“Doesn’t want you?” I literally have to keep my jaw from unhinging and clattering to the floor. “Aside from all those false things you just said about me, how could you for one second think me, Acne Hayes, wouldn’t want to sleep with you?”
His expression shutters at the use of my nickname.
“I know that’s what they call me,” I say with false bravado. “The guys in the locker room.”
“Not your brother. Not his friends.”
“Because he’d amputate their toes, one by one.”
“No, because they—I—respect you. Lov—” He swallows. Looks away, then back again. “I’d never do anything to hurt you. I felt like touching you might break everything we were building together. Not for one second did I think you read my distance as me being repulsed by you.”
“You’re playing a game with me.”
As it sinks in, I back away, horror washing away any remaining swells of nausea.
“Is this some kind of dare you cropped up?” I ask. “To make me feel special, then laugh at me tomorrow? To gut me and make me feel worthless?”
“What? No. No, Astor.” He straightens from the side of the bed, but I’m still backing away, on my hands and knees, and get to my feet.
“Get out.”
Ben rises with me. “Astor, please.”
“Leave, Ben.”
Before the tears build up. Before the waterfall kills me.
“Not until you understand. Tonight’s a fucked up one, you may not see me tomorrow, but it’s not because of that. It’ll never be because of that.”
“What’s that even supposed to mean?”
He closes the space between us, lays his hands on my arms. “I can’t tell you everything that’s gone on. But I can say this: You mean something. To me. Maybe everything. And I want to give you tonight. To finally touch you, and feel you. You, Astor. Not some girl you’re trying to be. And not some guy I’m trying to leave behind. Just us. Can we do that?” He slides his hands up, trailing shivers in his wake, and cups my neck, his thumbs tracing circles against my jaw. “Can we have that?”
God help me, I can’t say no to him. Not to his beautiful face, all angles and curves. His sharp edges are gorgeous on his cheeks, in his jawline. Mine are in all the wrong places. My hips, my knees and elbows. But he makes me feel beautiful. Even before tonight, with these words, he makes me feel special and important. And that can’t be a facade. If it is, it’d destroy me.
Ben makes my complexion appear flawless. He gives mounds to my boobs, makes my ass thick and sexy. He turns me into a woman simply by laying his eyes on me.
I step back from Ben and his shoulders sag as he thinks I’m denying him. But I lift my shirt, peeling it off and over my head. His nostrils flare at the sight, at the see-through purple lace.
I don’t need these baubles, I think. Not under his appreciative stare. I can remove the frills, step out of the thong, and he would still want to touch me. So I do.
Ben has all of me, and as his stare rakes over every exposed crevice, I shake with fear. He can wax on about how beautiful I am all he wants, but reality is a brutal beast.
Maybe, upon seeing me naked, he’ll reconsider.
Ben’s lips part.
In one step he’s thrown me against him, his hands exploring and stroking and doing sinful things, before his lips lay claim to mine.
And it’s not my mouth.
“Oh … oh, my God,” I say as I wobble on trembling legs. He’s parted my thighs, spread my lips down there, and placed his tongue in parts I didn’t know I possessed. Pleasure zings through my hips, straight to my nipples, and I nearly topple over.
He lifts off just enough to say, “Lean on the wall.”
I catch his eyes, and I can’t discern the color anymore, they’re so dark. I do as he asks, since what the hell else would I do, and the shock of my bare back against the cold concrete wall is nothing compared to the ripples Ben’s causing.
I can’t stand. Can’t do it anymore. If I have to hold myself up any longer, I’ll—
“Come for me,” he says, but it’s not at me. It’s into me. The vibrations alone are causing me to bite my lip so hard I’m going to bleed.
“I…”
I’m writhing, balancing on my tip-toes while staring at the ceiling and clawing at the walls like I’m possessed.
“Come on, baby. I want the best taste for last. Come for me.”
Gasping, heaving, I close my eyes, readying for the edge. I can feel it, building at my center, spreading its wings across my chest, a flower blossoming, a spaceship deploying, a nuclear bomb detonating, and I cry out on lift off.
Ben catches me as I go limp and carries me to my bed. He lays me down gently, hovering above.
“Hey,” he says, stroking my cheek. “Are those tears?”
“N-no,” I say, embarrassed for the trillionth time tonight. “They’re … it’s sweat.”
“Uh-huh.”
“No one’s ever made me feel that way, Ben. Like you just did.”
“You mean, you’ve never orgasmed?”
“I have, it’s just…” Hell, I’ve already proved what a newbie I am, might as well go full throttle. “It’s never felt that good.”
He cocks his head. “Are you a virgin?”
“No,” I say quickly, lest he scream and run away. “I’ve slept with someone. But I’ve never had that feeling, you know.”
“You mean, they’ve never taken the time to give you the full experience of pleasure.”
The way Ben says these things, like it’s so natural for him to talk about sex and orgasms and ecstasy, it throws me. Not because I’m ashamed of it, but I’m certainly not used to it. Sex wasn’t a thing my past boyfriend wanted to talk about. My parents didn’t really discuss it, and hell if I was going to ask Locke about anything. Way too embarrassing.
I felt more like a vessel than a woman. There for a man to get off, and maybe, if there was time, I’d get a little inkling of it. I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel so good with a man, until now.
Ben.
Before I rethink it—too much thinking—I pull him in for a deep, answering kiss.
“Make me feel it,” I whisper into his lips.
He answers with a rumble in his throat, moving lithely on top of me. Considering how heavily muscled he is, it’s a wonder how smooth he moves, how he circles and grinds his hips like a dancer, causing enough enticing friction that I let him explore the outside a little longer.
He arcs my arms up, trails his fingers down, a shuddering, graceful ballet. His lips move from mine, to my chin, to my neck, his scruff sending shivers in every pleasurable place I possess. When he takes one of my nipples, and then the other, in his mouth, sucking, biting, flicking with his tongue, I arch, begging him for more.
“That’s it,” he says while his hand travels down. He pushes one of my legs off the narrow bed, spreading me.
With the lights on, with Ben no longer covering my entire body, I’m exposed in the most vulnerable way.
I instantly go to cover myself, but he gently stops me.
“Beautiful. Alluring. Elegant,” he repeats. “Trust me.”
One of his thick, athletic fingers goes in. I buck and moan as he creates his own choreography, and I am his music notes.
Through my slitted vision, I see him lift up for a moment.
“I can’t take much more of this,” he says to me. “I want you, Astor. I can’t believe I’m fucking jealous of my finger right now, but I am.”
“Yes,” I say, feeling the exit of his finger like a void. “Do it. Do it now.”
He smiles, and when such a beautiful man smiles, it’s like he’s summoning an ice cream cone to melt, ice to thaw and puddle. I feel like his sweet treat, and I’m ready for him to lick me until I’m gone.
Ben bends over, fumbles through his duffel and grabs a condom.
“You bring those to football games?” I ask.
“And practice.” He grins.
Shrugs. “You never know.”
I’m too far gone to truly mull over the implications and how much this boy screws around, because right now he’s mine to screw. Finally.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider, and he takes his time looking at me. My breathing goes heavier, all too conscious of his focus.
Ben positions himself, and so, so smoothly, fills me to the brim.
“Oh … oh, my G—” I can’t even finish, because he’s retreating, then plunging, then retreating, then diving, and I moan at each exit, begging him to come back.
Am I saying these things out loud? I might be, but that’s okay. It’s turning him on. His mouth has lifted into an arrogant curl, he’s loving my reactions, but I’m enjoying watching him come even more.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him close, his breaths, heavy, molten, searing my neck and jaw.
“Ben,” I whisper near his ear, and his name has turned into a craving, a feeling, a momentous spin that circles me, round and round.
Dizzying. He’s toppling me off my axis, and I never want to find my old world again.
“Ben, Ben, Ben…”
“Astor,” he groans back, his lips moving against my ear.
“Take me,” I say as that primrose path opens up to me again, telling me to tumble, spiral into the thrill. “Don’t ever let me come back.”
“Never,” he answers, then rises so he can see me. “Watch where you’re taking me. Watch, Astor.”
And I do.
Every hill, every crevice, every peak I bring him to, I watch it ripple across his face, and I can’t believe that I’m the one responsible for this joyride.
I never want to leave.
3
Ben
Fucked.
I am utterly, whole-heartedly, fucked over.
Astor snoozes next to me, the multiple round of orgasms I gave her doing their job and tuckering her out. She’s nestled against the crook of my neck, my scarred arm wrapped around her protectively, like I can prevent what has to come next from hurting her.
I like her too much. I knew it as soon as I turned the engine and drove over to her place, but better sense couldn’t stop me. If I had to leave this town, this life, I had to touch my goodbyes on her rose-scented skin before I went. She would’ve haunted my dreams, ghosted my memories, if I hadn’t. At least, that’s what I rationalized on the trip over here.
Guess I didn’t consider that after having her, her soul would sear into my bones.
Having her wrap around me so tightly, Astor’s wet heat gripping my dick so well I came hard way too quickly—that was mere confirmation of what I already knew. She was different, this girl. Astor had me wrapped around her pinky finger the instant our eyes locked, and her pussy knew it.
See what I mean? I’m fantastically, royally screwed.
She’s innocence and perfection, eager and skilled, precious and independent, all in one. Astor’s the real deal. And we could be something, if I stayed. She could give me that happily ever after I never thought I deserved, if I allowed it to happen.
If I were so selfish, I’d do it.
Dodge’s face swirls behind my eyelids, his high-pitched laugh and deadly promise. He’ll never know about this night, because what happened between Astor and me has nothing to do with his ultimatum.
But if he goes through on his word, today will change my life, and I can’t be here to see it.
Ever so carefully, I tip my chin to kiss Astor’s temple, then slide my arm out from underneath her. She stirs, and I murmur comforts in her ear until she falls back into slumber.
Her profile, the slant of her cheekbone and strong line of her nose, call to my touch, and I trace each defined feature of hers before I put time and distance between us.
I’m able to put on my clothes, toss my duffel bag I was wary of leaving in my dented, cracked car, across my shoulders, without bothering Astor. I take a moment to stand over her, remember every curve and angle, before I close my eyes on an exhale and say goodbye.
You’ll never know why I left, but hopefully you’ll remember how good we were to each other last night.
No. Astor’s too smart for sweet-scented memories. Maybe I can write some kind of note, anything to tell her she’s not the one-night-stand she’ll consider herself to be when she wakes up and I’m long gone.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Astor’s door jolts me out of my hopeful fugue and I mutter, “Shit,” as Astor jerks awake.
“Open up! It’s the RA!”
Astor blinks, the fog of rest dissipating as she takes in where I’m standing, fully clothed, with my bag over my shoulder.
“You’re leaving?”
I swallow, giving myself time to think. “I had to get out early, to—”
“Open up, Hayes!”
Astor tugs her bed sheets up over her body, now avoiding my eye. “Just a second! Where’s my shirt…”
“Astor,” I say.
“Don’t.” She’s still not looking at me. “Your actions are making it clear enough.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Astor Hayes, open up this door immediately!”
“God … fuck.” Astor gives up, wraps the sheet around herself, and goes to the door. She avoids brushing against any part of me as she does so.
“What, Marcia?” she says as she swings the door open.
“We got reports of—oh. Ben Donahue. Hi. Hi.”
The RA, Marcia, I guess her name is, flutters her porcelain doll green eyes at me as she steps into the room.
“Hey,” I say reluctantly. “What’d you get reports of? Astor and I were kind of in the middle of something.”
“Right,” Marcia says, taking her time assessing the sheet wrapped around Astor’s body. “Great game yesterday, by the way. I didn’t know you were here … anyway. Yes. Reports of weed. In this room.”
“Huh?” Astor and I say at the same time.
And right at that moment, at that terrible, black second of reality, I see the shadow behind Marcia.
“Hue, buddy! How’s it hangin?”
Dodge’s scrawny form steps out from behind Marcia. His face is worse for wear, but no worse than the rest of him.
I unclench my jaw. This boy isn’t going to see any reaction from me. I say to Marcia, “You know what that kind of accusation does to a guy like me?”
“I—like I said, I didn’t know you were here,” Marcia says. “You sure this is where you got the weed?” she asks Dodge.
“You’re going to believe a guy like him?” I ask.
I’m being aggressive, potentially frightening the girl, but I can’t think of anything else to get them both out of the room. Now. Before Astor speaks. Before Dodge is given time to say any fucking thing he wants.
“More like, is she going to believe a guy like you?” Dodge says, smiling with pure evil. When his milky gaze slides to Astor, I say frantically, “Astor, whatever this dude says, he’s lying. Okay? He’s lying.”
Astor’s hands are shaking as she clutches her sheets, but she’s looking at me like I have all the answers. “What’s going on?”
“You did it, man. Congratulations. You did the dare,” Dodge says.
A gong show could’ve happened in this room, and nobody would’ve noticed. Marcia glances between all of us.
“Is there actually weed here? Or is this—omigod, it is! It’s one of your famous pranks, right Ben? I heard about this. The girls on this floor talk about it all the time. All the crazy shit you guys get up to on campus. I can’t believe … can I get a picture? Can we…” She trails off, finally considering Astor, frail and hunched over despite her height, cowering in white sheets. “Omigod. You’re the dare. You’re Ben’s latest conquest.”
“She certainly is!” Dodge crows. “Well done, man. Tell me, did any of her zits puss while you fucked her?” He thrust his hips, having sex with the air. “Pop-pop-pop-pop!”
There’s a camera flash. Marcia actually has the balls t
o take a fucking picture.
“GET OUT!” I roar, and she drops her phone as she fumbles with fear. “Get the fuck out! Both of you!”
Astor, finding some semblance of herself, grabs the phone off the floor, and after a few thumb taps on it, opens up the sole window in the room and throws it outside.
“Hey!” Marcia says.
“Go get it,” Astor says. “And take your little bitch with you.”
“You talkin’ to me?” Dodge points at his chest. “That’s not right, considering you’re the bitch who only got fucked on a dare.”
Dodge barely gets the last part out, since I’m tossing him through the door by his throat. He enjoys every second, laughing, spitting, guttural with mirth.
“Well done, dude. Your secret’s safe with me,” Dodge says, but I slam the door in his face.
“Astor,” I say.
“You, too,” she says flatly, looking to the floor. “You need to leave.”
“You’re not a dare. You were never—”
“Here’s the thing. I’m well aware of what you guys do, since my brother is a part of it, and your disgusting point system that comes with it. Fuck TAs. Fuck Professors. Fuck ugly girls.”
I rush forward. “Astor, that’s not what this was.”
She retreats, as if my very proximity repulses her. “I don’t believe Locke had anything to do with this. He wouldn’t do that. Not to me.”
“Locke didn’t,” I say. “Because this wasn’t—”
“But Dodge? I know how he’s trying to get in with you guys. How you enjoy initiating people who think they can be part of your ridiculous, twisted game ring. I can see Ash putting you up to something like this.”
“Ash had nothing to do with it. They have nothing to do with this. Dodge is sick in the head—”
At last, she lays eyes on me, but they’re flat. Emotionless. “Did Dodge ask you to screw me in order for you to gain something?”
I hesitate.
“Tell me the truth, Ben.”
“He has something on me,” I admit, but follow up in a rush, “But I refused. I’d never put you in that kind of position—”
“But you did,” she chokes out. Goddammit, her eyes shine with tears. “You put me in that exact position, and now there’s a picture of it.”
Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection) Page 34
