Hard Fall

by Ney, Sara

  “Stop flirting,” I demand. I’m starting to really like you.

  He stops flirting and I’m back to staring at the ceiling, frustrated by our lack of proximity.

  Frustrated by my own game of running hot and cold with him; I wonder if he’s noticed. I wonder if it’s frustrating him, too. Why is he bothering with me at all? A million women would kill to be in this bedroom right now, and the poor bastard chooses the one woman who resists him at every turn.

  Buzz Wallace doesn’t give a shit about my father and who he is; he hasn’t really asked about him once. He doesn’t give a shit about the silver spoon I had in my mouth growing up. He doesn’t give a shit about what kind of car I drive, how big his friends’ houses are, how—

  Houses.

  “Buzz?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did you buy this house for your parents?”

  He’s quiet a few heartbeats. “Why are you asking me that?”

  “I’m wondering.” Many athletes do that for their folks, the people who make the sacrifices for their children’s success over their own.

  More silence.

  Then,

  “Yes.”

  My ovaries begin clenching from the injustice of it all. Why, God? Why! Why make the one man I want to resist so gosh darn irresistible? It’s all I can do not to shake my fist at the sky like a super weirdo.

  “That’s…that was sweet of you.”

  “I guess.” He sounds uncomfortable talking about it. “My brother and I went halvsies—well, I paid a thousand dollars more, so like…I paid more.” He sniffs, indignant. “Not that it matters, but I did.”

  I chuckle. He is such a brat about his brother—it must have been hell for his mother raising those two.

  I want to climb out of bed and join him on the floor, but what reasonable excuse do I have for going down where it’s uncomfortable and cold?

  Not a one.

  My brain goes around and around. My teeth? Dig into my bottom lip as I stew. Finally, I roll off the bed, dressed in nothing but my underwear, feeling my way around the bed to where I think Buzz is lying on the floor, with my pajama bottoms. Er, shorts.

  I step on a body part and he yelps. “What the fuck! That was my ankle.”

  Crap. “Oh my god, I am so sorry.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Can I have my pants back?”

  13

  Trace

  “Can you have your pants back?” I feel around in the dark, hands blindly maneuvering their way along the carpet. It’s an itchy spot to be for the night, but the last thing I want is for Hollis to think I’m some pervert who cannot keep his hands to himself. I don’t need her to think I have no boundaries.

  “You know—my shorts. The shorts.”

  “Are you wearing clothes right now?”

  “I told you—I’m wearing underwear.” Even in the dark, I can make out her silhouette, her outline backlit by the outside security lights. “What are you wearing?” She sounds like she’s talking to Jake from State Farm.

  “Um…the same thing I had on when my mom so rudely turned off the lights.”

  “Oh.” It sounds like she’s biting her lip. Sounds a bit disappointed, or maybe I’m imagining things. I have been down here for what seems like hours, exiled alone with no food, no water, no light source. Naked and afraid, almost. Minus the naked part.

  “Here are your bottoms.” The shorts she was wearing are in my hand, clenched in my fist, and I hold them up as an offering. “Try not to crush my balls like you crush my dreams.” I can sort of see her getting closer, slowly—hesitantly—then lowering herself to her hands and knees. “Are you crawling?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to crush your balls.” Her hands explore, feebly feeling along my calves. Knees. “Oh! Is this you?”

  “Yeah that’s me.” I hold my breath as her hands roam. Searching but not really, because she knows she’s found me, and if she’d just sit there, I could hand her the shorts. They’re still suspended above the floor, in my waiting fist.

  I almost forgot for a second that she’s not wearing clothes—why she hasn’t put her shit back on is beyond me. If she’s trying to gross me out, it’s not working. It’s the opposite of working.

  Still, I don’t say the magic words: Hollis, I have your shorts in my hand. Hold still and I’ll give them to you.

  Nope.

  I want to see what she does instead, and maybe get a kiss or two from her in the process. You gonna fault a guy for hoping? It could happen!

  I wish.

  Rather than asking for the bottoms, Hollis puts her hands on my chest. Carpet. Patting the spot beside me, then leaning forward and yanking the bedspread off the mattress, dragging it to the floor.

  “What’d you do that for?”

  “I’m cold.”

  “Then put your clothes back on.” Number one on the list of things I’ll never say again.

  She doesn’t listen, hunkering down beside me and pulling the blanket up, over her shoulders, and since I’m cold too, I snag a corner. “Mind if I steal some of this?”

  When she throws the comforter over my legs and scoots closer, my brain spontaneously combusts from the skin-on-skin contact. Our legs are touching! She is touching my leg with her leg!

  “You know what I think would be fun?” She’s whispering now, tentatively, words leaving her lips at an excruciatingly slow pace.

  “I could think of a thousand things that would be fun. Do you mean right now, or like—tomorrow?”

  She laughs. “Right now.”

  “Um.” I can think of a thousand things that would be super fun right now, but I highly doubt they’re the same things she’s got in her mind. “What?”

  “When…” Hollis clears her throat. “Is the last time you…”

  She stops.

  “The last time I…?” What? The last time I what? THE LAST TIME I WHAT! SPIT IT OUT, HOLLIS, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

  The last time you went streaking in your parents’ yard? The last time you played twenty questions? The last time you made shadow puppets?

  What?

  After a long, torturous silence, “Never mind.”

  I stare up at the ceiling, unable to see it but scowling just the same. I wanted to know what she was going to say, but I’m not going to press her.

  I shrug in the dark. “Suit yourself.” Or tell me. Whatever.

  The quiet room is deafening. My hands? Lying next to my sides, my head resting on a flat pillow my mother needs to replace, pronto.

  This floor sucks even harder now that Hollis has joined me. What is she doing, trying to kill me with her close proximity? Knowing her, she is. She loves fucking with me, that much is obvious.

  “Trace?”

  “Hm?”

  “Don’t you feel like we’re doing something we shouldn’t? I feel like a teenager sneaking around your parents’ house.”

  That makes me smile. “It does kind of feel like that, in a way, but not really.” I never brought girls home in high school—never really dated anyone, not that girls didn’t chase me. I might have been a walking, talking hormone, but my parents were strict, and I needed a baseball scholarship, so that was the only thing on my mind as a teenager. Not sneaking girls into the house, or having them over and copping a feel while Mom was in the kitchen preparing snacks.

  “Feels taboo,” she adds.

  “We’re not doing anything but lying here.” As my dick would so helpfully like to point out, lying flat against my thigh, limp and defeated.

  “No, we’re not.” Pause. “But…”

  “But what?”

  “What if…”

  My dick twitches curiously. “What if…what?”

  Hollis repositions herself so she’s facing me now, resting on her hip and elbow, breasts brushing against the blanket. I can’t feel them but I can feel them, if you catch my drift.

  “Wouldn’t it be fun if we…I mean, since we’re both awake…”

  “If we
what? Fucked?” Little Buzz puffs out his dick chest.

  “Pump the brakes—I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

  Yet. She said yet, which means she’s planning to, which means there’s a snowball’s chance in hell.

  “What if we, like…dry humped. Kept it old school. You know how we—”

  I grab her and pull, hauling her atop me, still wrapped in her blanket. “Yup, I’m game. Let’s dry hump. Fantastic idea.”

  Hollis is laughing, quietly gasping for air, hands on my chest, straddling me now, ass on lower abdomen. She’s tiny—compared to me—and my hands find her waist. Naked waist. Smooth, warm waist.

  Awkwardly, she discards the comforter from the bed, pulling and prying it out from under her so it no longer separates us, and I groan when my hands can cup her ass.

  “You should kiss me or something,” she tells me, so bossy.

  “Lower your face,” I tell her back.

  Her hair hits my chest first, tickling my pecs, breath mingling with mine.

  I don’t move a muscle.

  She is in complete control.

  Her lips are gentle, pressing against my mouth once she finds it in the dark, pushing delicately. Testing. One kiss, then another, and little by little, I open my mouth.

  Offer up the tip of my tongue until she touches it with hers, the dick in my boxers hardening with every stroke. With every wet, teasing stroke of her tongue in my mouth, her hips begin to move.

  Hollis shifts her body. Slides it down a few inches until her pussy is on top of my dick, the tip flirting with her slit.

  She moans.

  I don’t move a muscle.

  “Put your hands on my ass,” she instructs. “And…pull me back and forth.”

  We both groan, and I’m as giddy as a horny fifteen-year-old. Just as revved up, too, waiting for more instructions.

  “Now what?”

  Hollis doesn’t tell me, just rolls her hips. The only things between us are her sheer panties and my boxers, which are laughably thin. We might as well be naked. It’s not the same, but it’s close. Blessedly close.

  But not the same.

  But close.

  Shut the fuck up. Quit arguing with yourself, idiot—focus.

  Above me, Hollis clears her throat, trying to find some words. “Would you…put your hands on my…”

  “On your what?” I breathe out. Hips? Ribs? Shoulders? Be specific—I need all the help I can get.

  “My…”

  I can’t see her tits, but now I can feel them, because she’s moved my hands from her ass…to her rib cage…all the way up to her breasts. Her high, perky boobs—from what I can feel in the dark, anyway—and I’m tempted to flip the light on.

  I want to see it all.

  Her nipples are stiff. Her back is straight. Her head? Tipped back.

  Hips grind over me, working their way over my dick and balls, smushing them into my pelvis, but who actually gives a fuck? It feels amazing. It does its job, creating friction and pleasure—the way it did back before I lost my virginity, when a quick dry fuck was the only safe way to get my rocks off.

  I was a virgin late in life—seventeen before I lost it to a college freshman after a campus tour. I didn’t get a scholarship to play baseball at the school, but I did get laid for the very first time in the dorm rooms there. Ahh, the memories.

  Hollis moans when I softly caress her boobs, the pads of my fingers slowly stroking, brushing over the tips, barely making contact with her skin.

  She covers my hands with hers. Then.

  Leans her body down and finds my mouth in the dark.

  Our kiss is open-mouthed and hot—tons of tongue. Frantic, but with a languid approach. Wet, for sure. Kind of dirty in a This is our first kiss but we’re dry humping in your parents’ guest room kind of way. Hot and heavy but tentative and hesitant, if those things can be combined.

  Feels taboo.

  We’ve been holding back since we met—she’s lying to herself if she doesn’t agree. Hollis Westbrooke has wanted to stick her tongue down my throat—if even to shut me up—since the pool party at Noah Harding’s house, or my name isn’t Trace Wallace.

  Her mouth tastes like heaven. Her tits feel like heaven in my hands. Her pussy rubbing against my cock? Heaven. No other word can describe it, and I won’t even try because I’m borderline brain-dead at this point, all the blood having drained into my dick.

  I am a brainless, spineless puddle of hormones.

  On top of me, Hollis grinds. Grinds her hips, hands braced on the carpet for support, head lowered, hair brushing the side of my face. I can hear her soft moans, the frustration in her breathy sighs. She wants a release. She wants her panties off. She wants to fuck me, but won’t let herself.

  Especially not in my parents’ house.

  My hands are still on her hips. And if I reach down and pull her underwear aside so my cock is one step closer to being inside her, well—so be it. I’m not hearing any complaints from her, just

  whimpering and whispers and unsatisfied groans.

  Hey, it’s not my fault we’re not having sex right now, but this is a girl I haven’t put the moves on. I’m not about to ruin it by asking if I can slide inside.

  One more thrust.

  Two.

  Hollis moans louder, head collapsing on my chest, and I lie there, stunned.

  “Did you…just come?”

  She seems to be hesitating. “Yes?”

  “From dry humping?”

  “Yes.” She sighs again, her body a limp mass on top of my chest. “Did you?”

  “Uh, you would know if I came because there would be jizz all over my boxers.” To my own ears, I sound jealous, because I am. I wanted to come, too! It’s not fair that she’s the only one to have an orgasm! It’s not like I can beg her for a blowie to finish me off.

  Hollis grunts. Lays her head on my chest and exhales another sigh. I give her a gentle nudge.

  “Hey.”

  She doesn’t move. Only gives me a suspiciously sleepy-sounding, “Hmm?”

  “Are you falling asleep?” I poke her rib cage.

  No response.

  “You are not seriously falling asleep.” I say it to no one, because just then, a soft snore escapes her throat, indicating that she has, indeed, fallen asleep. We didn’t even have sex and she’s pulling a guy move on me by passing out? This gets worse and worse.

  What the H. “Unfuckingbelieveable.”

  I lie here a few minutes, debating my next move: lie here and let her sleep on top of me, or roll her over and onto the floor. Or…I can try to scoop her up and put her back on the bed, where she’ll have a better night’s sleep than she will on the floor.

  I lie here.

  Longer still, enjoying her breathing and the steady rhythm of her heart beating against my chest.

  Then finally, I roll to my side, taking her along with me, gently resting her beside me on the carpet, reaching for the blankets and comforter, pulling those up and over us.

  She snuggles into my body, ass crushed against my crotch, little-spooning me in her sleep.

  I rest my hand on her hip, atop the blanket. Give her hair a whiff and lay my cheek on my bicep, because I’ve slid the pillow under Hollis’s sleeping head.

  Every so often, a snore escapes her lips. Not the chainsaw ‘I can’t sleep’ kind of snore, but the soft, steady, cute kind. A cute snore—what does she do that isn’t adorable?

  I get comfortable, although it’s hard—pun intended. I didn’t come the way she did from dry fucking, so my dick is semi-stiff, poking into her ass cheeks, straining for some kind of relief. But I can’t rise to use the bathroom, and I can’t very well finish myself off here while she’s passed out. ‘Cause. That. Is. Creepy. As. Fuck.

  I content myself with peacefully cradling her while she rests, knowing she may never let me get this close to her again. I wonder what possessed her in the first place, to get down out of the bed practically naked and straddle me.

&nb
sp; Boredom? Curiosity?

  Did the dark give her courage she doesn’t have when she has to face me in the light of day?

  I cannot fall asleep, and the hours tick by. Slowly watch the sun rising outside the bedroom window, the sounds of the household waking up coming from downstairs. I imagine my dad shuffling around the kitchen in his bathrobe and house shoes as he’s always done, brewing a fresh pot of coffee while he does a crossword puzzle. Enjoying the alone time before Mom wakes up and starts making demands. Roger’s honey-do list.

  Sometime around six o’clock, Hollis stirs. During the night, she shifted to face me, and I watch as her eyelids begin to gradually part. Blinking herself awake like a scene in a movie—preferably a romantic movie, where the couple makes out and kisses good morning, maybe has quick morning sex.

  She’s still wordlessly blinking up at me.

  That can’t be good.

  “Morning.” I smile at her.

  “Did I sleep down here last night?”

  Obviously. “Uh…yes.” Does she have amnesia?

  “Oh.” Her eyes shift to the pillow. “Did you put this under my head?”

  “Yes.”

  She pauses. “Thank you.”

  “Are you cold?”

  Her eyes widen—she’s just realized she has no clothes on, other than her panties, and I swear she must be blushing. “No. You must have kept me warm.”

  I grin. “I’m a hot box. That’s what my mom always called me growing up—I don’t think I ever wore pajamas to bed. Naked as a jaybird.”

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “Uh—your side of the bed, I imagine.” I stare at her as best I can in the dim, early morning light. “You weren’t drunk last night, were you?”

  Shit. Is that the reason she was all over me? Alcohol? I know I had a few beers with Tripp before he left, but I don’t remember Hollis tipping any back. Definitely not enough to get her drunk—not to the point where she’d have no memory.

  “Sorry, I’m just so tired.” She yawns. “I’m going to need a nap today.”

  Outside, the sun creeps up a little higher in the sky. “I’ll leave so you can get dressed.”

  I rise, careful not to ogle her; it’s difficult because she’s just so damn pretty and I could stare at her all damn day. Right now she needs her privacy. Clearly she’s embarrassed about getting physical with me.