“I knocked.”
That’s it. The words that break the silence. All he has to say in this moment.
“I thought you were out with your friends.” My voice is muffled by the pages still shielding my face. I may never remove the book. Just walk around with this like a paper bag on my head for the rest of eternity.
Except then I remember the cover, and the title of the book. A photo of tattooed knuckles and something about his bride to break, or his to have. I forget exactly now in this moment. I’ll need to figure it out for my citations when I write the paper. If I manage not to die of embarrassment before then. All this boy brings me is one embarrassing moment after another lately. I never knew I was this much of a mess until he came to live here.
“I left early. Everyone was wasted, and I wanted to get back.”
To his credit, his voice is even, unfazed. Like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.
I feel the bed dip under his weight next to me, and I cringe. I want him to leave, close the door, not speak to me for the rest of the night, and then for us to pretend like this never happened. Maybe we’d never speak again. That would be fine.
“What are you reading?” he asks quietly, and I can tell from my peripheral vision, the bit still visible beyond the pages, that he’s on his side next to me, watching me.
It’s the perfect opening for me to explain away this little incident, to convince him his eyes betrayed him, and his stand-in older sister was just doing a little light research on a Friday night. Absolutely nothing else.
“A book for my Sex and Media class. I’m doing a project on the female gaze, so I’m reading some of these. For research,” I add, but my voice sounds throaty and uneven. I’m failing to even do the bare minimum to cover my ass here by sounding even remotely normal.
“Can I see?” he asks, still even toned.
“Sure,” I agree. Because sure, why the hell not make this more awkward than it already is.
He lifts the book off my face and turns it in his hands, twisting his body so he’s laying on his stomach. I’m thankful for the small mercy that he’s no longer looking directly at me. At least him reading it will give me that benefit.
Then I hear his breathing change, his body shifts slightly, and I can guess which part his eyes are skimming over. Although I don’t have to guess long, because he starts to read it out loud.
“She looks up at me, a hint of hesitation across her face before I see the desire consume her eyes. ‘That’s right, sweetheart. You’re going to take all of my cock down your throat tonight, drink every last—’“ Ben’s voice sounds like sex when he’s reading the ingredients off a box, when he’s actually reading about sex? It’s unbearable. Especially in my current state.
“Ben—“ I manage to choke out his name, because my throat feels like scorched earth and my skin is flushed so red, I can feel the heat radiating off of me.
“I’m going to read it to you, so you can finish.” He says it so calmly, so matter of factly it’s hard to believe we’ve both lived through the same last five minutes.
“Your research,” he adds.
I want to protest, but I can’t breathe, let alone form coherent words. I run my hands over my face instead, wishing I could just disappear.
“’Drink every last drop of me, until you remember who you belong to.’ She protests, her mind still defiant where her body has given—“ He starts reading again. His voice is thick, a raw tone to it making the words that much sexier coming off the page and just like the character in the book, my own body goes along with it despite my panic.
“Ben, please. This is so…” I trail off because it feels like even saying the word embarrassing will catapult this even higher on the list of most embarrassing moments for me. Which is a ridiculous thing to worry about because this is definitely top of the list, forever.
He closes his eyes, tilts his head down, but doesn’t look at me. Another small mercy I’m thankful for.
“You’re helping me. Studying. Keeping me out of trouble. Now I’m helping you. So finish your research, Violet.”
He turns the page and starts to read again. I can’t hear the words, just the sound of his voice. The rhythmic way he speaks. The throaty quality to every word. My eyes travel over his shoulders. He has on a plain white T-shirt that’s tight across them. It highlights them, stretching to meet the ridges of muscle. The line of his spine down the middle, his waist tapering to where the shirt meets a pair of dark blue sweatpants. Sweatpants wrapping around a perfect ass and draping over muscular thighs.
My fingers skim over my stomach. I seriously consider arguing with him. Telling him to get out. But somehow it feels like that would make this more awkward than just finishing what I started. So, I do the unthinkable and slide my hand back under the waistband of my panties again, touching myself tentatively. It won’t take much. The adrenaline of being caught and the sound of his voice while he reads is enough to have every single nerve ending in my body turned all the way up.
I focus on his words as I brush my middle finger over my throbbing clit.
“I spread her thighs, bend her over and I can see her. All of her. Already warm and wet and ready for me...”
I give myself a few more rough strokes and that’s all it takes.
Holy. Fuck.
It’s blinding as I come listening to him. Blackness enveloping me. The sound of his voice sending me off into a void I melt into. I try to stifle my reaction, keep myself quiet and still, but I can’t, and a little moan tumbles out of my throat in the process. I take a breath, hoping the oxygen will help me surface again. I pinch my eyes tighter because as good as that was, I’m dreading the transition back to reality.
