The Girl Who Fell(71)
He kisses my toes, his eyes cut to mine. He sees my body arch with pleasure. And then we are wrapped in his comforter, lost to civilization. We kiss with our bodies pressed into each other, me trying to crawl into him, him into me. When our tongues become violent, he pulls away, finds my gaze.
He fumbles with something in the bedside drawer. The top of a cardboard box pops. The wrinkle of a condom follows. Alec lies next to me, touches me to him. He is hard in my hand and something else. Pulsing. Like a heartbeat.
“I can’t think of being without you,” he tells me.
My breath hitches. For him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He pulls away. “So you’ve changed your mind?”
His sudden distance surprises me. I prop my head onto my elbow. “I’m lost.”
“You said you’re not going anywhere. That means you’ll come with me to Michigan.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Seriousness draws over his features like a mask. “Are you playing with me?” He sits up, the blankets slipping. I can’t help the way my hand reaches for the middle of his chest, where his muscles slope together. That place just over his heart.
“No, of course not. It’s just that I can’t.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
Can’t? Won’t? “Both, maybe . . . I don’t know.”
He lifts away my hand and instantly my skin feels cold. “So then what are we doing?”
I sit up, gathering the comforter to my chest. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s the point of this”—he gestures over our bodies entwined on the bed—“if it won’t last?”
“Why can’t it last?”
“Because you insist on going to Boston.”
“Insist? That’s been my plan since—”
“Since before you met me, I know. I’d go there too, Zephyr, I swear I would, but I’ve already accepted Michigan’s offer, or my mom has anyway. If I’d met you earlier it could all be different. But it can’t be, not for me.”
“We can make it work.”
“Everyone says that. I’ve seen guys from school try to keep girlfriends at home. Long distance never works.”
The air turns colder, as if someone’s opened a window, as if a December breeze is taunting us. “Do we have to think about all this now? I don’t even know if I’ve gotten into Boston College yet, so I can’t really make plans.”
“But you’ll consider it?” he asks hopefully.
“If I don’t get into Boston College, I’ll have to consider it.”
“Good. That makes me happy.” He leans in to kiss me and then quickly draws away. “Except I’m the asshole boyfriend now, aren’t I?”
The word “boyfriend” still makes my heart dance. Even now. “How so?”
“Because I know how important Boston College is to you and I’m wishing you don’t get accepted.”
“That is shitty.” I raise my brows, teasing. “Supremely shitty.”
“See? Told you.” He slides next to me. “If you’re not with me next year, I can’t do this.” He disappears under the covers and kisses me between my legs until my head spins and my skin boils, a screaming, screeching tea kettle for his touch. Then he kisses my stomach, looks up at me with pleading eyes. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
My head shakes. My body trembles.
“Or this.” His fingers explore me now. My breath is short, hitching. I want more of him, all of him. I want him to love me again and again. And in this fog of pleasure I can’t imagine being without him next year. Or ever.
This time I’m the one who reaches for the condom in the drawer. My fingers search greedily for the coin.
“So forward,” he teases. “I like the way you think.”
His movements are hurried and powerful and beyond exhilarating. This is so not our first time. My body gives over to his pulses, begging him for more even as he gives me everything.
When we separate, my body is still shaking. He finds my hand under the covers, lifts it to his mouth and kisses each finger. “Even your fingers turn me on.”
I wiggle them playfully.
That’s when I hear the metal crash. A pan dropping hard against a tile floor. I bolt upright. Alec dashes out of bed, throws me my clothes. “Go into the bathroom. Get dressed.” I scramble out of bed, clutching my clothes against my private bits, and tiptoe the few steps into the hall and then the bathroom. I lock the door and fumble my jeans over my legs, my shirt over my head. In the mirror, I see my hair is a mess. Bed head. Sex hair. Oh shit.