by Lexi Whitlow
When I stop, the streets around me are dark and oddly vacant. The houses are small, tightly packed, with iron bars on their windows, spray-painted tags on the brickwork. The street is roughly patched, dimly lit. Ahead are empty lots and squat warehouses. Nothing looks familiar. I cast around for street markers.
Grayland Avenue and Robinson Street.
Shit. This part of town can get sketchy, especially at night.
I turn around, heading back. It seems darker this time through. Cooler. Quieter. A chill shudders me when I spy someone crossing the street ahead of me. I’m way out of familiar territory and all alone.
My phone rings. I reach for it. It’s Hayes.
He’ll want to come get me. He’s not thinking straight right now, and he’s been drinking. I let the phone go unanswered and I keep walking.
I cover the three blocks back to Main Street at a rapid clip, then dash across the intersection toward a neighborhood that feels more familiar. A few blocks further, crossing over Grove Avenue, I’m near home, on my own turf.
My phone rings again. This time it’s Paul. I swipe to answer.
“Where are you?” he asks. I hear the din of party noise in the background.
“Not far,” I say. “Walking back home. I’m fine.”
“Where did you go?” His tone is short.
“Nowhere. Away from there.”
“Greg’s here. He’s got his car. Let me come get you.”
“I’m almost home,” I tell him. “I’ll be there. I’m not coming back to the party. I just want to go home and go to bed. Really Paul, I’m fine. I’m just a couple blocks away.”
“Call me when you get here, just so I know you’re okay. Hayes is freaking out.”
I promise I’ll call him when I get back.
Instead of heading up to Hanover and going in the front way, I turn down the alley behind the carriage house. I can climb the wall with only a little effort, ideally avoiding most of the party crowd. My feet ache. I’m tired. I just want to go home, go to bed, and maybe cry.
When I mount the back wall, there are only a few people in the yard. Luckily, they don’t see me, as trees shade the area thoroughly. I drop down and move toward the stairs, and that’s when I see Hayes sitting half way up the landing, his head hung low, his elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging between them.
I can’t go around him, over him, or through him. He wants to talk – or he wants a confrontation – even though he’s too drunk to be reasonable. There’s no avoiding it.
I lift my phone call Paul.
“I’m home,” I say, keeping it brief. “I’m okay. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
Hayes looks up, eyes bleary, face drawn.
“I just want to go inside,” I say to him. “I’m tired.”
He nods. “I was worried about you. I’m glad you’re safe.” His voice is raw.
“I’m fine,” I quip. “Can I get by you now?” Anger is taking a front seat to hurt. He had no right to expose us to the ridicule and gossip of the entire school. I have no clue what’s going to happen, but at the very least it’s going to be awkward as shit for me for the balance of my college career.
“Can we please just talk a minute?” Hayes begs me. “Please?”
“You’re drunk, and I’m pissed off. Let’s wait ‘til you’ve sobered up.”
I try to step past him, but he catches my arm, holding me back. “Please, Chloe. I’ve been patient with you. For god’s sake, I’ve been a saint. Will you please just talk to me?”
He has been patient. More patient, probably, than anyone else would have been. I’ve made him wait and wait. Not because I don’t want to, but because I think I want it too much. I’m scared of what I feel when we get that close. I’m scared of needing it, and needing him. I’ve kept him at arm’s length because I’m afraid.
For his patience, at least, I owe him what he asks.
“Inside,” I say. “We’ve given them enough of a show for one night.”
He stands aside, letting me walk past. He follows me up.
Once inside, I drop my bag and peel boots off my aching feet, letting them flop to the floor. I collapse on the couch, waiting.
“So, talk,” I say.
Hayes regards me with a pained expression. He hauls in a breath, exhales, then looks toward my kitchen.
“Can I make a pot of coffee?” he asks.
Oh, good lord. He really is pitiful.
“I’ll do it. You sit,” I instruct, sharp. “Think about what you want to say. I’m going to bed soon.”
When I return with a mug of steaming hot coffee, he accepts it greedily. I made myself one too, because I’m exhausted, and fuzzy, and if we’re really going to talk, I need the jolt to remain conscious for it.
“You wanted to talk,” I remind him, watching him peer into his mug as if it might impart some much-needed wisdom.
“The girl,” he begins. “The one you saw me with upstairs…” He takes a breath and holds it, then, lets it go. “I slept with her.”
He what? When?
His eyes meet mine. “It was just a few days after I got here. Before I even knew who you were. I met her in a bar. I didn’t even know…”
“I really don’t need the details,” I snap, feeling a knot form in my throat. What did I think? Did I honestly believe there was never anyone before me? How naïve could I be?
“It was once. It was a random hook-up. I don’t want to repeat it. I wish I hadn’t done it. But Chloe, you need to know, it’s hard waiting for you.” He sips his coffee, drinking it in, trying to clear his head. “When we’re together it’s perfect, and then you push me away for weeks on end. I’m starting to think I’m crazy, deluding myself. If you don’t want us…”
“You’re not crazy,” I say. A knot forms in my throat. I’m not used to this. I don’t let myself feel anything. With him I feel everything too intensely. “I’m scared,” I admit. “I’ve never let myself care about anyone else. I can barely take decent care of myself. With you it’s… I care…”
His eyes brighten. He smiles hopefully. “Good.” He leans forward, putting his cup down. He slips his hand into mine. “Good,” he says again. “Chloe, you need to know this…” He hesitates, trying to find the right words. “I’ve… I’ve fucked around—a lot. But… I’m kind of like you. I never cared about any of them. I’m twenty-four years-old, almost twenty-five, and I’ve never had a real girlfriend. I’ve never dated in the conventional sense. I’ve sure as shit never wanted anyone to wake up next to. With you… it’s completely different. I’m so far beyond my depth with you, I feel like I’m drowning.”
He’s never had a girlfriend? How can that be?
He explains it to me. There were lots of flirtations leading to curious hook-ups. Early on, sometimes with students, all older than him. Later, with women like Liza who he worked with or worked for, who enjoyed playing the dominant in the relationship. Sometimes they were married and bored. Sometimes they were just bored.
“After a while I got used to the casual, one-time thing,” he admits. “I’m not proud of it.”
Meanwhile, I just got used to being completely alone, unwilling to trust, afraid of being close to anyone, even for a few vulnerable moments. I’m not sure which one of us is worse. I suspect he’s been braver than me.
“What’s going to happen now?” I ask him. “You blew us wide open.”
He nods, a chastened expression settling upon him. “Yeah, I did do that, didn’t I?”
He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “I think you moving in here, and me helping you at school set tongues wagging weeks ago.”
I haven’t heard it. I tell him as much.
“That’s because you’re too busy to slow down and pay attention. I catch it in the hallways. In staff meetings. People are talking. Tonight just confirmed it for everyone.”
Shit.
He smiles at me. “It’ll be worse on me than on you. I’ll take some shit from Liza and the Dean. But in the long
run, we’re both consenting adults.”
This all seems very unfair, especially considering the very real fact that we haven’t slept together.
Everyone thinks we’re sleeping together. We’re both going to face the consequences of sleeping together, whether we’ve done it or not.
I take a swig of my coffee, swallowing a gulp. Then I take another.
“Why did you kiss me downstairs? In front of everyone?” I ask him.
Hayes considers the question. When he answers, his response isn’t what I expect.
“I wanted to force your hand,” he says. “You’ve been on the fence with me for so long, stringing me along. I don’t care what they think. Whatever it is, I’ll survive it. But I want you to know that I’m proud of you, and proud to claim you. Proud to have you claim me.”
Damn. Okay. Maybe I’m not completely crazy.
“I have something I need to tell you.” Apparently, it’s the night for revelations and confessions.
Hayes lifts his coffee, sipping. “Okay.”
I pull my mug close for a measure of security, gripping its warm, glazed surface between two hands.
“I’m on the pill,” I say. “I started about two weeks ago. I’m… I’m in the safe zone, according to the insert.”
Hayes blinks. His expression brightens. “Really?” he asks, disbelief in his air. “Seriously? So, you’ve been planning…?”
I nod.
“Fucking hell,” he almost moans, leaning forward to kiss me.
When our lips meet, the familiar electricity between us fires, crackling hot and sharp. Hayes pulls me close, his strong hands lifting me, drawing me into his body. Our tongues mesh together, teeth clashing briefly until we find that perfect space between us, energy flowing hot with charged current, flooding our senses, filling our lungs, speeding our hearts.
Am I really going to do this? I’ve waited so long, put him off so many times. It seems impossible. There’s still time to back down.
His hands slip under me, lifting me. The strength in him, his power, raises me up as if I weigh nothing at all. I’m in the air, in his arms while he kisses me. He moves me through the apartment like we’re floating, then lays me down on my bed like I’m a feather, climbing in over me, never breaking his hungry kisses.
Can I do this? What will it be?
His hands find my breasts through fabric, peaking my nipples, reminding me of that excruciating ache and hollow space deep inside.
He sits up, peeling his shirt off, lifting it over his head. “I want my skin on your skin,” he purrs, dropping down again, unbuttoning my blouse, rolling it off my shoulders, slipping it over my arms. His lips press against lace shrouded nipples. His left hand slips under me, releasing my bra clasp. He pulls the delicate hardware away, baring me to his attentions.
His fingers pull at my nipples while his lips suck the air from my lungs, leaving me heaving, arching against him, my body aching for more.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but instinctively, my hands fall low, seizing his waistband, finding belt and buckle, fumbling with it.
Hayes raises up, hanging above me, biceps and shoulders taught. He smiles at me wickedly. “Impatient?” he asks.
I nod. I’m impatient. I’m not quite sure what I’m impatient for. My imagination hasn’t had enough input to fully process the need in me to have him naked above me.
Hayes reaches down, unbuttoning then unzipping my jeans. He sits back on his haunches and peels them off of me. He casts them aside, inside out, on the floor beside the bed. Then, hooking a thumb around the band of my cotton panties, he tugs them, slipping them off, over my knees, all the time never breaking eye contact with me.
His hands, attentive fingertips, run over my skin, overwhelming me, waking me to the sensation of touch in places where no one has ever been except him.
The next thing he does sends me reeling. Without warning he plunges a finger deep into my body. I feel my muscles reflexively tighten at the assault. Wet heat pours out of me, drenching his fist in creamy lubrication.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he whispers hoarsely. “Fuck. So wet, and so damn tight.”
Is that good?
Once more my hands find their way to his jeans, slipping his belt loose, snapping the button at his waist band. He relaxes on his haunches, letting me. I unzip him, slipping my curious hand inside while his finger pumps me, his thumb pressing my clit, circling me with pleasure. What I discover shocks me. It’s not like in photographs or films.
God, he’s so firm, and so warm.
I slip my fingers around him, bringing his length out, shoving his underwear down. Withdrawing his hand from me, Hayes helps me, kicking his jeans off, slipping out of his shorts. He wraps his hand around my hand, showing me how to stroke him, showing me his full length and girth.
With his hand on mine, he strokes himself, improving on the already intimidating hard-on.
He’s going to put that inside me? Oh god.
He leans down, pushing my hand aside, slipping himself between my legs, shoving my thighs apart with his knees. He drops his cock onto my sex, drawing it back and forth, sliding his shaft gently between the folds of my slit.
Fuck, that feels good. I arch up to meet him. Hayes lets a small, satisfied laugh escape.
“Like that?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I reply weakly. I know there’s more to it. Every cell in my body is screaming for whatever is next.
He kisses me again, pressing his chest to my tits, his weight bearing down upon me, his cock hard against my mound, teasing my clit, torturing me.
He pulls up a moment later, hanging over me, muscles trembling. “You ready?” he asks me. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I say. I have no idea.
Hayes reaches down, slipping a finger inside me, then pressing in two, rolling against my walls, stretching me, filling me. Removing his fingers, he guides his hard cock toward the same space. My muscles oppose him, but the syrup flowing from inside me eases the path forward. His hips press on. He penetrates an inch, then with another thrust, two.
It hurts. It hurts beautifully. Oh, God — can I even take this?
He draws back—the most exquisite pain and pleasure I’ve ever known—then he reverses, shoving in forward, harder, deeper.
Oh, god. Oh, fucking hell.
“Oh fuck,” I whine.
His body tenses. His breath catches.
“Relax,” he purrs, slowing.
I take a breath. “Keep going,” I say.
He moves ahead gingerly, gliding in and out of me at a careful pace. He lifts over me so we can see one another.
“You feel so good,” he says, his eyes locking on mine, his breath hot on my skin. “I’ve never felt anything like this. Fucking incredible.”
His body rolls into me, then out, and just as he promised, the pain subsides, replaced by waves of pleasure. He fills me, then withdraws, sucking me out, making my body rise and fall with his easy strokes.
I slip my hands over his hips, pressing him deeper. This is the most amazing feeling. His belly and mine, melded. His body inside my body. This is exquisite torture.
Oh god, I think I’m dying. If my heart stops right now, that would be fine. This is bliss, feeling Hayes in me, on me, owning me. His body rolling into mine like we’re made of one thing.
“You came for me when it was just my mouth. Think about how that felt,” he purrs. “Let your body find that.”
He shoves in again, his hips lifting mine. He pulls my thighs up higher, my legs wrap around his hips, drawing me even closer into him. My hands rise, touching his chest, feeling the slick moisture of sweat slipping from his pores. Drawing out again, my snatch grips him, not wanting him to leave me.
Oh god…
“Feel me,” he whispers, “Feel everything.”
My breath catches in my chest as a spasm echoes from my belly out through my spine.
“That’s it,” Hayes coaches. “God, you feel sublime.”
He shoves in again, his cock going deep, touching some hidden part of my anatomy that’s never been known. Another spasm shudders me, emanating from my depths, radiating in waves out through my toes. This is so different than anything…
“Oh…”
“That’s it,” he urges, hauling himself in and out again at a slow pace. “I’ll fuck you like this all-night long.”
Time ceases to exist. Light goes dark, eclipsing reality. The only sound I know is the sound of two heartbeats, pounding in synchronicity. My brain switches off. Clouds of cobalt blue and violet fill my mind. There’s no past. No future. Just this precise moment. This moment. Pleasure explodes inside me. It quakes, overtaking me, riddling me with blinding sensation from my snatch to my eyelashes.
“Ooooh… fuuuu… meee…”
“That’s it,” Hayes laughs, picking up his pace, going harder, deeper. “That’s my beautiful, sweet girl. Yeah.”
An instant later I feel him hesitate, shove in hard, and then moan against my neck as he releases, pounding his length into my depths, drawing out, and then spearing me again and again.
“Oh… God… fuck… yes,” he hisses into my neck, coming hard, filling me up, my own orgasm still sucking him, milking him, drawing his liquid into me.
“Chloe, oh my sweet, perfect Chloe,” he moans into my hair.
When it’s done, all that’s left is heaving breaths, sticky sweat, and our mingling heat; perfection.
Hayes lifts himself up, the slick heat of our sweat sucking between us. He’s wearing a dazed expression and a crooked smile. He kisses me, but I can barely return it I’m so rattled.
My mind is a blank, empty slate. No recollection of any thoughts I had an hour before. Nothing troubling me. My body limp beneath his.
Hayes bites his lip, then slowly, gently pulls back. At once the pain returns, searing me from the inside out. It triggers me to consciousness, ripping me aware with the sound of my own cries.
“Easy, easy…” Hayes whispers, stopping. He blinks. “Relax… let me go.”
I try to do what he says, but my body won’t cooperate. He slides out, and it hurts. My fingers dig into the hard muscle at his shoulders as I wince.
“Fuck,” he says, heaving another hot breath. “God, you are so tight.”
