Confessions of a Bad Boy(32)
“Do you want to use the shower?” Nate asks.
“Um, you go first.”
“I’ll be quick.”
While he disappears I start looking for a few sheets and pillows to make a bed on the floor. After a few minutes, Nate comes out wearing a pair of boxers and a white tee that clings to his perfectly sculpted chest. I can feel my face heating, so I nod politely, grab my nightclothes, and step past him as if we’re two strangers in an office hallway.
It’s only when I’m standing in the shower, hot water making my body come alive, that I stop to think about what just happened. A weird mixture of guilt and lust swirl inside me, each one making the other stronger. I cringe a little when I think about putting my hand on the back of his head, biting his lower lip, letting him put his hands on my bare skin…but at the same time I feel a warmth between my thighs that isn’t coming from the water.
Suddenly becoming incredibly self-conscious about spending so much time in the shower, I get out and dry myself off in a hurry. After I get dressed in the bathroom, I take a deep breath and step back into the room.
Nate’s already lying on the makeshift bed I made on the floor, playing with his phone.
“I don’t mind taking the floor,” I say to him.
“It’s cool,” Nate says, putting his phone to the side. “It’s good for my back, anyway.”
Ordinarily I’d force the issue. Ordinarily the preconception that the ‘guy’ should always take the floor would bug me. Shit, ordinarily I’d just invite Nate to share the bed with me.
Maybe I should invite Nate to share the bed with me.
Fuck. Isn’t there supposed to be an angel to go along with the devil on your shoulder?
I step past him towards the bed, pretending to pick something from my baggy t-shirt so I don’t have to look at him. Bringing only an old band tee and some underwear to wear at night suddenly seems like a bad idea, but the thought flickers across my mind that he might be checking out my bare legs, and it’s not entirely unwanted…
“Night, Nate,” I say, pulling up the covers and reaching for the wall-mounted room light.
“Night,” he says, and I spend the next ten minutes thinking about the way he said it, wondering if it can reveal anything about his mood.
Rather than bury the room in black, turning off the light leaves faint-blue traces of moonlight around the room, making everything look dreamlike and not-quite-real. The fabric of the curtains seems to shimmer as they move in the quiet breeze. Every sound is amplified now, every rustling of the bedsheets, every turn of the head; even my breathing sounds like it’s way too loud.
More than that, my body starts feeling like nuclear material; hot and active. I’m tired, still a little drunk, and glad to be out of my wet clothes – but at the same time I don’t think I’ve ever felt more awake. As I shift in the bed, trying to get comfortable, every limb suddenly feels prickly. I rub my thighs together but stop myself when I realize I’m just making myself hornier.
All I can think about is Nate. The fact that he’s so close, that he’s already kissed me, that my body’s still shaking all over from the way his torso pressed me against the side of the pool. Lying at the foot of the bed, his hard muscles and gorgeous face so close to me, and yet there’s nothing I can do about it. My body’s throbbing with unresolved energy, tension and stress that needs to be released, and the one thing that can offer me that relief is lying on his back in the same room, completely untouchable.
It feels like hours pass. Hours in which I go from trying to deny the deep yearning for him, to wondering what I’d do if he stood up and got in bed alongside me. After a while I’m visualizing it, fantasizing about it, willing it like a prayer. A little later and I’m already making my excuses – I’ll say I was drunk, I’ll tell him not to mention it again, we’ll agree to forget it just like last time.
I wait a few more seconds, as if giving my body one last chance to calm down, to stop burning for him, then slide the covers aside, and get up. I step slowly around the bed until I’m standing at his feet.
He’s awake. I can see the sparkle of his eyes in the moonlight. He’s awake, and he’s watching me. He pushes away his sheets and I see he’s just wearing his boxers, the hard hump in them admitting everything. He sits up a little and gazes as I take my shirt off and stand there for a second, allowing him to see me before I kneel down and straddle him.
“Jessie…”
I grab his head with my hands and pull his face towards me, our foreheads together.
“Shh…”
“This is wrong.”
I nip at his lips, taking them between my teeth and pulling at them, edgy and hot from the lust that’s built up inside of me.
“So f*cking wrong,” I reply, as he nuzzles roughly into my neck.
“We shouldn’t…”
“I know.”
His hands grip my sides roughly. We lash at each other’s tongues as he takes my breast and kneads it, pinching my nipple and sending sweet tickles of pain reverberating throughout my body. I roll my hips over his bulge, every swing making him harder, turning his breath hard and quick.
I put my hands on his chest and press him down onto the floor, until he’s lying flat on his back, the perfection of his torso obvious even in the dim light. A sea of ridges and muscles unfurled in front of me like a beautiful landscape, an adventure I take with my tongue, rolling up from his navel, kissing at his chest. His hand grips my head, but I’m the one in control. I feel the quakes of his body under my searching tongue, feel the tensing of his muscles under my hands as he loses control, feel his cock struggle against his boxers.