“Okay, so my plan wasn’t the best. But you caused all the shit tonight, Drew. I’m not the one who hit Jess,” I remind him.
He doesn’t say another word, so I turn around with my back facing him to take off my necklace hoping he’ll disappear to his room. My body jerks forward, his hands sliding around my waist until his grip is full, and his body is pressed against mine. With my heart beating a million miles a minute, my body is trying to ignore the burning desire that’s rising by him touching me this way. Count sheep, Zoey, think of an ugly bald man running naked in a field of corn.
“Drew, what are you doing?” I whisper, desperate to ignore how good he feels.
He’s drunk, you’re only slightly buzzed. Think rationally, Zoey.
He refuses to say any words, and instead, his hands move tracing my hips with a slight rocking motion.
Don’t close your eyes.
Don’t close your eyes.
Fuck.
I close my eyes.
Whatever happens in the next moment becomes a blur. My body is pushed onto my bed, and I’m forced to hold myself up on all fours. His groin repeatedly rubs against my ass, and it’s impossible to ignore how hard his shaft feels against me.
Don’t let out a moan.
Don’t let out a moan.
Fuck.
I let out a moan.
I’ve given him the green light. Handed him the card that says, ‘Advance to Go—Collect $200,’ minus the two hundred dollars. That sounds awfully cheap.
At the same time, I hear the low grumble escape his throat, and his hands move in a frenzy that consumes me. I can’t think. The touch of his skin and hands move around to my chest. Waiting in high anticipation, I think he will circle my breasts with a gentle tease, but instead, he doesn’t resist, cupping them with a tight squeeze in his bare hands.
My body shudders, my knees shaking uncontrollably on the mattress. My shallow breaths move unevenly, grunting softly, begging my brain to control the situation and pull away before it’s all too late.
From behind, I can’t see his face, but maybe that’s what makes this okay. Like we can erase it after.
Gee, Zoey, did you have a plate of stupid for dinner?
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers into my ear, arching over me, controlling the way my body moves.
Just drunk talk.
Tell him to stop.
It’s the bourbon and champagne.
It’s not your roomie or your best friend saying these words.
It’s not Drew.
In just one motion, his hand glides down and skirts the outside of my panties. The aching throb is enough for me to buckle under his command, and with my arms shaking uncontrollably, I cannot find the strength to push him away.
Or you don’t want to push him away.
Shut up! Shut up!
My panties are soaked, uncomfortable, yet in a pleasurable way. His fingers move in rhythm, my clit becoming swollen with every stroke. My panties seem to be an issue, and before I know it, he yanks them down and forces my thighs open as much as possible. He continues the strokes sliding into me with his finger. Fingers. Fuck, I can’t even think.
“You’re so tight… and hot,” he mumbles. “I need my cock inside you.”