Left Drowning(29)

The staircase to the right leads up to my room, and the one on the left leads down to his. “So, I’ll see you around. Thanks for tonight. It was really fun to see Sabin onstage.” A quick exit is probably smart, so I start up the stairs.

“Hey, Blythe?“

“Yeah?”

“Where do you think Estelle was going? When she got that text, she sort of took off fast.”

I laugh. “Honestly? As her brother, you may not want to know what I think.”

“What? Do you think … ” Chris wrinkles his brow. “Oh no. Really? You think she had a date?”

“Define date. But yes, I do.”

He shivers. “Yuck. But she’s all … religiousy and shit. I was hoping that she was morally opposed to … stuff.”

I try not to smile. “Stuff?” It’s funny to see Chris like this since he is usually so articulate.

“I’m not phrasing it any other way.”

“Understood.”

We linger for a moment by the first floor landing. Why are good-nights always so uncomfortable?

Some late partiers, loud and clearly drunk, stumble through the front door and stagger up the stairs. I finally walk up the first few steps. “It’s really late, I guess.” I tuck my hands in my back pockets and do what I can to appear casual. “Good night, Christopher.”

“Good night, Blythe.”

I feel a certain pride in making it back to my room without giving in to the urge to turn around and shove my tongue down his throat. It’s a positive in an otherwise frustrating situation. The main thing here is that Chris seems to like me well enough as a friend, and having him in my life in any capacity is better than not having him. Plus, it’s only because of him and his siblings that I went out tonight with a group of people—a pretty monumental event for me. And it was fun. Truly, honestly fun. All in all, I can’t complain.

The light of the moon through my window is bright enough that I don’t crash into anything, and I welcome the quiet of my room. I strip down to my underwear and throw on my black cotton robe. It’s two in the morning, and I should be exhausted, but I’m not. I walk aimlessly around my room, remaking my futon and tidying the untouched single bed that used to belong to my roommate. There is some laundry that I could put away and a book I’ve been wanting to read…

Awake and restless, I stand unmoving in the center of my room. I don’t want to clean, and I don’t want to read. This night should not be over, and I am hyperaware of missing Chris. He has infiltrated my entire core in a way that I cannot shake off tonight and in a way that I will probably never shake off. Nor would I want to. I turn and face my door as if it’s possible that he can feel our connection.

And then there is a knock. It has a hesitant, questioning rhythm. It shouldn’t.

Without saying anything, I open the door, and he is there.

Chris steps into me and kicks the door shut behind him. The second it slams, his hands are tight on my hips, and he moves in. Turning me around, he is behind me, pulling me against him hard and crushing his chest into my back. I gasp as he moves his hands roughly over my waist, my stomach, his breath hot in my ear when he pushes the fabric of my robe aside. Going up the back of my thigh, the palm of his hand eases steadily and confidently higher until he has my ass in his hand. Over and over, he strokes me up and down in a sultry rhythm. Chris slides my robe off one shoulder and brushes my hair to the side with his other hand. The feel of his lips on my neck and the top of my shoulder is heaven. When the grip he has on my ass tightens so much that it begins to hurt beautifully for only a fraction of a second, he stops and slowly slips his fingers under the back of my underwear. Over the course of an eternity, he runs his touch just under the edge of the fabric.

I force myself not to grab his hands and move them immediately where I want, but it’s torture. How can I get through this? But I don’t want him to stop, so I let him set the pace. When he’s traced his way to the front, I lean my head back into his chest, willing this to never end. His hand moves from my hair, across my collarbone, down my chest, and then slips under the top of my robe. Now he is brushing my breast ever so teasingly, and I am convinced that I have hit my tolerance for standing up straight. My knees are beyond weak, and with the way my legs are starting to shake, I’m not sure how long I can stay like this in the face of so much pleasure.

Chris’s voice is a low whisper in my ear. “I want to hear you come. I need to hear you come.”

I tremble and turn around into his arms. Chris backs me up until I am pressed against the door to my room. The way he kisses me with such raw sexual heat just about makes me lose my mind. He takes my hands in his and raises them above my head, pinning them against the door as his kiss deepens even more. The feel of his body starting to grind slowly into mine is getting me dizzy. I cannot think. I can only react. We kiss for what seems forever until he lets go of my hands so that I can finally hold him the way that I want, my hands working over the front of his pants. It’s the first time that I’ve ever touched a guy like this, but my need for him makes it easy. I like feeling him hard under my palm and the way that he presses himself into me a bit. He’s not pushy or self-serving, though. He’s responsive.

He moves his mouth from mine and lowers his lips to my neck, then works slow kisses down to my breast. The tip of his tongue sweeps over my nipple so painstakingly slowly that I can barely take it. Then my nipple is in his mouth. He sucks on me firmly and decisively until I whimper, and he moves to kiss my mouth again. This time he is gentle, running his tongue over my bottom lip, teasing me with his lips and his taste.