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I might have accidentally held the zoom for a few seconds until I could see a glistening drop of sweat roll a glorious path down his muscular neck, across his peck, down the trail of his abs, where it finally sank out of sight against his pants.
My mouth went dry as I watched, and then I realized what I was doing. I pulled the camera away from my eye in time to see Tristan smiling cockily. He bit his lip, smirking my way before he jogged back to join his teammates.* * *That night, I slid myself into the sheets of my bed and made sure my door was locked. Then I pulled out the camera from my book bag, navigating the footage until I found the clip of Tristan pulling his shirt off. I played through it frame by frame, vaguely aware of how pathetic I must’ve looked. I was halfway under my covers with the screen of the camera just inches from my face, trying to absorb every last line of his body.
There was a point in the footage where he lifted his hand to wipe his face, and the single, innocent motion sent a ripple of flexing muscles across his whole body that made me feel strangely good. It was a lot like the feeling I’d had when we were on the bed together in his room—when he was pressing himself between my legs, grinding into me.
I glanced at my door, then paused the video and slid my hand down under the blankets.
There was a sound at my window that made me jump and half-throw the camera in the air. I quickly turned it so the screen was face down and stood. I did a little jumping shake to try to dispel the fluttering warmth that was still moving under my skin.
Tristan slid his long legs in the window, ducking inside with a box of pizza and a six pack of beers balanced on top. “Saw your mom wasn’t home and figured we could properly celebrate our relationship. And the big birthday.”
“How’d you know it was my birthday?”
“I have my methods.”
I rolled my eyes. “It was like every single person at school knew we were together. What did you do, put up flyers?”
“Just told the right people.” He set the box on the edge of my bed and flipped it open. He grabbed himself a slice and sat down, dangerously close to the camera. I suddenly wished I’d taken the time to shut it off, instead of just turning it face down.
He took a bite of the pizza, making a happy noise at the taste. “Had to make sure everybody knew you were mine now.”
“Yours, huh?” I asked, grabbing myself a slice. “Why does it always have to be such a caveman thing with you? What if I was a willing partner instead of a possession?”
He cracked open one of the beers, taking a long drink. “That’s not how it works. I wanted you. I took you. End of story.”
I looked down, trying to decide how I felt about that. I was a little ashamed to realize I liked it, at least on some level. Maybe it shouldn’t have felt good, but it did. Part of me liked how simple he made it—how unapologetic he was.
“Does this happen to every girl you kiss?”
“What?” he asked. “The orgasm? Because no, that was a first.” He waved the half-eaten pizza slice at me, smirking. “An absolutely awesome first, mind you. But a first.”
I groaned. “No. The part where their brains involuntarily start to rewire themselves into liking you.”
“I’m hurt. You say that like you didn’t want to like me.”
“I still don’t.”
“But you do.”
I took the beer he offered me, popping it open and taking a sip. “But I do,” I agreed with a crooked smile.
“You look hot like that,” he said, setting down his pizza and reaching for the camera. “Stay still, I’ll—”
I half-reached to stop him, but it was too late. Tristan was already staring into the screen. I knew from the way it lit his face in pale greens and blues that he was staring at the exact moment I’d frozen the footage.
I wanted to curl in on myself until I could just disappear in a cloud of smoke. “I was editing,” I croaked.
Tristan burst out laughing, but the humor slid from his face in moments, replaced by a wicked look I was getting to know all too well. “Did you touch yourself for me? Is that why you looked so freaked out when I came in?”
He set down his beer now, too, scooting closer. “Are you still wet?”
His questions made me feel dizzy, but I knew it had nothing to do with medications or conditions this time.
There had been a few times in my life where it felt like the weight of the moment overruled my own will. When I’d gone running to find my father at eight years old, even though I knew mom would be furious. Or when I’d let Tristan take me to his house the other night, even though logic was practically screaming against it. And now… Even though I knew where this moment led, I still couldn’t lift a finger to stop it.
