“We need to—” I try again to tell him we need to hit the brakes, but he’s kissing me again, and then my hands are in his hair, his hands under my shirt, thumbs brushing nipples, and the common sense is gone. Sensation takes over, each caress of his hand feeding my need.
When his hand slips inside the waistband of my pajama pants, I don’t try to stop him. My knees fall apart, anticipating his touch. When his finger pushes inside me, I let my head fall back, closing my eyes. Surrendering my body, without knowing where it will lead. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
It’s harder than I expect to stay quiet while he pleasures me, but when I come, his mouth covers mine, muffling the cry I can’t keep in.
Sated, vulnerable, I curl up in his arms afterward. He lets me, embracing me snugly again, but now I can feel a certain bulge that I imagine is probably uncomfortable for him. Squeezing my hand down between our bodies, I rub him through his jeans, enjoying the sounds of his moans for a minute. Then I ease out of his grip, sliding down his body.
He looks down at me. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” I tell him quietly, tugging his jeans down until I can get between his legs. A moment later, I’m brushing my hair back over my shoulder and leaning down to take him into my mouth.
Before long, he’s groaning, coming in my mouth. He didn’t warn me, but I don’t mind. I swallow, creeping back up until I’m snuggled up next to him again.
He kisses me on the forehead and holds me tight, resting his chin on top of my head.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“Mm hmm,” I murmur back. I wait a few seconds before adding, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just want to hold you for a little longer.”
I smile, closing my eyes. That’s sweet. “I really like you,” I murmur against his chest.
I feel a little laugh burst out of him, then he says, “Yeah, I really like you, too.”
—
The loathsome blaring of my alarm is the next thing to wake me, and I’m decidedly less pleased about that disturbance.
Jerking awake, I realize I have no recollection of Vince leaving. I look at the spot beside me in bed, but it’s empty. No Vince.
The whole time I’m showering, doing hair, getting dressed, applying make-up, I’m thinking of the night before. I don’t know what it’s going to be like to see him in broad daylight, remembering his fingers inside of me the night before, bringing me to sheet-clutching orgasm in my own bed.
That was unexpected. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed it didn’t go any further than it did, but I’m still a little baffled that it happened at all. He never explained why he came over, beyond wanting to hold me. I guess it’s a good reason, but I maintain he should give me a way of getting in touch with him instead of breaking in when he wants to see me.
Then I get to school, and this time I’m the one who sees Vince with the Minka Kelly girl. Vince has more of an olive complexion himself, but she’s darker—Mexican? I can’t tell from this angle, but I can tell she’s gorgeous… and grinning at him, lightly smacking him on the arm. He smiles back, ducking his head, and they head into school together.
I can’t get my feet to move. My brain tells me to follow, to approach him, to say hello. She’s probably just a friend, and he won’t be weird, he’ll just introduce me, and that will be that.
But my body isn’t liking the chances, apparently. It stays put, staring at the doors they just walked through. Together.
I don’t see him again until English, and I can feel myself being weird. I’m relieved when he doesn’t get to class until just before the bell, but I find myself wondering why. Could he have the class before with her? Maybe all his early classes are with her, and that’s why they’re so chummy? Do they go on not-dates? Does he show up in her bedroom in the middle of the night when he isn’t in mine?
I torture myself with these thoughts until I’m so stressed out, my stomach actually aches.
I want to ask again if I’m the only girl he’s involved with, but I don’t want to seem insecure and I don’t even know if he would tell the truth. My mother has confronted more than a couple cheating boyfriends in her time, and only one actually admitted to it before being caught outright.
And he isn’t even my damn boyfriend.
Suddenly my feelings about the night before are sorted—I’m definitely more relieved that things didn’t go any further. I don’t even know what I was thinking, wanting someone who isn’t even officially mine.