Creed sits back on his heels, sliding the blue satin of his tie through the knot, and tossing it onto the floor. He reaches up with long fingers and starts to undo his crisp, white shirt.
I'm still not exactly sure what we're doing, but I like it. Miranda must be done showering by now, right? But I don't hear anything, and the sitting room between the two bedrooms is dark and empty. Creed climbs off the bed, moves over to the door to close it, and leans his back against the wood. He shrugs his shirt over his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor.
"You never said where you wanted to go to college," I hedge, sitting up on my elbows to get a better look at him. It's pretty obvious that I'm trying to change the subject, the tension in the air is so thick it could be cut with a knife.
Creeds lids droop, so that he’s staring at me from these intense blue slits, like shards of sapphire in a smooth, porcelain face.
"Bornstead," he replies succinctly, kicking off his shoes, and peeling off his socks.
My heart feels like it might burst inside my chest, but I manage to keep my voice calm when I ask, "why Bornstead?"
A heartbeat of silence, two, three. Creed moves over to sit beside me on the edge of the bed. His stare is so intense that I have trouble meeting it head-on.
"Because," he breathes, leaning down and capturing my bottom lip between his teeth. He sucks it into his mouth for a minute, teasing it with his tongue and making me moan. He releases me before finishing his sentence. "That's where you're going."
Creed moves back onto the bed, covering me with his body, settling himself between my thighs. I wrap my arms around him and kiss him like I never want to let go.
As things start to get hot and heavy, the thought occurs to me.
“Can I ask you a question?” I whisper against his ear, groaning as he kisses his way along my throat, probably leaving hickeys that I'll have to cover up in the morning.
“Anything.”
Poor Creed. He may very well regret saying that.
“Are you a virgin?” The words slip past my lips before I can think better of them, hanging in the air between us like a cloud, like a comic book speech bubble attached to my big mouth.
Creed Cabot freezes, and then sits up, looking down at me with his golden hair mussed and his beautiful mouth twisted into a frown.
“Why would you even think that?” he snaps and I cringe slightly. It only takes him a minute to figure it out, and his lips purse into a thin line. Creed closes his eyes, and puts two fingers up to his temple. “Fucking Miranda. I have never wanted to kill my twin more than I do in this moment.”
“So … it's true?” I ask, feeling this strange, silly surge of excitement. But there's nothing wrong with that really, is there? It just seems … like it might be easier if we're both inexperienced and don't know what we're doing.
“You and your stupid, asinine rules,” he growls glancing over at me like he isn't sure what to think or do. “No lies, right?”
I smile, touched by his sudden insecurity. It takes all of that smooth, polished perfection of his and gives it a lovable, little flaw.
"No lies."
"Shit." Creed runs his fingers through his hair, and then turns to look at me. "Yeah, it's true."
My heart trips, falls, skins its knee, and gets up again. I feel all bruised and tender, and my cheeks flush with heat.
"Damn," I whisper, holding back a giggle. "Do the others know?"
Creed gives me a look that clearly says I've lost my mind, and shakes his head.
"No, and you're not going to tell them are you?" I shake my head, and he looks away sharply, almost like he's ashamed.
"Don't be upset. It's not like the entire academy doesn't know that I'm one, too."
Creed turns around, leaning back over to kiss me again. Some of his reckless abandon is gone, so I try to bring it back by curling my arms around his neck. Our mouths work furiously at each other, tongues sweeping across lower lips, chasing the edges of teeth. My nails dig into the bare skin of his upper back, and his left hand slides up the slit in my dress, teasing my thigh with the warm, dry heat of his palm.
Our bodies work together much like they did in the hot tub that day, and soon we’re both moaning, grinding against one another in all the places that count.
This time, when his left hand slides along the waistband of my panties and dips lower, I don't put a stop to it. Creed keeps his fingers on the outside of the fabric, sliding them against the warm throbbing in my core, and teasing more dampness from my body.
