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There was something hard in his tone, and I did as I was told, maybe almost too willingly. Facing the wall, I felt his hands on my shoulders, then glide down my back to lift up my shirt. A moment later, he had it off me, and I was left sitting in my bra and pants.
His fingers worked around the clasp at my back, and he slipped my bra off my chest. His hands found their way to my shoulders, and he began massaging in deep, full circles.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop,” I said. When he didn’t, I turned around and before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed onto his wrists. “This isn’t for me,” I whispered. “This is for you. Do you understand?”
Removing my hands from his arms, I peeled off my pants, tossed them to the floor, and then my underwear. Now, I was stark naked in front of him. Vulnerable. His.
“I’m yours,” I murmured, my eyes probing his. I could never say enough to apologize for the harm I had put him through by choosing Elliot over him—by choosing anyone over him. “Please.”
No, I could never say enough. And I didn’t want to.
But I could do things for him, things I should’ve done a long time ago.
His eyes regarded mine for what felt like an eternity as the heat built up between us, literally, the sunlight stretching farther across the mattress, flowing over my bare thighs, meeting the dark point of my naked, open pussy. I felt like a flower coming into full bloom on a winter day, hot within the safety of a greenhouse, begging to be picked.
Pierre’s eyes dipped from mine, traveling carefully down the soft, glowing curves of my body. I wanted him to slice me open, devour me.
“You’re right,” he murmured, moving his hands to his waist. “Turn back around, and close your eyes.”
I did so, and waited for his next move. But there was nothing, except the sound of the door opening and closing. Still, the mattress didn’t move. Pierre must’ve remained beside me.
“Now tell me,” I heard him say, so casually it sounded like we were doing nothing but chilling in my room after a long day at school. “What is it you’re sorry for?”
“Everything,” I breathed.
I felt something over my eyes, as if Pierre was covering them with his hands.
“Everything?” someone repeated, but it wasn’t Pierre. I could feel his breath over my ear, his voice smoky, almost bored. “Including me?”
Elliot.
My hands snapped up to his in an instant, my nails digging into his wrists as I yanked them from my face.
“What are you doing here?” I snarled, trying to whirl around to face him just so I could sock him in the jaw. But he managed to hold me in place, his knees cradling my torso on either side. His hands remained over my eyes. “Where’s Pierre?”
“I’m still here,” I heard him say. He seemed closer to me now, as if he had changed positions on the bed. “And Elliot’s here as a surprise. Don’t worry, it’s something we arranged. Well, kinda.”
Surprise?
“Well, I’m surprised,” I said, trying to sense what was going on in back of me.
Elliot removed his hands from my eyes, and in that second, I looked in front of me find Pierre’s face inches from mine. He raised his hands to cup my face as if to reassure me, a slight smile playing on his lips. Then, he pulled back to lift his shirt. Behind me, I could hear Elliot doing the same.
“What are you doing,” I said, watching Pierre as his toned chest came into my view. “Asking me to choose?”
I couldn’t believe what was happening—Elliot and Pierre occupying the same space, me sandwiched in the middle, without throwing any fists. In fact, both of them seemed calm as could be, which made sense. They knew something I didn’t, and they were here to test me.
“I’m not asking you to do anything,” Pierre replied, drawing closer to me again so that I could feel his knees against mine as I knelt before him. He had taken off his pants, leaving him in his boxers.
“But that’s what you should be doing,” I said, pleading with him as I took his cheeks in my hands, holding him like he was fragile, a child rather than the young man I had grown up beside. “This for you,” I repeated. “For once, you need to do what you want. That’s all I care about, P. You.”
“Kat,” he whispered. “What I want, is for you to get what you want.”
I could feel Elliot’s hands skim my neck, twirling my hair, then letting it fall against my back.
“What I want,” Pierre continued, “is for you to drown in ecstasy. What I want, is for you to feel so good…” He was leaning into me, now. “…that you feel nothing.”
