Dear Ava(17)

People move around us, dancing slow, lost in the deep thump of the vibrating bass. A couple make out on the couch. Liam has Jolena pressed against the wall in an alcove in the foyer, her hands pinned above her head as he kisses her. She hooks a leg around him and tugs him closer. His hands lift her skirt up from behind and I tear my eyes off them.

Chance kisses me as his hands slip under my peasant blouse and brush against my stomach. “Babe, you feel so good. I promise I’ll go easy.”

I glance around.

Nobody is looking at us.

Except for him.

Knox.

He isn’t dancing, but unbidden, my eyes keep going back to him, keeping tabs as he sits on a loveseat in a dark corner, his position separate from the rest of the crowd. His figure is shadowy, but the broad shoulders and muscled arms splayed out along the top of the seat give him away. I know he’s there; I feel the menace emanating from him, like a king watching his subjects. There’s a pretty girl standing behind him, someone random. I don’t know her. She has her hands in his hair, scraping her nails over his scalp then drifting down and massaging his neck and shoulders, the movement of her languid ministrations sensual and slow, sliding from his silky hair to his chest. Another girl sits at his feet and rubs his thighs, her hands caressing. Don’t know her either.

With a sly look up at him, she moves to the crotch of his jeans.

My heart races, and it has nothing to do with Chance’s fingers caressing my skin. I barely notice.

His voice groans. “Don’t you want me, Ava?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, picking me up and sitting with me on the couch, maneuvering me so I straddle him.

I still see Knox.

He won’t take his eyes off me.

I watch with fascination as Knox bites his lower lip, digging in deep, so hard I expect to see blood bloom there.

I return his glance, letting him see that no, I haven’t forgotten seeing him nearly naked in that locker room, and yes, somehow he’s crawled inside me, sitting behind me in class, those long looks he gives me at lunch when I sit next to Chance.

The girl asks him something and I wish I could hear what she says, but I figure it out when she unzips his jeans and her head lowers.

My stomach drops.

“What are you doing?” Chance asks when I jump up off the couch. My chest rises and I put my hand on my flushed cheeks. I lift my eyes to Knox, and he’s a statue, body tense, watching me.

“Bathroom,” I mumble, slipping away from his hands when he reaches out to grab me.

“Babe—”

“Give me a few minutes,” I say firmly then slide farther away from him, jostling between people dancing.

I march past Knox with my hands clenched, my face turned from him so I can’t see his expression, so he doesn’t know he’s in my head instead of Chance.

What is wrong with me?

Thank goodness the bathroom down the hall is empty. I dart inside and stand for a moment and stare at myself in the mirror. I should leave. I should just walk out the front door of this house and go back to the group home, but my car isn’t here. I rode with Piper and she’s out there having a good time. Last time I saw her, she was making out with a guy from Hampton High.

“I just need a minute,” I mutter to myself in the mirror. I shove the shower curtain to the side and step into the pristine clawfoot tub, jerking the curtain back into place. Maybe, just maybe, if I hide here long enough, the party will end, Knox will leave, and Piper and I will go back to her house.

I lean back against the rim of the tub and will my body to relax.

Fat chance of that when the door opens. Dang it—I didn’t lock it.

Peeking out around the edge of the curtain, I see Knox leaning against the door, his head thrown back, his breathing heavy. My eyes search for the girls from the den. They aren’t here. My lip curls. Well, that blowjob didn’t take long.

Peeking, I watch as he scrubs his face and walks to the sink, turns on the cold water, and splashes his face. Once. Twice. Water drips down his cheek to his tan throat, slipping inside his tight black shirt. He looks up at his reflection and grimaces, his fingers trailing down his face. “Ugly, stupid, asshole motherfucker.” I hear him grunt. “You can’t have her.”

Leaning over the sink, he clutches the edge with one hand while he unzips his pants and takes out his shaft. It’s long, thick, and hard, like the rest of him. My breath hitches when he strokes himself, groaning, eyelashes fluttering against his chiseled cheeks. My ears tingle at the sounds he makes, the slap of his fist around his length as he works himself. He grabs his mushroom-shaped head and twists it, shuddering and rubbing the drops of white at the tip down his skin. “Hades and Persephone,” he mutters, almost angrily, as he shoves his jeans and underwear farther down. Slick, slick, so slick and wet, he thrusts into his hand in a greedy way, a flush starting at his neck and working its way to his face. Every second he leans down and groans stretches out and lingers, every tick of the clock dense and thick with anticipation. I bite my lip before the sound I want to make escapes.

Seeing the head Shark jack off shouldn’t mean a thing. It shouldn’t!

It’s nothing, just nothing.

Yet it’s everything.

My pelvis gets warm, desire curling. Holding my breath, my hand plunges into my jeans, rubbing at the soft mound between my legs. My sensitive nipples pebble, as if he’s right here with me, touching them. What would his caress feel like? Soft or hard? I remember him under the bleachers. Wild. Hot. Intense.

Wiggling, I move lower, pushing at my jeans. Fire burns inside me when I slip my fingers under my panties and touch soaked skin, skating over my clit. A shuddering groan escapes my lips, and I freeze, coming back to reality when I sense a change in the air, a quiet tension replacing his sounds.

Did he leave? I didn’t hear the door open—

The curtain is ripped back and he looms over me, his throat working soundlessly as he rakes his eyes over me and stumbles back, falling on the floor.

“Ava! What…” He hurries up to his knees, his face horrified. “Shit, shit, shit, what are you doing in here!”

Embarrassment flares on my cheeks. I can imagine what I look like lying here in the tub, my hands inside my panties. “Same as you, apparently,” I mutter. I stand up shakily and try to maneuver over the rim of the bath, but I forget my pants are at my knees and I end up falling.

He springs then, moving to help me as I simultaneously tug at my clothes to get them back up. He wraps his arms around my waist to steady me, but we end up tumbling down on the tile with me on top. His chest presses against mine, and I’m barely keeping myself from melting, wanting to curl into him. His thick erection is between us, and my body throbs with something I’ve never had, for a sweet pinnacle, to feel that elusive release, and now—

“You can’t be in here with me,” he grinds out, his hands on my upper arms. His grip is hard enough to bruise, but I don’t care.

I wrench out of his grasp and reach out to his face. He thinks he’s ugly? Never.

I lick my lips as my hand falls to my side.

“Chance,” his voice scratches out raggedly. He looks shaken and a little wild, and it’s the most revealing emotion I’ve ever seen on his face.

“Why didn’t you say something when I came in?” He scrubs his face, scooting farther away from me, his back leaning against the door.

“Does it make me a voyeur to say I was enjoying the show? Most definitely a deviant.”

He shudders. “You don’t even like me. I frighten you.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

He tucks himself back into his underwear, wincing.

I bring my pants up and zip them. My heart thuds painfully, my movements jerky, unsatisfied.

Voices outside the door move him to action and he jumps to a stand with athletic grace, yanking his pants up. He goes back to the sink and splashes more water on his face.

“Get up, Ava. Get the fuck out.” He clings to the edge of the counter.

“Why were you staring at me out there?”

He stiffens. “I don’t have to answer your questions. Don’t you know who I am?”

“Screw you, head Shark. I want to know!”

“Stop yelling.”

“Then tell me. What’s going on with you?” With us.

I stand up. I’m brave—for now. I admit he makes me nervous, that darkness I sense in him, the opposite of Chance. “Did she suck your cock?”

I’m tormented by the image.

His eyes swirl with emotion as he glares at me in the reflection of the mirror.

“No,” is ripped from him.

“You want me.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Silence reigns as he seethes, fighting something inside himself. He flips around and stalks over to me. “You belong to Chance.”

“I belong to myself!”

“Have you fucked him?” His hands clench.

“No!”

“You will. He loves you.” A pause as his jaw pops. “And he’s my best friend.” I eat up the expression on his face, so unused to seeing that vulnerability in his features.

“He hasn’t said so. He’s never asked me out for a real date, and I’ve never met his parents. I’m his little secret at school.” Oh, he’s been sweet, but he has yet to take me to dinner or the movies or ask me to come to the football parties with him. “I don’t fit in with your group.”