The Dare
Page 23
“Huh?”
“Tonight,” she clarifies. “You took the money and left me at your house. Then what?” Taylor crosses her arms, watching me.
It’s difficult to completely make out her expression, because it’s dark in her apartment. She turned on the hall light when we walked in, but not the lamp in the living room. It’s almost like we were both afraid to look at ourselves we needed to retreat into the shadows.
Orange lines cut across her tight black dress from the streetlights prying through the blinds. I concentrate on these lines while I lay it out for her. How I turned into a shivering sack of nerves on the side of the road, how I broke the news to Kai and took the money back to Hunter.
“And after I left Hunter’s, I called my mom,” I confess. “I had her put Max on the phone too. Which didn’t go over great considering they’re three hours behind us, so Mom thought I was in the hospital or something.”
Taylor leans against the opposite wall from me. “How’d that go?”
“I told them everything. I said I was sorry, that I’d fucked up and should have come clean a long time ago but I was afraid and ashamed. We left it at that. Mom was obviously shocked and disappointed. Max didn’t say a lot.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “There will be fallout, for sure. But for now I think they’re processing.”
I don’t mention the possibility that Max might stop paying my tuition or that Mom might yank me back to California. Hell, if Briar’s dean knew I orchestrated a B&E of my own house, I’d probably be expelled. All this pain and suffering, and there are still a dozen ways I could lose Taylor, my family, my team, and everything I’ve worked for. Which would be no less than I deserve. I wouldn’t be the first person to suffer from a malignant lack of consequences. I’m due.
“I have serious reservations about the fact that you lied for so long about something so big,” Taylor says, and there’s still an entire room between us.
“I understand.”
“And it still hurts that you were willing to put me through so much pain to cover for your mistake.”
“You’re right.”
“But I believe in partial credit.” She approaches me, slow, tentative.
She’s a fucking vision in that curve-hugging dress, her sultry makeup, blonde hair perfectly done. It breaks my heart she went through so much trouble for tonight, and I robbed her of possibilities.
“You made a dozen wrong choices to get here. But you eventually made the right one. That counts for something.”
“So where does that leave me?” I ask, growing more nervous for the answer.
“I’d say a solid C minus.”
“So…” A hopeful smirk pulls at my mouth, and I smother that shit real quick. “Still passing?”
Taylor holds up her thumb and index finger to show me the thin slice of light between them.
“I’ll take it.”
She finally reaches me, sliding her hands down the satin lapels of my tuxedo jacket. “You seemed a little jealous back there at the gala.”
“I will break that dude’s hand if he touched you,” I tell her with no hesitation.
“We were broken up,” she reminds me. Every time those words leave her lips, it cuts a little deeper.
“I’m a dickhead,” I admit. “But he’s suicidal if he thought he’d try to hit that.”
She cracks a smile, which melts the tension that’s been coiled in my shoulders for days. If I can still make her laugh, maybe there’s hope for us yet.
Pensive, she tips her head slightly. “It was kind of hot.”
“Was it?” This is sounding less like a rejection.
“Oh, for sure. I’m not one of those super-mature people who thinks jealousy is a character flaw. I fucking eat that shit up.”
My grin springs free. “I’ll remember that.”
“Yeah, you know, Abigail’s boyfriend is constantly drooling over my tits, so if later you want to do donuts on his frat’s lawn, I’m all about that petty life.”
“Fuck, I love you.” This girl makes me laugh like no one else, even when things are heavy. And especially when they’re awkward. She finds the joy in the deepest suck.
“About that,” she starts, toying with the buttons on my shirt. Hesitation creases her forehead for a moment.
“I mean it. With all my heart. I wouldn’t fuck with someone like that.”
“You love me.”
I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement, but I treat it like the former. “I love you, T. I don’t even know when I figured it out. Maybe when I pulled the car over, or on the drive back. Or when my fingers were shaking so much I could barely tie this stupid bow tie. All I could think about was getting to you and how every minute you were out there thinking I didn’t give a shit was fucking killing me. I just knew.”
She peers up at me under thick sooty lashes. “Show me.”
“I will. If you give me the chance to—”
“No.” Her fingers splay across my chest, push my jacket off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “Show me.”
I need no more encouragement than her teeth pulling at her bottom lip.
Lifting her into my arms, I bring my mouth to hers and kiss her. We may have faltered as a couple, but this part still feels right. When we kiss, I can make sense of things. With her in my arms, I can see the way ahead for what we could become.
Taylor locks her legs around my waist as I walk us to her bedroom and sit on the end of her bed. She settles in my lap, her delicate fingers tangled in my hair. Her nails gently scratch at the back of my neck and set every nerve on fire.
I’m hard as granite as she grinds on my dick. All I want to do is tear her out of this dress, but I know I have to go slow or I’ll push her away. Instead I slide my hands up the outside of her thighs, pushing fabric out of my way. She shifts, encouraging me, until I find the bare skin of her ass and feel the delicate lace of her underwear. She had plans, all right.
“I missed you,” I tell her. It’s been too long since I really looked at her. I think a part of me was using Kai and the fear of confessing to Taylor as a crutch to not acknowledge the depth of my feelings for her. Because if they weren’t real, I had nothing to lose. If she left me, I didn’t have to figure out how to be good enough for her.
“I missed us.” Taylor tugs my shirt out of my waistband. She starts unbuttoning it, undoing my tie. I let her discard layers until she’s skimming her fingers across my bare chest. “God, you’re pretty.”
My muscles twitch under her touch. “You’re beautiful,” I tell her earnestly.
She always blushes, rolls her eyes, when I say that. I get it—she can’t see herself that way any more than I was willing to believe I could still be a decent person. She just needs someone to help her believe.
“I’m not going to stop trying to convince you,” I warn.
“I don’t want you to.” She kisses me, then climbs off my lap to stand with her back to me. “Help me.”
As my pulse quickens, I slowly drag her zipper down, then watch her step out of her dress. I know she gets nervous about being so exposed, so I don’t give her a moment to feel self-conscious. Wrapping her in my arms, I pull her back down to the bed to lie against the pillows, settling myself between her legs. She hooks one smooth leg around my hips as I pull her bra off to kiss across her chest, squeezing her tits. My lips travel south, from her nipples to her stomach, while my fingers slip her lacy panties down her legs and spread her pussy for my tongue.
I know she’s close to orgasm when I feel her tugging at the duvet, digging her nails into the fabric. Her body trembles, back arches. I slide two fingers inside her impossibly tight channel, and rise on my knees to watch her shatter for me.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. With a muffled moan because she’s biting her lip, she shakes and clenches around my hand.
“That’s it, baby,” I coax, loving the flush of her cheeks, that same rosy hue on her tits, the sexy breaths leaving her mouth.
“I want you,” she says, breathing hard. She gets the button open, then the zipper, then shoves my trousers down my hips.
Grinning at her impatience, I kick my pants and briefs free from my legs and send them flying across the room. The moment I’m fully naked, an urgent Taylor encourages my hips forward to meet hers and whispers the two sweetest words I’ve ever heard.
“I’m ready.”
I search her eyes, my dick hard against her pussy. “Are you sure?” My voice is a bit hoarse. “You know you don’t have to do this tonight? I meant what I said before. I’m not in a hurry.”
She reaches over to her nightstand and pulls out a condom. “I’m sure.”
Our mouths collide again and somehow it feels new, like learning each other for the first time. Supporting my weight on my forearm, I use my free hand to slide the condom down my shaft.
“Just go slow,” she says, when I’m once again settled between her legs.
“Promise.” I kiss that cute little mole over the corner of her mouth, then press my lips to hers. “Just relax.”
She’s so tight, her body still clenched.
“Relax, babe. I got you.”
With a deep breath, she lets go. Her body softens. As slow as I can, I push inside her. I grit my teeth, allowing her to adjust before I move again. Just a little. Just enough to make us both take in a sharp breath.
“You okay?” I whisper.
Taylor nods, her turquoise eyes shining with trust, need, arousal. She sucks in another breath, then grabs my hips to bring me closer.
She’s perfect. Warm and tight, squeezing my dick every time I pull back and gently, achingly, plunge back into her. More than that, though. Her nails softly drag down my back and it’s like my fucking soul trembles. She licks my neck and my mind is wiped of everything but her voice, her taste. I forget where I am, who I am. There’s just this moment and the space between us. Her softness and her breath against my skin.
Too quickly, though, my climax builds. I want to make it last for her, but this feels too good and every time she arches her back, I can’t help but draw every ounce of pleasure I can get from her body.
“Baby,” I choke out.
“Mmmm?” The pleasure swimming on her face brings me dangerously closer to the edge.
“I promise I will spend every second of this relationship fucking you so good and giving you hundreds and thousands of orgasms, but right now…” I groan against her neck, my hips flexing forward, fast and erratic. “Right now…I need…to…”
I come so hard I see stars, shuddering against the perfection that is her body. When the rush of pleasure subsides, I pull out to discard the condom in the small wastebasket under her nightstand.
Lying on my back, I bring Taylor to rest against my chest, threading my fingers through her soft hair. After a few minutes, she tilts her head up to place a kiss under the corner of my jaw.
“I love you, too.”
35
Taylor
Sasha texts me on my way into my co-op class at the elementary school. Something to the effect of “hey, bitch, if you get a chance, take that hockey stick out of your mouth for five seconds and text me.” Which is her endearing way of saying she misses me.
I take full responsibility for our dwindling amount of girl time; after patching things up with Conor, he and I have spent every day together for the past week. Now it’s May, finals are only a couple weeks away, and I’m a little ashamed to admit that what used to be study time with Sasha at the Kappa house has become failing to study with Conor at my place until we give up and get naked.
Turns out sex is good. I sure do like sex. Especially sex with Conor.
Although as it also turns out, sex is terribly distracting. Hard as I’ve tried, my reading comprehension skills tank when he’s trying to tear off my clothes.
I did make it to the Kappa house for the election, however. No surprise there—Abigail won. Though to ask her she was just elected supreme leader for life. I expect she’ll soon have portraits of herself riding dolphins and shooting lasers out of her eyes hanging in every room. Sasha and I were two of only four protest votes against her. I’m a pessimist and even I thought the resistance had greater numbers in the house than that. I guess we’ll all have to get used to bowing down to our new supreme leader.
The thought of spending a year under Abigail’s rule turns my stomach. It might have been a secret ballot, but she knows damn well I cast one of the votes against her. And I have no doubt she’ll make me pay dearly for that show of dissent. How, I’m not sure yet, but knowing Abigail it won’t be pretty.
If it weren’t for all the time and effort I’ve already contributed to Kappa Chi, I’d consider leaving the sorority. But at least I have Sasha as an ally. Besides, being a Kappa means a support network of professional connections for life. I didn’t assimilate into the collective just to blow up my future capital so close to the end.
So, one more year. If Abigail really runs things off the rails, Sasha and I can mount the insurrection.
Now in Mrs. Gardner’s first grade class, I’m helping the kids work on collages they’re making about the books they read in class this week. The room is the quietest it’s been all day. Everyone has their heads down, eyes focused. They’re cutting pictures out of old magazines and gluing their creations on poster board.
Thank goodness for glue sticks. I’ve only had to wash glue out of one girl’s hair today. Mrs. Gardner banned liquid glue after a major catastrophe led to three emergency haircuts. I’ll never understand how kids manage to constantly find new ways to attach themselves to each other.
“Miss Marsh?” Ellen raises her hand at her desk.
“That’s looking good,” I tell her when I come around the room to her seat.
“I can’t find a mouse. I looked through all these.”
At her feet there’s a pile of mangled magazines and torn loose pages. All month Mrs. Gardner and I scoured Hastings for unwanted magazines. Doctors’ offices, libraries, used bookstores. Thankfully there’s always someone trying to pawn off thirty years of National Geographics and Highlights. Trouble is, when you’ve got more than twenty kids all reading about a mouse, the rodent supply tends to get a bit thin.
“What if we draw a mouse on some colored paper?” I suggest.
“I’m not good at drawing.” She pouts, shoving another stack of loose pages to the floor.
I know the feeling. As a kid I was a high-strung type-A perfectionist who tended toward the self-critical. I’d get a grand design in my head and then lose my shit when I couldn’t materialize it into being. I’ve been banned from several pottery-painting places in Cambridge, in fact.
Not my greatest moment.
“Everyone can be good at drawing,” I lie. “The best thing about art is that everyone’s is different. There are no rules.” I pull out some fresh sheets of colored paper and draw a few simple shapes as an example. “See, you can draw a triangle head, and an oval body with some little feet and ears, then cut those out and paste them together to make a collage mouse. It’s called abstract—they hang stuff like that in museums.”
“Can I make it a purple mouse?” Ellen, the girl wearing a purple hair scrunchie and purple overalls with matching purple shoes, asks. Shocking.
“You can make it any color you want.”
Delighted, she gets to work with her crayons. I’m moving to another desk when a knock sounds on the classroom door.
I look over to see Conor peeking through the window. He’s picking me up today, but he’s still a few minutes early.
He pokes his head inside as I walk over. “Sorry,” he says, glancing around. “I was just curious what you looked like in a classroom.”
There’s been a lightness to him this week. He’s smiling again, always energetic and in a good mood. It’s a nice side of Conor, even if I know it can’t
last. No one is this happy all the time. And that’s okay. I don’t mind grumpy Conor, either. I just can’t help taking pleasure in knowing some part of his positive attitude is because of me. And sex. Maybe mostly sex.
“Am I different?” I ask him.
Conor gives me a lingering examination, from top to bottom. “I like your teacher clothes.”
I won’t lie, I did go a bit overboard at the start of the semester with a whole Zooey Deschanel vibe. Lots of retro skirts and primary colors. I guess in my head that was the part I wanted to play, because it’s important when you walk into a room where you’re outnumbered by tiny creatures twenty-to-one that you display confidence. Or they’ll eat you alive.
“Yeah?” I say, doing a little twirl and curtsy.
“Mmm-hmm.” He licks his lips and shoves his hands in his pockets, which I’ve come to learn is his way of trying to hide a semi while he’s thinking dirty thoughts. “You’re keeping that on when we get home.”
That’s another thing that’s crept into our vocabulary. Home. His place or mine, when we’re going to either one, or spending the night, it’s always home. The distinction between them has blurred.
“Miss Marsh,” one of the girls calls to me. “Is that your boooooyyyyyyfriend?”
The rest of the class answers with oohs and laughter. Fortunately, Mrs. Gardner is out of the room or I would’ve made Conor leave, asap. This close to my final evaluation I can’t have her thinking I’m not focused on the kids.
“Okay,” I tell him, “get out of here before Ms. Caruthers next door calls security on you.”
“See you outside.” He plants a kiss on my cheek and winks at the kids watching us.
“Go.” I all but slam the door in his face, smothering a smile.
“Miss Marsh has a boyfriend, Miss Marsh has a boyfriend,” the kids chant, growing louder and more excited in their taunting.
Dammit, if they keep this up, Ms. Caruthers will come storming in to complain about the noise. I hold my index finger to my lips and raise my other hand. One by one each student mimics the pose until they’re all silent again. Just call me the kid whisperer.