by Knox, Abby
On the night he arrives back in the U.S. from Capri, we speak on the phone and I’m desperate to see him.
“I want you to sneak into my room and spend all night talking and getting to know each other,” I say over one late-night phone call after swim practice.
“But your parents,” Rushmore protests.
“My parents take sleeping pills. Come over. No amount of flowers can make up for not being able to touch you,” I say.
I hear his breath catch through the phone.
“Come on. I’m a teenager. I’ve been a good girl my whole life. Let me have some classic teenage fun by sneaking my boyfriend into my room.”
His low, gravelly tone is such a tell. “I’ll be right there.”
I sprawl over my new down designer comforter, stroking its luxurious, cool material with my freshly shaved legs. I feel delicious, having just taken a bath with ridiculously expensive bubbles that felt like silk. I sigh and stare at my bedroom window for what feels like an eternity.
Finally, at about 12:30 a.m., he appears.
I lift up the sash and he looks somehow put upon.
“If your parents are on sleeping pills, I don’t see why I have to sneak in through a window. Can I not use the front door?”
The sight of him is so thrilling after weeks of seeing nobody but high school boys and teachers that I don’t even care he’s giving me a scowl.
“It’s all part of the drama. Get in here,” I whisper.
“Wait, you’re right,” he says.
“About what?”
“I never got to do this as a kid. Sneak into a girl’s room. Let me just stand out here and look at you like this.”
I cut my eyes away because his words make me feel bashful.
“Hey,” Rushmore says, lifting my chin. “Look me in the eye, Precious. Queens don’t bow to anyone.”
I grin. “It’s not a confidence problem. I have that in spades. I’m just overwhelmed by these feelings.”
Rushmore’s eyes darken. “You have no idea how good it is for me to hear that. I think about you constantly, wondering what you’re thinking. I have never felt this for anyone in my life.”
“Not even your ex-wife, at one time?”
“Let’s not talk about that right now. It’s such a beautiful night. You look stunning in the moonlight, and if I were an artist I would sculpt you.”
“I don't want to be made of stone and put in a museum. I want to be kissed and touched. By you.”
“Well, I did tell you to name what you wanted.”
“I want you in my bed.”
Rushmore cradles my face briefly before lacing his fingers in my hair, stroking his fingers down my neck and across my collarbones. Finally, he lets his hand rest on my breastbone, over my pink llama pajamas. I’m certain he can feel how aggressively my heart thuds.
Without removing his hand that covers my heart, Rushmore connects our lips in a gentle kiss. His full, powerful lips suction against mine. He punctuates it with soft swipes that cause my stomach to quake with delight. He kisses my top lip, then my bottom lip, then covers my mouth with his. Rushmore kisses more playfully than I would have expected. Controlled playfulness. His mouth teases me and pauses to let me reciprocate in kind. It’s as if he never stops negotiating.
“May I kiss you with tongue?”
I gasp at how sweet he’s being. It’s so unexpected.
I nod but add, “Yes, if you come to my bed.”
He vaults inside and suddenly he’s standing before me, looking like an oversized superhero in my suburban teenage bedroom that must look alien to him.
He looks over at the basic twin bed covered with stuffed Care Bears.
“I didn’t know you had a little sister. Where’s your bed?”
“Um,” I say, biting my lip. “That is my bed.”
“Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, going over and knocking the Care Bears onto the floor. I climb in and pull the covers back for him.
“I can’t let your first time be in this bed, in this room, with your parents just down the hall.”
I shrug. “I didn’t say to get naked. I just said I wanted you to be in my bed.”
He smiles, and even in the dark, I can see his voluminous eyebrows are raised with mischief. He peels off his jacket and tie, then kicks off his shoes and trousers.
I can’t help but giggle at him. “Do you ever walk around in anything besides a jacket and tie and Italian leather shoes?”
“Yes. I had on my summer linen pants and I have a seersucker set for when I have to attend functions down south in the summer.”
He crawls in next to me. I shift to lie on my side and he rests his hand on my hip to my delight.
“No t-shirts?”
“Of course I wear t-shirts…under my button-up shirts. Only philistines wear dress shirts without undershirts.”
I run the flat of my hand over his chest and he emits a sigh. “You know, you’re kind of like a baby alien,” I say.
Rushmore brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes. “What does that mean?”
“A very beautiful baby alien. It’s like you’ve been raised on another planet,” I joke. “You don’t know what breakfast burritos are, or t-shirts. I’ve never seen you in jeans. I’m willing to bet you’ve never been camping or fishing.”
“I know how to ride a horse. Is that down-to-earth enough for you?”
I giggle and drop the subject.
“What about you? What do you do for fun?”
“Basically hang out with Addie, eat pizza, and watch reality TV. I read science fiction. A lot of it. I spend a lot of time alone, so if it’s not TV, I have my nose in a book. I always wanted siblings but that’s not going to happen. I don’t like wall art with words, especially ‘Live, Laugh, Love.’”
He chuckles softly and kisses me on the nose. “That is one thing we have in common.”
“I don’t like parties,” I continue. “But I love performing.”
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I dragged you to Ridley’s party. That was presumptuous of me.”
I gasp teasingly and pat his chest. “There’s that human side that I like so much.”
He grins and combs my hair with his fingers, his eyes studying every inch of my face. “In that case, what other human things would you like to know about me?”
I jut out my chin sassily and tell him, “I’d love to know if you’re a good tongue kisser.”
Rushmore’s mouth is on mine in an instant. His lips are strong and assertive but tender and attentive. He wastes no time in licking the seam of my lips, and I open to him right away.
The sensation of our tongues dancing together heats every cell in my body faster than I would have thought possible.
His grip nudges me closer to his body. It feels somehow reassuring being at eye level like this. He’s not my sugar daddy—excuse me, “benefactor”—when we’re like this. It feels like we’re equals.
My hand explores his hair, his scruffy cheeks and chin, his ear. His starched collar is in the way and my hands scramble at his top buttons.
“What are you doing?” he asks breathlessly when he breaks the kiss.
“I want to kiss your Adam’s apple. And you aren’t allowed to keep your shirts buttoned up to the top when you’re making out with me. It’s a rule.”
He nips at my chin. “You making rules now?”
“My house, my rules.”
He grasps both my hands. “Only the top few buttons. I want to keep most of our clothes on. For now.”
I pout at him.
“Lie back,” he says. “May I touch your—”
I cut him off. “Listen, Anthony. You are far too polite to be real. From here to eternity you have permission to touch me anywhere you want.” I lift the hem of my pajama top, take his hand and place his palm against my warm skin.
He groans then while he resumes kissing me, smooths my pajama top back in place, but c
ontinues to caress me through the thin layer of fabric.
“You don’t want…” I trail off because his lips are insatiable and he won’t stop kissing me.
“Oh…I do want. Very much.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“When I take you, it’s going to be special. Not in your parents’ house.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
“Don’t teenagers know how to have fun without penetration?”
“Sure,” I breathe. He blazes another hot trail of small kisses up and down my neck, causing me to soak my panties even more. “Oral, handies…”
Rushmore’s lips find their way to my braless nipple, and he nuzzles it to a firm peak until it’s begging to make contact with his mouth. His hand closes around my breast as he scrapes his teeth across my erect nipple. I emit a small moan. He repeats this with my other breast, building my arousal.
“Have you ever touched a cock before?” he murmurs, his breath warming my skin through the soft material.
“No.”
“Want to feel how fucking hard I am for you, precious girl?”
“Uh-huh,” I say with some trepidation mixed with desire. Rushmore takes my palm and guides me to his hard length through his boxer briefs. I slip the heel of my palm up and down to gauge his size. I start at the tip and slide my hand down to the base.
“Fuck,” he grunts at the friction. “Yes.”
It’s huge. Long enough to be a little scary, and big enough I know there’s no way my fingers would fit the entire circumference if I were to pump him with my hand. And now I know what he means when he says I’m not ready.
Something in my movements has changed Rushmore’s expression. He goes from playful to dark and hungry. “Keep going. Slowly.”
While I keep stroking him, his hand reaches between my thighs and rubs my core.
“Yes,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering closed at the gorgeous friction.
Who knew clothes could feel this good?
He rubs me back and forth with the inside of his hand, changing it up every so often to massage my clit with the backs of his bottom knuckles. The slow rhythm and the tender kisses against my lips, my clothed breasts, nearly make me burst. My breath begins to come in short gasps. My hips have a mind of their own and I begin to roll into his touch, needing more, wanting more.
“Baby, look at me,” he says. I open my eyes and his sparkling irises bore into my soul. He kisses me again and again, but pushes me to stay focused on him while he pleasures me through my pajamas. Soon the thrusting of my hips and his magic fingers work my clit into such a frenzy there is nowhere else to go. I shatter apart in Rushmore’s arms. The orgasm rolls through me and I don’t know whether to gasp or scream. He kisses me up and down my neck while he holds me tightly, lovingly, causing wave after wave of mini explosions of pleasure to wash over me.
Finally, spent and panting, I collapse against his chest.
He draws me close against him in the tightest embrace, burying his face in my hair and inhaling deeply. The gesture makes me feel wanted, protected and seen.
“Thank you, precious girl. You’ve just made a little wish of mine come true.”
He sneaks out of my window sometime before dawn, after I’ve fallen into a deep, satisfied slumber.
18
Hunter
“Where’s my Jeep?”
I’m standing in my garage, staring at a brand new Infiniti where my beat-up Jeep 4x4 used to be.
On the phone, Rushmore sounds perplexed that I’m annoyed. “That old Jeep was not safe. It’s been rehomed on a nice big farm where it has more room to run around with other Jeeps. We can go visit it whenever you want, but don’t be sad if it doesn’t remember you. In the meantime, if I can’t drive you or my driver can’t drive you, at least you’ll be surrounded by proper safety features. You’re welcome.”
I shake my head, although the car is fairly sweet looking. “You couldn’t get me a Honda? Something a little cheaper?”
He scoffs. “Hondas are everywhere. You need something as unique as you.”
He’s not wrong. “I don’t think my parents will believe I bought this with my babysitting money. Usually it’s string bikinis and fast food and other forbidden fruit.”
“Well,” he says, letting out a long breath that sends chills across my skin. I can visualize his mouth skimming across my collarbones, kissing me and telling me sweet things. “You wanted to be treated like an adult. So tell them you’re an adult and your adult boyfriend bought you the car.”
The car drives like a dream as I go to pick up Addie for school, but the guilt I have over hiding things from her is more like a nightmare.
My temporary solution for my parents is to just keep it in the garage until they notice it. When they’re home, they park on the street or in the driveway. They never—and I mean never—use the garage. I figure, if I just keep it parked in the garage and only take it out and come home when they’re not here, then I can keep it a secret for a little bit longer.
With Addie, though, I feel like I should tell her, but I’m so afraid of her judgment that I clam up. Maybe I’m not ready for this. Maybe I’m not ready to be treated like an adult.
I get a small reprieve when all Addie wants to talk about at first is how she accidentally “liked” one of Coach Ford’s social media photos in the middle of the night, and then he blocked her.
“Listen,” I tell her. “We are goddesses. We hold our heads high.”
Someday I should really take my own advice.
“You’re right,” Addie exhales. “And by the way, tell your parents thanks for the upgrade. The other car was beat to shit.”
I bite my lip. “Oh. Right. Actually, they’re pretty pissed about this car because, well, I sort of got my way even after they put their foot down.”
“Sounds like quite a story. Care to spill it?” Addie asks.
I guiltily toss out a dismissive laugh. “Oh, you know how it is. Daddies can’t say no to their little girls sometimes.” Yeah, as in sugar daddies. As much as Rushmore does not like that term, that’s exactly what he is.
We chat the rest of the way to school about how the winter musical is coming along, and then I drop the bomb that I won’t be around for our annual Christmas shopping trip the week before the holidays.
“I have a meeting with a talent agency,” I tell her, adding that I might need her to cover for me with my parents, who are not exactly thrilled with the idea of me meeting with agents.
Addie, to my relief, is super supportive, but then she pushes. “Why don’t I just go with you to New York? We’ll go shopping together! Much better shopping up there!”
I try not to visibly wince but don’t entirely succeed.
“Hunter, what’s going on with you?”
I give her my winning smile. “It’s complicated.”
She replies, “You could just be straight with your parents and tell them the truth. Then you wouldn’t have to sneak off and make things complicated.”
Why is she pushing me so hard? I try to explain with enough truth and enough vagueness that she’ll drop it. “Well, they’re going to ask a lot of questions about where I might be staying and what I’m going to do for money.”
“All valid questions. Do you have an answer for that?” Of course she asks. Because she’s my best friend and she’s not going to let me get away with my bullshit.
I sip from my water bottle to buy myself a minute to think.
Finally, I land on, “I just can’t answer that right now, and I wish everyone would just give me some space to figure things out.”
I feel so awkward and anxious the rest of the day, I avoid Addie at lunchtime. Just as well, I’m not exactly hungry.
Swim practice only adds to my anxiety when, while Coach Weston is going over our strategy for our first swim meet this weekend, I overhear Ridley quietly spouting off to Hadley. What she says makes me about ready to toss up the peanut M&Ms that substituted for lunch.
“And my dad’s flying off to New York over Christmas, but I have to stay here with my mom and her fiancé, plus the dorky soon-to-be step-sibling. Just her latest attempt to model the perfect, traditional family holiday for her Instagram followers.”
The panicky, over-dramatic teenager inside of me wonders if I should call this whole thing off. I shouldn’t be this stressed out about a relationship. The gifts? The car? Is it worth it? No.
Hadley replies to Ridley, “Yeah, but think of the guilt presents you’ll be getting out of it from your dad! What do you think it’ll be? Front row at Fashion Week?”
“Please. That was last year’s guilt present. And anyway, I doubt he has any guilt at all. He’s been acting really strange for the last month. He’s suddenly got this whole thing about me needing a better work ethic, and saying I’m not getting a new car for graduation. Instead he’s gifting me his old Range Rover.”
Despite my anxiety, I can’t help but be proud of Rushmore for finally putting his foot down with Ridley. This news also improves my mood on another level: my petty feelings for Ridley run deep.
As we’re finishing up practice, Addie tells me she has a quick meeting with Coach Ford and wonders if I can wait to give her a ride home. At the same time, I get a text from Rushmore.
“The car will be waiting for you when you get home. Wear your uniform.”
I apologize to Addie, but she assures me she can find another ride.
Shit. Why does her being so nice about it make me feel worse?
19
Hunter
Whatever nervousness overtook me as the car pulled up to Rushmore’s house, it disappears as soon as I step up to the front door. Rushmore opens it himself—no butler in sight. He’s wearing khaki trousers, a button-down shirt, and a Greenbridge Academy necktie like my classmates wear.
I laugh. “What’s going on? You look like an overgrown chess team nerdlet. Are we, like, role—”
He pulls me to him in a fiery kiss that seems out of nowhere. Or like he’s been thinking about this all day. He breaks the kiss just long enough to pretend-complain about school and asks about swim practice.
