Page 37 of Downfall

“Don’t you dare stop, Skylar. Make that desperate little cunt feel good.”

His condescending words should make me want to slap him, or at the very least blush, but they only ignite more urgency. I run my middle finger down to my opening, and I’m so slick that there’s no resistance as I push it in, pleasure instantly mounting low in my belly. I try to go slow, but it feels too good. My pace quickens as I circle my hips, grinding my clit against my palm while I push my finger deeper.

“That’s it, Sky. Don’t fucking stop.” He picks up his speed again, as the muscles in his forearm twitch with the practiced movement.

I don’t know if it’s the voyeurism of watching him or the look on his face as he watches me, but I feel my orgasm start to crest after only a couple of minutes. My inner walls tighten, a fresh wave of heat flooding my body and making me dizzy.

“You’re so close, Sky. I can tell from here. You’re gonna make that pussy weep for me, aren’t you?”

His voice breaks through my lust-addled brain and self-preservation kicks in. My eyes fall, scrambling to hide what’s about to happen, but he won’t let me.

“Uh-uh, Firefly,” he tsks. “Look at me when you come.”

Before I can stop it, my gaze floats to his.

“Good girl. Now pinch your nipple.”

With my other hand, I reach up, taking the sensitive bud between my thumb and index finger, and the second I close them together, my whole body shatters. I come on a broken cry, my muscles spasming around my fingers, and I don’t think, I don’t hesitate, as I call out his name.

He follows right behind me, pulling his shirt up as he curses, spilling his release onto his stomach.

My breathing is still irregular, my heart hammering in my chest when he finally gets up and walks to his ensuite bathroom. He returns, having straightened his clothes, with a washcloth in his hand.

I look at the towel, and I’m not sure if it’s the gesture or the fact that it’s now closer to dawn, but reality slithers in, curling around my chest and squeezing tightly.

“I can’t—” I shake my head. “This was a mistake.”

16

SKYLAR

The clouds have long disappeared into the hazy night, creating a purple glow in the sky. It was a brief summer storm. One that was gone as fast as it came, but I left my window open the whole time because I love the smell of rain. My windowsill is soaked, but I don’t care. I took my screen out a while ago when he first started climbing through. It’s cliché, I know, to be in love with the boy who climbs through your window. It’s even worse when that love is unrequited. Maybe I cared about that at one point, but I don’t anymore. In a few weeks, we’ll be graduating and going to the same college, and I need to know before then. If there’s even a glimmer of a chance he could feel the same, I have to know.

There’s a thud at the window, and as if I conjured him, there he is. His dark hair is so wet it looks almost black, and some of it sticks to his forehead. He must have walked over here in the rain.

“What the hell, Declan?” I jump up from my bed to help him in, but he waves me off.

“I’m good.”

He claims he's fine even when he isn't, but I can tell he is actually happy today by the way his smile manifests in the honeyed flecks of his eyes.

“Movie?” I ask, already knowing the answer. It’s Friday after all.

He holds up a plastic bag streaked with water.

“North by Northwest?”

“We literally just watched that last week.” He takes out the cheddar popcorn and Red Vines, setting them up in the middle of my bed.

“I know, but it’s soooo good.”

He eyes me skeptically. “Want to know what I think?

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me either way.”

“I think you secretly want to fuck Roger Thornhill.”

My jaw drops. “Oh my God, Dec. Cary Grant is in his fifties in that movie!”