Vérité

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “You’ll see, darling, and then maybe you’ll consider paying us a visit?”

  I hung up. Just pulled the phone away from my ear and swiped my finger across the END CALL button.

  It was always quid pro quo with my parents. They did something for me, and then expected something in return. Although usually both things ended up in their favor—like Blane Maxwell. I’d been so in love with him, ever since we were little kids playing out back in the pool with our nannies watching from deck chairs. As we grew older and my feelings matured, it was hard to hide them. My eyelashes seemed to bat of their own volition, my hips cocked his way, and my heart rate sped up, even though I constantly pleaded for all three to stop.

  Sometimes I’d flirt over a glass of lemonade or run by his house, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. He was the captain of the soccer and tennis team, and his long and muscular frame had caught the eye of all the girls in our prep school. We’d all pull up in the morning in our Range Rovers and Mercedes SUVs, unfold our bodies from the air-conditioned cabins of our luxury vehicles, and all eyes would be on Blane Maxwell. The real kicker had been, he didn’t really even notice it. He was shy, quiet, a leader on the field, but not in class or student council—where his parents wanted him to show his prowess. Otherwise, how would he take over the family shipping business?

  Our parents were friends, of course, society buddies who shared expensive cocktails at the club or the Beverly Hills Hotel. From time to time, they would meet at our house for an aperitif, and I would sit at the top of the stairs and eavesdrop.

  “Oh, our Blane, what will we do with him?” his mom would say. “How will he find his way? He doesn’t even have a lady by his side.”

  I wanted the position more than anything, and somehow my parents had caught wind of this. When I was fifteen, they arranged for a big family cookout—catered, of course—where Blane and I were thrown next to each other at the end of the large picnic table set up on our deck. My dad had offered Blane a beer, calling him a man for the night, and Blane didn’t even have a driver’s license yet. Blane took a few sips of the pale ale while eating, and then he suggested we take a walk behind the pool house.

  My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. Behind the pool house? That could only mean one thing. Blane Maxwell was going to make a pass at me . . . me! I agreed to go, and we strolled out back. I took in the rolling pink-and-purple landscape set against the Hollywood Hills, and I couldn’t believe I was sharing this moment with Blane.

  When we got behind the pool house, I turned and faced him with bright eyes and a pouty, seductive smile.

  Blane faced me, his expression somewhat bored. “Look, I know you like me, and I know I shouldn’t have agreed to this, but your dad offered your virginity to me. My dad says if I take it, he’ll know I have the balls to run the family business. After all,” he formed his fingers into air quotes, “‘anyone willing to deflower Colt Simmons’s daughter has balls enough to run the world.’ And I need that company in my name,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  Shocked, I stood there gaping at him as a lone tear trailed down my cheek. The sun beat on my fair scalp as I stared at him, sweat pooling under my arms. I couldn’t understand why Blane would agree to this, or why deflowering Colt Simmons’s daughter was such a prize.

  “It’s because you’re such a butch and flat-chested from all that running, always wearing cutoffs instead of dresses,” he said, answering my unasked question.

  I cocked my head to the side and stared at him. “Did I say that out loud?”

  “Yeah,” he said, zero emotion in his eyes. He was all business when it came to my virginity and my apparent butchiness. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t want your virginity.”

  It was then that I slapped him—hard—and his eyes widened with shock as my handprint marked his face, the imprint growing redder with each passing second.

  “It’s not you, it’s me,” he said, defending himself. “I’m gay, but my parents would never accept that. I need this, Tingly.”

  I’d never hated my stupid, stuck-up name more than when I heard it roll off his tongue. It was a family name—my mother’s maiden name, in fact—and I detested what it stood for. Money, bureaucracy, political bullshit, the cornerstones of my mother’s family. Now it stood for Blane’s personal wishes, spoken in his whiny voice and infused with his deep-seated desires. It was like hearing nails on a chalkboard.

  “I just need you to say it happened to a few girls, let it get around school. We’ll pretend to date and then break up. Please, Tingly?”

  I agreed to it, though, but our breakup didn’t go as he’d planned. He may have made everyone believe he’d deflowered Colt Simmons’s daughter, but I’d decided that Blane’s father—my dad’s closest business friend—was way more appealing.

  My ugly trip down memory lane was interrupted by my phone ringing again. I felt around the bed for it, but it wasn’t there. The ringing stopped and started again. Leaning over the side of the bed, I saw it buzzing on the floor and snatched it up. This time I made sure to check the caller ID, and saw it was Tiberius.

  “Hello,” I said, my voice still hoarse with pain.

  “T, what’s wrong? What happened to you?” His voice was laced with worry and heavy New Jersey. “Where’d you go?”

  “I had some work, but I caught the first half. Sorry, I missed the rest,” I said, trying to steady my tone.

  “Rex? Come on. You mad about the big screen?”

  “I’m just trying to lay low, Ty. Now we’re everywhere.”

  “So? When it means something, T, that’s a good thing.” I could practically hear him smiling through the phone. “I thought I told you to tell me you were coming. I would’ve got you a ticket.”

  “I didn’t decide till last minute. I was tutoring that girl I told you about.”

  “Well, you missed me. I got in during the third and fourth.”

  If I didn’t feel like shit before, I felt it now. “Oh, Ty. I’m sorry. It’s just I don’t want you to be that guy. The one who picked up Professor Dubois’s sloppy seconds.”

  “You in your room?” he asked, ignoring my remark.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, I’m coming up.” The line went dead.

  A moment later I heard a knock on the door, and ran my fingers through my ratty hair on my way to answer it.

  As soon as I opened the door a crack, Tiberius pushed his way inside and kicked it closed with his basketball shoe. I heard the lock click as he turned, and then he was on me—pushing me against the wall, hammering my mouth with his.

  I let out a tiny moan, and his tongue slipped between my lips, tangling with mine. Although slow, take-our-time Tiberius had clearly left campus, the kiss wasn’t barren of feeling. To the contrary, it was fueled with meaning. I could feel passion radiating off Tiberius, flowing from his pores.

  “T, baby?” he said, breaking away from my lips. We were still pushed up against the wall in the hallway, my back flush with the drywall, his front pressed against mine.

  “Yeah?”

  “Good thing you weren’t near me when the cameras swung our way, because I’d have done that. And I would’ve got thrown off the team,” he said through uneven breaths.

  “I don’t want that.” I sucked in a gulp, trying to catch my own breath as my chest heaved.

  “What? Me off the team? Or me to kiss you like that?” He leaned his forehead to mine.

  “You off the team, but I also don’t want you saddled with my rep.”

  “I told ya, Rex, I ain’t gonna let you hide behind that shit.”

  He took my hand and walked me toward my room. “Lock the door,” he instructed, and I did. “You gonna ask me about my game?” He leaned against my dresser while I stood in the middle of the room under his scrutiny.

  I nodded. “How’d you do?”

  “Had eight points, two from a dunk. Was pretty good for the minutes I played.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it, Ty. Really, I am.�
� Behind my back, I was wringing my hands and crossing my fingers like a schoolgirl who had misbehaved, hoping he wasn’t mad. Then again, this was my first real relationship. Up until now, everything I’d done was child’s play.

  He stalked toward me, his size 14 feet eating up the carpet in three steps, and kissed the top of my head before lifting my chin and forcing me to look at him. His hands were on my shoulders, more bracing my body than holding it in place.

  “Leave your running for the track, T. Leave your past where it belongs . . . in the dirt. If you’re gonna run, run to me, to your future, to being happy.”

  He didn’t say anything more. His lips came back to mine and we fell on the bed. He kicked his shoes off and crawled over me, then twisted and pulled me on top of him. His hands skimmed down my back, settling on my butt.

  My bed was smaller than his, but I wasn’t uncomfortable sharing the space with his large frame. I ran my hands down his sides, then sat up and straddled him. My hands came back up and roamed underneath his shirt, smoothing along his nipples, and finally lifted his shirt over his head. I looked for approval, for permission to do what I wanted to do, which was take him in my mouth. The only light in the room was the small lamp over my bed, and it cast a warm glow all over his chest and face, allowing me to see the hunger in his eyes.

  Drifting down his body, I pulled off his track pants and boxer briefs. I felt him use his feet to push them off the rest of the way, and I smiled to myself. I’d been with a lot of men since I was fifteen. Blane Maxwell may not have stolen my virginity, but his dad ate great pussy. For years, I’d been testing boundaries, pushing limits, giving my parents the big “eff you,” but this time was different. I wanted this to mean something, and it did. It wasn’t only about getting off or getting caught, but about making someone I cared about feel good.

  I took his length in my hand and lazily dragged my fingers up and down, paying special attention to the tip. A drop of pre-come slipped out, and I bent down to lick it before taking all of him in my mouth. He was big—it was no easy feat, but I did it. A loud moan broke from his chest, traveling through his whole body, all the way up his dick and into my mouth.

  I did that. I made him do that. Me. This propelled me on, and I began to suck a little harder, setting an even pace up and down all of him, my tongue swirling his tip when I made it to the top. Nothing mattered but making Tiberius happy. Sure, it was passionate and I was starved for more, but I’d never felt this way before, wanting nothing more than to satisfy someone.

  His hips lifted off the bed and he moaned again, this time adding, “Oh God, T,” at the end. So I picked up my pace, and his tip hit the back of my throat. I resisted gagging and continued to take him, but when his hand reached down and stilled my head, I stopped to look up at him.

  “T, come here. I don’t want to finish like that,” he whispered.

  Normally, I would ignore that request and keep going, but his eyes revealed something else. He was ready to make it all worth something, and I wanted that. I wanted it all with Tiberius, so I stopped and climbed back up his long torso, where he pulled me in for a deep kiss.

  “S’okay?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “I want it all with you, Rex. But only because you know it means something.” His chest lifted as I breathed in; we were in perfect sync.

  I nodded again.

  “Say it.”

  “I want all of you, Tiberius, because I now know it means something.” My eyes blurred and I wasn’t totally sure, but I think they were welling up.

  Ty swiped a finger across my cheek. “What’s that for?”

  “It’s a happy thing. You may not have slept all over town, but I have no experience with this,” I said, flapping my hand between the two of us. “This meaning something.”

  All he did was reach up and grab me into a kiss before rolling me over and traveling the length of my body, leisurely dragging my pants off, and making his way back up until his mouth settled back between my legs. He took long and languid strokes up my core, settling on my hot spot, lingering softly before going into an all-out frenzy there.

  I bit into the pillow in order to avoid screaming his name, but then he was gone. I went cold immediately at the absence of his hot mouth on my clit, until I turned my head to the side and saw what he was doing. He was grabbing a condom from his pants and rolling it on. He looked glorious in the light, all strong and tall and muscular. And he was smiling. This one was a little sexier than usual, no dimples.

  Before the goose bumps could go away, Tiberius was back on top of me, running a hand down my side and over my breast, tweaking my nipple while he kissed me with no urgency. After all, we had all night. There was no one to catch us. We weren’t sprinting; we were running a leisurely marathon. His finger traced a path down to my core, coming up wet, and he used the wetness to stroke his length over the condom before guiding himself inside me.

  He wasn’t unsure. He was gentle, careful, and deliberate about making it good. If he was nervous, it didn’t show. His shoulders and biceps flexed as he held his weight off of me, and he started to pump in and out. Slowly at first, then faster as I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts.

  He ran his tongue down my neck, biting and nipping his way back up to my mouth. “Feels damn good,” he said against my lips.

  “More,” I whispered back, and he picked up the pace.

  I wrapped my legs around his back, allowing him to deepen his thrusts. With each stroke, he hit my spot, and within minutes I was moaning and my insides were clenching his dick tight. With my eyes open, I watched my reflection in his eyes—the satisfaction of my hunger being played out before me.

  “Oh shit,” he said, and then he exploded inside me. My whole body shifted from the sheer force of it.

  Tiberius slowed his movements, but didn’t stop as we both came down. We had both stilled and were gasping, breathing heavily, when he stood and pulled off the condom, then yanked up his pants, telling me he’d be right back. Seconds later, he slipped back into bed, then proceeded to gather me in his arms, turn me on my side, and spoon me before pulling the covers over us.

  “’Night, Rex,” he said into my ear.

  And that was exactly how I woke up the next morning . . . spooning in his arms in my tiny bed.

  Tiberius found me the next morning as I was guzzling a cup of coffee and cramming a PowerBar into my mouth.

  “Hey.” He was a glorious sight shirtless, with his track pants riding low on his hips.

  “Good morning,” I said between bites.

  He lifted one eyebrow. “You doing all right?”

  “Yeah, I was going to run and be back. I need to run, just run. Not away from you, from myself. I don’t know . . . I’m overwhelmed with shit after last night,” I admitted.

  “You go run. I’ll be waiting right here for you.” With an encouraging smile, Tiberius collapsed onto the couch and snatched the remote control from the coffee table.

  “I may go long,” I added.

  He lifted a hand to wave good-bye as he focused on the TV. “S’okay.”

  Well, that was easier than I thought. After tying on my shoes, I grabbed my watch from my dresser and shoved my earbuds in my ears. Then I left.

  When I headed back to my room after my run, I heard laughing from outside the door as I pulled my key out and turned off my music. Ty’s deep laugh radiated through the plywood, with a bunch of female giggling following right behind.

  Oh shit, my dorm was turning into a brothel, and Tiberius was the entertainment.

  “Hey,” I called out, announcing myself as I opened the door. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but considering my track record, I wasn’t sure it would be pretty.

  Chey was standing in the middle of the kitchenette, guzzling coffee straight from the pot while wearing nothing but a long T-shirt. Stacy was bent over in fits of laughter, her afro puffs wild and crazy, and Ginny was in the corner, crossing her legs as if she was going to pee herself in her boy
shorts and a tank. Ty was leaning against the counter—still shirtless—saying, “I’m not shitting you. You do not want to get involved with him.”

  When he saw me, he shouted, “Hey, Rex!” like this was an everyday thing, him half-naked in my apartment and entertaining a bunch of barely dressed girls.

  I waved and then turned my attention to Chey. “Do you do that every day with my coffeepot?” This set all of them off into more fits of laughter, and I knew she did.

  Setting the pot back on the warmer and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Chey said, “No reason for the coffee to go to waste, girl.”

  I pretended to yack before saying, “That’s disgusting.”

  “Babe, the girls were just telling me ’bout Tiffanie and how she kept banging you on the shoulder last night,” Tiberius said. “You okay? Bruised? She’s a big girl.”

  “I’m fine.” I turned my bare shoulder toward him, saying, “See?”

  He approached and leaned over, moving my tank strap aside before planting a kiss on my sweaty shoulder, right there in front of the whole crew.

  “Ooh, you go, girl,” Chey chanted while doing some kind of funky dance moves with her hips. Stacy chimed in and Ginny clapped.

  “Not you too, Ginny?”

  I moved toward the bathroom with Tiberius hot on my heels. Before I could shut the door in his face, he was inside the small bathroom, kissing me up against the sink as the counter’s edge dug into my ass, and I didn’t care.

  He turned us and settled himself against the sink, holding me close as he asked, “Feel better after the run? Got your head straight, T?” His hand rested on the back of my neck and he dragged my head, lining up our cheeks as he breathed deeply. “Feel that? Nothing to run from. That’s pure good, babe,” he whispered, his lips brushing my cheek, tiny whiskers scratching my skin.

  “I feel better. Never felt like this before,” I admitted without our eyes meeting. “I have a bad past—”

  “Told you I don’t give a shit ’bout that.”

  “It’s worse than that, Ty. You may not like a lot of it.” I buried my face on his shoulder, saying some type of silent prayer that he didn’t really care.