Hard Fall

by Ney, Sara

  “At the dinner table?”

  “I mean.” I shrug. “Yeah, ‘cause we were at dinner.”

  “You said ‘no penetration’ at the DINNER table.”

  “Why are you yelling?” I whisper. Because she’s yelling and I don’t know what the fuss is about.

  “Don’t act like saying hump and penetration at a nice supper with your entire family is not a big deal.”

  “The point is, I made it clear to my mother that there was zero fucking in her house. Rest assured, I put her mind at ease.”

  The things I do for her. How has she not fallen in love with me yet?

  “Did you? Did you put her mind at ease?” Her eyes are narrowed into dangerous slits, water dripping from her hair and lashes, and mouth, because she’s still partially submerged. “I don’t even want to know what your sister thinks of me.”

  Angry and wet and half underwater.

  “True was laughing. Don’t worry, she thought it was funny.”

  “Was she? Was she laughing?”

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Repeating everything I say, but twice. It’s weird.” She sounds maniacal, and I’m worried she will somehow find a way to Lifetime Original Movie me dead inside the tub, with no weapon—merely a wet set of hands.

  “Gee, I don’t know—probably because you prematurely told everyone I was your girlfriend, which was a lie. Then we prematurely went to your folks’ house to lie some more.”

  I giggle.

  Hollis rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

  “What! You said premature twice! What was I supposed to do, just sit here and not laugh?”

  Her head does a slow shake. “Unbelievable.”

  Oh whatever, drama queen. “You’re lucky I didn’t say what was on the tip of my tongue. You’re welcome.”

  If Hollis rolls her eyes any more tonight, they’re likely to get stuck up in her skull. “What was on the tip of your tongue? Now I have to hear it.”

  “I was gonna say…at least there was no premature ejaculating before I lied about you being my girlfriend—WHAT! STOP SPLASHING ME!”

  There is water everywhere now, and I can’t very well make her clean it up considering she’s the guest and I’m the butthole who drew her the bath in the first place.

  God I love myself for using the word butthole causally in a sentence, even if that sentence was only in my head.

  21

  Hollis

  “Wanna see something cool?”

  We’ve been in the bathtub a little over an hour, running the water when it gets cooler and talking, and all the while I’ve been admiring Buzz’s long legs. Tan skin, dark hair. Even his knees are handsome.

  “You better not be talking about your penis.”

  He looks guilty. “I’m not, but now that you mention it, my penis is pretty cool.”

  He’s not kidding—his dick is incredible. In looks and feels.

  I’m tempted to stick my toe in his crotch and tease his balls, but I’m afraid he’ll get a raging hard-on and want to have sex, and I’ve already been scolded three times for getting water on the floor.

  Sex would make the minor splashing seem like the first drop right before a dam bursts.

  The water is inches from the rim of the bathtub, and while it’s neat when he puts on the ceiling spout, it’s distracting and gets water in my face. Not as relaxing as I thought it would be when he first had it rain down on us.

  So we leave it off and use the traditional faucet to warm ourselves, my skin positively wrinkled.

  “My hands look like Betty White’s hands.” I hold them up: prunes.

  “I’d still take a handy from those.” His wicked smile makes my stomach flip.

  His dick is incredible…

  I look at it through the water, the depth making it hard to see. Plus, Buzz whined and whined until I caved and let him sink another bath bomb into the tub, creating an eggplant-emoji-colored haze.

  “This was really sweet of you.”

  “I felt bad about your bad day.” He’s quiet for a few seconds. “Did Madison call anyone else to let them know what happened?”

  I nod tersely. “My mom. Texted my siblings. Called my dad.”

  His lips are pressed together and I don’t have to explain to him why my family didn’t bother showing up. He’s part of that world. He gets it—no one worth their salt in the Steam organization would have left that game to come to the station. Had I been in the hospital? Slightly better odds, but only slightly.

  Pressing charges for what amounts to an attempted purse theft?

  Hell nah.

  Laughable!

  But he came and that knowledge has my heart racing all over again. Has me waxing poetic all over again. Has me leaning forward and puckering my mouth for a kiss again.

  He’s happy to lay one on me and we sit facing each other, kissing in the bath with wet, warm skin and slippery tongues.

  One hand slides over his bent knee, down the inside of his thick thigh, down the length of his hardening shaft.

  It’s hard—probably has been half the time we’ve been immersed here—so I grip it, using my thumb to tease the tip.

  Buzz moans into my mouth, taking his other hand and clasping it over mine, using it to stroke himself.

  His eyes slide closed. Kisses me deeper.

  “Fuck, babe…” That feels so good.

  He’s muttering now, more to himself than to me, giving me power, making me intoxicated with it. I make him feel good. Me.

  God, I think I might love this idiot I’ve known two weeks.

  The thought fills me with…

  …all the feels, whatever that means.

  And before I can think twice about it, I’m on my knees and climbing over his, and he’s making room for me in his lap and I’m sinking down onto his cock. In the tub.

  Side note: anyone who tells you water is a lubricant is a big fucking liar, ’cause it ain’t.

  It’s work sliding on. Takes some time. Painfully amazing, but a little painful all the same. Finally, I’m on.

  We’re as one as we could possibly be, mouths fused, bodies aligned, naked flesh and pounding hearts.

  I ride him slowly at first, so we don’t spill water over the edge, but there comes a point where neither of us can stand the slow pace. Can’t stand withholding the friction. Can’t stand drawing it out. So we move faster, Buzz’s large hands gripping my backside while his mouth sucks on my nipples, pulling and pushing me over him faster, faster, faster…

  “Fuck,” he says when the first wave of water splashes to the floor. “The girls are going to kill me.”

  Who. Cares.

  I don’t; all I care about is how fantastic his hard dick feels inside me and how amazing my tits feel inside his mouth and how gorgeous he is and how beautiful he makes me feel.

  His hands go to my shoulders and pull me down. Deeper he goes.

  I moan, grinding. Mmm…yes.

  Water splashes; my pussy pulses.

  “God yeah, baby. Fuck you’re sexy, Hollis,” he croons in that deep voice I love so much.

  Splash. Splash.

  Splash.

  The last wave goes over the edge when my orgasm hits and I’m lost. Gone. Crashing on his chest, falling, lips on his shoulder while we ride it out—

  “HEY, ASSHAT, WHOSE CAR IS THAT IN THE DRIVEWAY?”

  22

  Trace

  Nothing kills a climax like an older brother dropping by unexpectedly—almost as if he had it all planned out to ruin my life.

  I wouldn’t put it past him.

  “Fuck. My brother.” He better be alone; if he’s not, I’ll kill him.

  Hollis has her wet tits squished against my chest, riding out the afterglow from her orgasm—an outcome we weren’t able to share with my brother bellowing from the other room.

  She peels herself off me and glances toward the door. Covers her breasts with her hands, lest the jerk poke his
head through. “God, what the hell is with you two? Do you ever act normal?”

  Normal? “What is this word you speak of?”

  “Guess not.” She pulls away and tries to stand, her pussy in my line of vision, making my mouth water and my dick harden all over again. I want it and I want it bad, but I’m going to have to take a rain check.

  Tripp Wallace is in my house and he isn’t going to leave until he loiters his fair share. Steals my food. Watches a movie or two. Basically the same shit I pull on Noah Harding, but way more annoying. I’ve spent the last 27 years having this dickhead’s nose up my asshole. He can cut the umbilical cord any day now.

  Hollis takes one of the towels on the ledge and begins drying off, one moist limb at a time, a satisfied smile on her face. She glances back at me, over her shoulder. “Can you tell him you’ll be right out? I don’t want him walking in here.”

  “DON’T COME IN,” I bellow. “I’M NAKED AND I’M NOT ALONE.”

  Hollis glares.

  “What? I told him not to come in here.” Isn’t that what she wanted? Jeez.

  Her mouth opens, then shuts again. “Sigh.”

  I stand, too, grab a towel and wrap it around my waist to preserve my own modesty. Give her a delicate smack on the rear. A kiss on the shoulder, then one on the cheek.

  “Take your time. I’ll warm up dinner.”

  Her eyes get wide. “You’re feeding me?”

  “Babe, I got it all covered.” I point down at the white terrycloth robe with my initials on it. “You can snuggle up in that if you want.”

  I’m not sure what that look on her face is, but it’s something close to speechless—or adoration or worship. She’s making puppy dog eyes at me and I’m fucking here for it.

  Is it because I called her babe or because I’m feeding and taking care of her?

  Giving her one last smooch before padding barefoot to the closet, I yank a fresh t-shirt off a hanger and pull it over my head.

  “Hey Trace?”

  I turn.

  “Thank you.”

  Making toward the door to the kitchen, I blow her a kiss, feeling all kinds of cheesy.

  “Whose car is that outside?” Tripp wastes no time needling me for details, picking at the food on my counter as if he has an open invitation for dinner.

  He does not.

  “Hollis is here.”

  “Damn. She really is your girlfriend. I thought you were full of shit.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Whoa, easy. Did I interrupt something?” He pops a piece of steamed broccoli into his mouth—one I instantly try to pry out.

  “That’s not for you, shithead. If you want something, order it yourself.” I take the bowl from his hands and cradle it to my chest. “This is for Hollis. She had a bad day.”

  “I had a bad day, too, douche. Some asswipe driver in a Porsche cut me off at a green light.” My brother leans against the kitchen counter, stealing another bite of my dinner. “What was so bad about hers?”

  “She was assaulted in the parking garage where she works.”

  “What?” Tripp stands upright, face going pale. “Are you serious?”

  “Yup.”

  “Wow dude. Wow. I’m so sorry.” He takes advantage of my weakness and reaches for another broccoli floret.

  I give him a strange look—he’s sorry? I don’t often see him like this. He seems sincerely and appropriately shook—this from a man who never apologizes, one who has cold ice running through his veins and no human emotion.

  Allegedly.

  I used to call him a robot when we were younger; nothing would piss this guy off, nothing rocked his world. It took some serious prodding to rile him up, so much so that I assumed he had no human emotions.

  Obviously I gave him shit about it. And obviously, he’s matured, evolved into a bigger prick—one that is easier to aggravate.

  I pop the glass bowls containing dinner into the microwave, one at a time.

  “She was leaving the office early, some dude was at her car, and she startled him—he was trying to break in. When he couldn’t, he tried grabbing her laptop bag. She sprayed him with mace, thank god, and called the cops while he lay there.”

  “Holy shit, is she okay?”

  “Duh, I’m taking care of her.”

  His stare is blank. “How did you find out about all this? Didn’t you have a game?”

  I nod. “Skipped the beginning. Her best friend called while I was in the locker room, and normally I’d never answer, but for some reason I did, and thank fucking god.”

  “Wait—you skipped half of your game?”

  “No—I skipped the first inning and holy shit was Coach p-i-s-s-e-d pissed. But dude, how could I not have gone to the police station? Mom would have killed me.” She raised us better than that.

  “Okay, but…” Tripp hesitates, lowering his voice like he’s about to let me in on a secret. “You’re not actually dating her.”

  He has a point. “What’s your point?”

  “Uh…you’re not dating her, that’s my point.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? I care about her—what difference does it make if I’m dating her? If I want her in my life, I have to show her I’m going to be there, and not just during the off-season.”

  “Righttt, okay.” He pulls a face. “But still.”

  My brother is certifiable.

  I feel rage. “First of all, I’m telling Mom. Secondly, get out of my house with that attitude, you fucker.”

  His hands go up. “I’m just saying!”

  “Out.” I point toward the door. “I’m serious. I don’t need you here pissing me off and I don’t need you upsetting Hollis. Don’t text me until you’re right with yourself.”

  Tripp has absolutely no idea how to respond; he moves toward the door hesitantly, as if his feet are made of lead, stuck in tar. As if I’m going to change my mind about wanting him to go, as if I’m about to tell him, Just kidding!

  I don’t. I sincerely want him gone.

  This is not the time for his pessimistic bullshit.

  “Are you for real?” he asks before turning the knob for the garage service door.

  I raise my brows. “Bye.”

  Then my older brother is gone, the guy who taught me how to throw a pitch. The guy who ratted me out in high school when I tried to throw a house party. The guy who wouldn’t hand me a tissue after Stacy Blinkiwitcz dumped me, the jerk.

  A few moments later I hear the revving engine of his beastly pickup truck. After a few moments more, the sound fades away.

  “Trace?”

  Hollis is in the doorway, framed by the dark wood, looking vulnerable and adorable.

  “Hey!” I paste on a cheerful expression to replace the gloomy one. “There you are.” Fresh as a fucking daisy and twice as gorgeous.

  I could eat her up.

  Hollis glances around. “Was that a car I heard leaving?”

  “It was.” I fuss with the bowls on the counter, having reheated them all, and take out two plates from the cabinet, setting them on the counter.

  “Where did your brother go?”

  “I asked him to leave.” Told him to, actually—but telling her that might lead to questions, and the last thing I want to do is relive the things my older brother just said.

  No one needs that kind of negativity.

  Good vibes only, motherfucker. Be gone.

  She’s quiet, entering the kitchen in the too-big bathrobe, standing like a child dressed in her mother’s clothes, fiddling with the arm holes.

  “Trace, can I be honest?”

  I love it when she says my name. “I thought we already were.”

  That makes her smile. “I overheard you.”

  Crap. “Which part?”

  “Most of it.” She moves closer. “I don’t know what to say.”

  I smile, taking her face in my hands now that she’s standing in front of me. “That’s a first.”

  Her entire fac
e registers shock. “You asshole!” She swats at me, but we both end up laughing.

  “Oh please.” I kiss the tip of her nose and move back to distribute the food. “When have you ever been at a loss for words?”

  Her hands go to her hips. “Plenty of times.”

  “Oh yeah?” I scoop up some chicken lo mein and spoon it onto one plate, then some onto the other. “Name one time.”

  She scoffs. “I can’t come up with an example right off the top of my head—don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Because it’s never happened.”

  Hollis scrunches up her nose. “Can you not change the subject?”

  I sigh. “Fine. What did you want to say about my jerk brother? I’m sorry for what he said, alright? That’s why I asked him to leave.”

  Her pretty head gives a pretty little shake. “I wasn’t going to say anything about Tripp—I wanted to talk about what you said.”

  I rack my brain but can’t remember the things that were flying out of my mouth, I was so pissed.

  She tilts her head. “The part where you said you care about me—so it doesn’t matter that you aren’t dating me.”

  “Hmm, yes. Yes I did say that…”

  Hollis presses her body into mine, and I have to hold the spoon out of the way so it doesn’t get yummy yummy sauce in her hair.

  “And the part where you said if you want me in your life, you have to show me you’re there all the time and not just during the off-season.”

  The way she’s rubbing up against me is a good sign. A very good sign. “Did you like that?”

  “Mmhmm. It turned me on.” Her fingers toy with the neckline of my t-shirt. “No one has ever chosen me before.”

  Well shit. That breaks my fucking heart and I don’t know what to say to that—mostly because she’s being playful. Even so, the words are a confession steeped in deeply rooted hurt and without knowing I was doing it…I healed her a bit today.

  Me.

  Simply by going to her when she needed someone.

  “Hollis, can I ask you something?” I push a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Hmm?”

  “Why didn’t Madison show up today? Why did she call me instead?”

  “That’s a very good question,” she says. “And I did call her on my way home. We talked about it, and…to be completely honest…she was giving you the chance to step up.”