I’ll be back.”
She sat up, suddenly energized by my mom’s presence. She never visited my place unless it was to stock the fridge when her house manager was too caught up with the main house. I went downstairs to see my mother smiling before the door was even open all the way, holding a plate wrapped full of cookies. The sun already disappeared, and the night settled in.
“Oliver, sorry to intrude on your evening
. I was baking and had extra.”
She pressed her lips against my cheek, handing me the plate, when I moved out of the way for her to step inside.
“It’s 9 p.m., why are you baking so late?”
She took a seat at the kitchen island, no doubt inspecting her surroundings, making sure I was taking care of myself. Little did she know Layla was really the one keeping me on my toes.
“Baking cures all, Oliver.”
I could tell she was worried by the faint lines in her forehead, relentless from the Botox maintenance I knew she got annually. The worry spread to me, coursing all over, creating a weight on my chest that made me uncomfortable.
My forearms touched the cold slab of marble wasting no time investigating. “What’s wrong?”
Her hazelnut eyes shifted away from me. I could make out the discomfort between us in this role reversal.
“Nothing, Oliver. It’s nothing you should worry about.”
I was thankful that Layla hadn’t come down. Explaining her being here wasn’t a priority when I was watching my mom’s perfect image fade into a version I’ve never seen outside of disappointment when Richard’s hand would punish me. The heaviness sat in my chest, and my anxiety ignited.
“You’re never worried. What’s going on?”
Her eyes were stern, as she got up, realizing she broke character—the perfect wife act. Worrying wasn’t something she could afford, and she could afford it all. I grabbed her hand, jerking her body back to the island. “I asked you what was wrong.”
She frowned, creating more wrinkles on her delicate face. “I think your father is having an affair, Oliver. He’s been working twice as much, always at the office, distant…”
Richard? My father? He had faults, but the one absolute was his love for my mom. He’d kill me if it meant saving her, and I didn’t blame him.
“What do you mean distant? Doesn’t he always work too much? Isn’t he always an asshole?”
I was on the verge of defending a man who took a liking to beating me for being a kid. I was slowly understanding Layla overlooking Hunter’s actions. Were his actions not true to character then?
