“I’ll help you tidy up.”
He smiles shyly at me as we collect fistfuls of beer bottles, paper plates and shredded crisp packets. Soon the front room is habitable, almost. I stretch upwards, suddenly tired. It’s 3am, no wonder.
“Can I sleep on your sofa?”
We both look down at the suite. Cameron is unfurled along most of it – he was my ride here, the reason I ended up at this party held by my #1 crush, who is at my side watching my brother snore contentedly. He didn’t wake up once as we crashed about him.
“Well, you could…..” Tris agrees.
“I’ll think of something. Time for the washing up.”
He doesn’t stop me, just takes the glasses off me to dry, and pops them back in the cupboard, in silence.
We head to his room silently too – I swear I’m only going to get my bag, check my phone. Maybe call a cab and kick Cam until he’s awake enough to come home.
I’m suddenly too hot and though I should be thinking about leaving, I pull off my cardigan and reach down into my bag for a hairband to keep my hair out of my flushed, sweaty face.
“Why don’t you just crash here?” his voice behind me, he’s taken his shirt off, too. His chest is wide, defined by the hair that’s as dark as his head. I feel like I’m drowning as I look at him.
“You can keep your pants on.” He adds, in a tone my tired, slightly drunken brain cannot read. He opens the window as wide as it will go and closes the curtains.
“If you’re sure?” before the words leave my mouth I am peeling off my jeans and low cut t shirt. I think I might have been possessed by the spirit of a carefree sexpot, I don’t even wait to gauge his reaction, see if he enjoys my body, just slip beneath the covers and stare at the ceiling.
He turns off the light, and gets into bed beside me.
The clasps of my bra are digging into my back fat, so I take that off too, flinging it somewhere into the darkness.
“Thank you for the lovely party.” I say pointlessly.
“Thanks.” He sounds like he’s lying in the same position as I am, flat on his back with his vision on the light fixtures above us.
I turn on my side and shut my eyes, trying not to think about his naked body, inches away from me. But I can never settle in the first position I pick, and when I roll over to the other side, we’re face to face, my elbows rubbing against his chest.
“Sorry.” I mumble sleepily, shivering as my mind sharpens and acknowledges his erection pressing firmly into my stomach. His hand is on my hip.
“It’s ok.” He whispers, our lips briefly connecting.
I roll over again.
The hand on my hip again.
We both ease my knickers down, the last defence.
His cock eases between my thighs as if that was the plan all along.
He’s kissing my shoulder blade as the hand pushes firmly so that my body is sprawled across the pillow, my legs spread.
He’s inside me before I can think straight; and now the hand is clasped over my breast, hot and relentless.
From outside I can hear the last vestiges of other summer parties – snatches of Adele and Sigur Ros. Come down music, jarring with the experience of the cock I have dreamed about, wanked to, pictured in my mind a million times, hammering into me with awkward power. The strokes are not smooth, but I feel each inch as it enters me, and mourn it as he pulls away.
His face buried in my neck, his chest hair abrasive against my back, I decide I want to see his face, and on his outward stroke, slide just enough out of his grasp to manoeuvre myself into his lap, swallowing all of those inches again, so good at this angle.
He leans up to kiss, suck my nipple, bringing me closer to him, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist; mine possessively against his chest. He’s so deep within me, so sleepy-cute below me, dark hair and eyes narrowed in concentration, I edge my fingers out to trace the stubble on his jawline. He kisses the fingers and fucks me harder.
When he comes all I can think about how wrong and good it feels as he floods my cunt before we have even kissed.