by Max Henry
Especially when it was your dad dragging your sorry ass outside before he beat your nose bloody for lying to him. Good times.
I slip my phone in the back pocket, and then tug a clean T-shirt on. My eye catches the door to her bedroom as I step out into the hall to retrieve my boots from the front door. I shouldn’t, but the opportunity is there. So going to hell for this.
Her space smells like vanilla and some berry thing I can’t place. It smells like youth and innocence, only our girl is anything but innocent. At least, that’s the feeling I get. Her bed is made, although not neatly, and she has the toy elephant I remember her dragging around as a kid propped against the footboard. I step further in, casting my eye over her furniture. Books are stacked on the left side of her dresser, makeup piled in a messy heap on the right. But what catch my eye are the pictures she has jammed around the frame of the mirror. My heart jackhammers in my chest as I step closer, leaning in to take a better look—this is so wrong, a violation of her trust.
And yet, I. Want. More.
The top row is old photos taken when she was ten or eleven at most: pictures of her and John. There’s one I know contains her mother, Cerise, and yet Belle has carefully folded it to exclude her. Cold. I run my eye down the left side of the mirror, noting how she gets older in each picture. A birthday party, a day at the lake, and what steals the air from my lungs: her and me. I don’t remember the photo being taken, but I remember the day—John’s birthday. It was a month or so before I went inside. He’d been so down, so miserable, that I did what any mate would: I phoned around and got together a bunch of guys he hadn’t seen for a while and brought them around for a barbecue and drinks.
Where are they now? What kind of fair-weather friends are they?
Even worse, am I any doing any better by being here, considering it’s his daughter that my gaze fixes to? Belle stands behind me in the shot, her arms looped around my shoulders as she rests her chin on my left. Time was, I would have looked at this picture and seen the whole shot, the day for what it was: friends and family in the sun, sharing stories, making memories. Except time has passed, Belle has grown up, and the way she looks at me now has me eyeing the picture with a fresh perspective.
Her arse is high in the air, her legs straight where she stands behind my seat. The hold is innocent enough, but she rests a hand on my chest, palm flat. Her eyes aren’t on the other people in the circle, she doesn’t engage in the conversation or watch the guy who clearly speaks—she stares at the ground as a smile pulls at her lush lips. She holds me possessively as though nobody around us in that moment matters.
I swallow hard and pluck the picture from the mirror; my eyes glued to it as the revelation smacks me like a steel bat. Did she always look at me like that? Was I blind to something that was right under my nose all those years ago?
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My phone vibrates in my pocket to remind me I have an unopened message, jolting me from my thoughts. Shit. I have to get on the road to pick her up.
How the fuck am I supposed to sit in the goddamn car with her after this? Knowing she saw me as something more—whatever that is—all the way back then… it changes everything. If I didn’t see how she acted around me years ago, then what the fuck aren’t I seeing now?
Only one way to find out, and that’s by taking the bull by the horns. Fifteen minutes in the car together at least, and however many it takes us to get back home from Kate’s, alone.
What better time to ask the hard questions than when she can’t up and leave?
SEVEN
Belle
Scott’s bedroom is everything I’d expect for a guy our age. There’s dirty laundry heaped in the corner, a desk covered in scraps of paper, litter, and motorcycle parts. His bed is unmade around me; mismatched sheets on an oddly fitting mattress and base.
Scott flicks the lock, and then tugs his T-shirt off over his head while he stalks my way. He certainly doesn’t like to muck around. “You want to finish your drink?” He nods toward the bottle in my hand.
I lean to set it on the nightstand; the thought of having more turns my stomach to acid. “I think I’ve had enough, don’t you?”
“Your choice.” He shrugs, drawing my eye to his naked torso. He’s cut, but he’s also small. Not big like Zeus.
Zeus. Jesus, not now. The first guy in years to make moves currently stands before me with a hungry look in his eye, and I still think about the unobtainable.
Reality check, Belle. It’ll never happen, no matter how attracted you are to a guy who’s old enough to be your father. Zeus is smoking hot and kind to me, but that’s where it ends.
That’s where it has to end.
My gaze drifts to Scott’s bedroom door as he crosses to a music dock. The logical decision-making part of myself drifts separate in this moment, as though it stares down at my vessel of a body from a distance.
Scott wants sex. Scott invited me here for what he probably thought was an easy score. I mean nothing to him. But then again, he means nothing to me too.
So who’s using who?
“What kind of music do you prefer?” Scott stares down at his phone, oblivious to my internal debate as he scrolls through playlists.
“Rock, house music… I’m not fussy.”
Music erupts from a set of speakers behind me—the beat heavy and bass laden, drowning out the tunes that play at the party. I should do this. Use the alcohol that swims in my veins to lose myself for a while. Kate’s fooled around with guys plenty and she’s happy. Scott doesn’t promise anything other than a bit of fun, and just like riding a bike, I have to start somewhere, right?
I need to open the final door to my adulthood and explore my sexuality.
And if not with Scott, then who? Sure, he’s cocky and selfish. But he’s also cute, fit, and eager to break me in. If it all goes south then what does it matter? School’s over, exams are finished, and the chances we’ll see each other around town are slim. Since when have I given a fuck what anyone thinks of me anyway?
Scott tosses the phone aside, seemingly satisfied with the soundtrack for our escapades, and then regards me with a cool stare.
“What’s on your mind, Belle?”
“Trying to work out your game, is all.”
“I have a game?” He crosses the room back to the foot of the bed, yet this time he stands towering over me with a cocked eyebrow.
“You asked me to the party yourself, and now here we are in your room with your shirt off, listening to…” I tip my head to the side. “Closer?”
Really. Could he be any crasser?
“I like music. You like music,” he coos as he tucks his fingers beneath my chin to tilt my head up. “What’s the big deal?”
“I can enjoy music with all my clothes on,” I deadpan.
“It’s so much better if you don’t.” He hooks a finger in the neck of my shirt and tugs. “Promise.”
“What do you want from me?” I ask, pulling away.
“Same thing you want.”
“Which is?” I frown as he takes hold of the hem of my shirt.
“Release.” He pulls the material over my head and sucks in a sharp breath. “You’re cute, Belle, and I’ll be blunt and admit I’ve wondered for a while what you’d be like in bed.” He smiles as his thumb sweeps my bottom lip. “You, however, need to loosen up and live a little. I’m going to show you how.”
“Such a Casanova,” I taunt, although the thought of losing my innocence to him seems less like a bad idea as we go on, and more like the common sense thing to do.
He won’t care if I’m terrible at it; he probably expects it. And when we walk away afterward, I don’t have to worry about it changing how he thinks of me, because who gives two shits what his opinion is if I never have to see him again?
He gives me a cheeky smile. “Is your answer no?”
That small percentage of me fighting this pushes to the forefront of my mind. Isn’t the first time supposed to be special?
Maybe. But when there’s only one person I’d rather give this moment to, and the chance of ever going there with him is about as rare as hen’s teeth, then who exactly am I holding out for?
“It’s not, is it?” Scott asks, interpreting my silence.
“I still think you’re a jerk, though.”
“And I still think you’re a moody bitch.” He winks. “But angry sex is the best kind of sex.”
I wish I could say I understood. My chest heaves with my steadying breath. “How do you want to do this, then?”
He steps back and goes to work on his buckle. “What made you change your mind?” He smirks. “I saw the look on your face when you walked in here; you were ready to bolt.”
“I haven’t changed my mind, as such. I’m just more open to the option.” I cast my gaze down over my sensible denim shorts and high-top boots, coasting back up to my plain black bra. Do I have to take it all off?
Scott’s denim drops to the floor with a dull thud as the metal of his belt hits the carpet. My God. The bulge in his boxers is nothing short of impressive. No wonder the girls seem so smitten with the guy. His body’s not all that bad, either. Definitely a touch on the lean side like I guessed, but he’s eighteen; I can’t expect too much of the guy.
He’s certainly no Zeus, that’s for sure. A pang of nauseous guilt fists in my gut at the thought. Stop it.
“You need to get at least half naked for this to work, Belle.”
I shudder in a deep breath and stand. My hands gingerly undo the snap on my shorts and pull the zipper down. Scott watches keenly as my cut-offs drop down my legs and I step out from both them and my boots in one movement. His boxers tent under the strain of his erection when I shift closer to him.
“You look as good as I thought you would, Belle. You know how gorgeous you are, right?”
Hurl. “Guess not.” I glance over at the bed, longing for the modest safety of the sheets.
“You can lie down if it makes you more comfortable.” Ever the gentleman.
I shrug. “I really don’t know.” I choose to give it a shot anyway, considering everything about this is uncomfortable and new.
Scott holds fire where he stands while I get onto the bed on all fours and crawl up to the head of it, tugging the linen over my legs as I settle. His hungry eyes devour my every move as I strip my panties off under the covers and drop them out the side of the sheets.
“You have protection, right?” I ask, shifting myself down to lie flat on my back as a roar goes up from somewhere outside.
“Yeah, sure.” He takes two long strides and arrives at my side. I flinch as he drops his boxers and his erection springs out inches from my head. Still, it’s the first real, living penis I’ve seen and I can’t stop myself from ogling it.
The beast rises as Scott takes note of my observation. “Like?”
“Let you know when we’re done.” It’s normal to want to throw up, right?
He chuckles, getting under the sheet with me. I shift aside, giving him room to lie on his side, mirroring my position. We stare at one another. “How do you want to start out?” he asks. “I’m assuming you haven’t fucked a guy yet.”
My face flames, and I fight the urge to run right there and then. “No, I haven’t.” Is it that obvious?
Suddenly the rest of that bottle of bourbon looks a damn sight more appealing.
“We’ll start slow, then.” He places a warm hand on my collarbone and traces a line down and over my breast, continuing along my side to my hip.
I break out in goosebumps.
“Sensitive, huh?” His eyes light up.
“You’re the first person to touch me like this, so yeah, it’s a little new.”
He continues his lazy trail down as far as his hand will reach on my thigh, and then reverses the path. “You can touch me, too, you know.”
Shit. I’ve got no idea what to do, so I echo his movements. He pauses in his caressing of me to lift my hand and place it over his cock. I freeze. He rocks his hips forward, stroking the length of his shaft over my palm. Instinct kicks in and I wrap my hand around his length and stroke slow and even. He groans, closing his eyes for the briefest of seconds. Guess I must be doing something right. My body reacts to the sound, and to my horror, a wet sensation floods the space between my legs.
He can’t be turning me on, surely. I don’t even fancy him all that much. Still, I remind myself this is the exact reason I’m here—to prove I can get what I need from somebody other than Zeus. Fuck, Zeus. Why do my thoughts always come right back to him?
Scott’s fingers rub in a slow circle on the flesh of my clit, setting fire to the nerves below. My hips rise to meet his hand, searching for more of their own accord. He pushes his index finger between my legs, and runs it along the lips of my pussy. “Fuck, Belle. You’re ready for this, aren’t you?”
I nod, biting my bottom lip. I’m ready to be fucked, to have sex, just not ready to make love—because that’s not what this is. It’s simply two bodies needing release. Nothing more. Possibly less.
His fingers continue to explore my slick folds, teasing them apart so he can circle my entrance. I moan at the sensation, a tingle spreading through my legs and lower abdomen. I knew it would be better to have somebody else do it, to give that control over to another person, but damn have I missed out. Scott rolls me on to my back, using his shoulder against me to push me over. I oblige, already languid with the incredible reaction my body has to being touched so intimately.
The sheet is strewn aside, along with my inhibitions as Scott slips a finger inside my tight hole. I gasp, unsure if it feels amazing, awkward, or both. “Fuck yeah,” he mumbles. “So tight.” He slips his finger out, back in, and out, over and over again as he finds rhythm. My muscles relax, inviting more.
I can’t pick if the swimming sensation in my head is from the alcohol, or him. Maybe both?
His free hand scoops behind my butt, lifting my hips slightly as he shifts himself down the bed so his face is even with my belly. The change in angle is unbelievable, placing his thrusting finger against an extremely sensitive spot. My breath comes in ragged pants as I focus on solely the sensation of what he’s doing and not the why and how of where we are.
Fucking. Drunk. At a goddamn party.
A fragment of me aches thinking of how low I’ve stooped in the name of ticking losing my virginity off the to-do list. I should be doing something this important with a man I care about, if not love, not with some random guy from school. But I pathetically justify the loss of this moment by reasoning that experience might make me more appealing to Zeus. That maybe, just maybe, if I crest this last blockade to adulthood he might see me as a woman worth pursuing.
God—everything I said to Kate seems so two-faced. Now who’s losing their V-card simply to fit in? Way to go, Belle.
“How you doing?” Scott asks, his breath tickling my clit.
“Good,” I moan, shutting all reason out. “It feels good.”
“One more, okay?” He circles my pussy with his fingers, and then presses inside again with two digits. I cry out, and stiffen, causing him to stop. “Okay, Belle?”
“Yeah. Just adjusting.” I take a deep breath. “Keep going.”
His eyes connect with mine over the length of my torso. “This might help.” His fingers push inside again, but at the same time he leans down and licks the tight nerves at my clit.
I damn near throw him off the bed with the violence of my hip thrust. “Holy hell.”
“Good, right?” He goes in for a second lave, suckling the hood a little on the tail end of his lick.
I answer with nothing more than an incomprehensible moan.
His fingers push harder, faster, his tongue lapping quicker the more I buck. I’m seeing stars, swearing my allegiance to the first sex club I come across if this is how good it can feel, when he pulls away.
“What did I do?” I push up on my elbows as he sits back on his haunches, wiping his mouth clean.
&
nbsp; “Nothing. We’re ready for the next stage.”
Fuck. “Yeah?” Already?
“Lie down again.”
I flop back on the mattress as he stalks over me, resting his hands either side of my head, elbows on the bed by my shoulders. “I’ve heard it hurts.”
“Sometimes.” He talks about it with the kind of casual demeanour you’d expect when you discuss dinner. “But you’re wet as hell, and you took finger fucking real good, so....”
“I might be okay,” I finish.
“Should we find out?”
I nod, closing my eyes. He scares the living hell out of me by pressing his lips to mine, teasing and coaxing my mouth open. I reciprocate, well aware this is another area of intimacy I’m not very well versed in, and get lost in the sensation of his tongue as it dances with mine.
Pressure at my pussy snaps my eyes open in a heartbeat when he pushes his rigid cock slightly inside. “Condom,” I cry out, breaking from the kiss.
“Oh, yeah.” He laughs—actually fucking laughs.
I lie still as a dead thing while he casually wanders over to the desk, dick bobbing. With his back to me I catch the slide of a drawer, and watch the way the muscles in his back work as he fiddles with what I assume to be the condom. I throw an arm over my eyes and let out a long breath, psyching myself up for the finale. Before I know it, there’s an impatient dick waiting for permission again... and a cock prodding my vagina.
“I’m ready.” I nod as though I’m giving a body piercer the go-ahead. Guess I almost am.
Scott nods, and closes his eyes as he eases his length inside. The fit is tight, and it burns a bit, but the pain isn’t anything I can’t handle. I marvel at how silky it feels, even with the latex of a condom between us. They really have nailed making those things feel invisible.
“Tell me when you’re ready to go faster.” He clenches his jaw, easing out and pushing in slowly.
