Page 137 of Be With Me
She slid her fingers upward, and my muscles stiffened. Should I stop her? Let it play out?
Then, before I could decide, she began unbuttoning her blouse.
Frantic. Clumsy. Her fingers ripped through the buttons, and the fabric fell open to reveal the lace underneath.
She climbed onto my lap. “I don’t want to talk anymore tonight,” she whispered, her lips grazing my ear. “I just want to feel something good.”
The faint tang of alcohol clung to her breath, mixing with her perfume. It was sweet but stale, like fruit that had gone bad.
My pulse quickened, not with desire, but with unease. She fumbled with the zipper on my jeans as she lifted her breasts to my face.
I forced myself to respond, dragging my tongue over the lace of her bra. It was mechanical, detached. Her gasps told me she liked it, though my stomach churned with every second that passed. She dug her hands deeper into my jeans, her nails grazing my skin as she wrapped her fingers around my dick.
“I want this,” she murmured.
My eyes shot open, panic flooding my chest. This was more than she’d ever wanted from me before.
And I… I didn’t want this. I didn’t wanther. Kissing her had been bad enough, but now…she wanted me to go all the way.
Which meant she’d be my first.
In my desperation, I confessed, "I’ve never done this before."
She froze. For a moment, I thought—hoped—it might make her rethink what she was doing. But when I met her eyes, there was no hesitation there. Only a glint of excitement.
A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. Leaning in, she pressed her lips just under my ear and whispered, "I’ll make it good for you."
A strange pressure built behind my eyes, like my head was being squeezed in a vise. It felt like I was coming untethered from my body, drifting above the scene instead of living it. Her hands were everywhere, touching me, squeezing me.
And then, inexplicably, I was hard.
I didn’t know how it happened, didn’t want it, but there she was—climbing onto me, lifting her skirt. Nothing underneath. There was a flash of bare skin before she sank onto me. The warmth of her engulfed me, and though it felt oddly comforting, it also felt wrong. So wrong. My mind screamed at me to stop it, but my body didn’t listen. I just sat there, useless, frozen, while she moved against me.
She gripped my shoulders, her nails pressing into me. “Look at me, Romolo,” she said, her voice distorted, like I was underwater, and she was speaking from above.
I blinked at her, my focus slipping in and out. Her face blurred, and the pressure around my head tightened.
Suddenly, she stopped. Her entire body stilled as her gaze darted past me and confusion skated across her face. “What is that?” She pointed at something behind me.
“What?” My voice came out rough. I tried to turn, but her weight pinned me in place. “I can’t see.”
Without warning, she scrambled off me, hurriedly buttoning her blouse. The hunger that had fueled her minutes ago was gone, replaced by something close to panic. “Whatisthat?”
I zipped up my jeans, still sluggish, and followed her stare. A vase of fresh flowers sat on a nearby console table.
I hadn’t noticed the vase when I first came into the house, but now I wondered how I could have missed it. Fresh flowers in a house that wasn’t supposed to be cleaned until tomorrow?
I squinted. Wait. Did it just?—
There.
Alana pushed past me and moved toward the vase. With shaking hands, she yanked out a rose where the blinking light was hidden. She plucked the tiny, thumb-sized camera from the petals and stared at it, her face a storm of emotions—shock, betrayal, fury.
My stomach plummeted. Mom had ordered someone to install a camera. Likely, there were many others hidden throughout the house. But this one was defective. It had flashed. A rookie mistake.
Fuck.
She hurled the camera to the ground and stomped on it. Once. Twice. Three times. The crunch of plastic and glass filled the room, but she didn’t stop.
