Angst (32 page)

“What the fuck do you want,” I hiss as soon as we’re up the
stairs and the music is low enough to be heard over. I can feel my eyes lowering
into deadly slits. I’ve decided on the walk out of the room, following his
perfect ass and muscular back up the stairs, that he is pissing me off. I’ve
suddenly remembered how he’s fucked with me, rejected me, confused me and then
I recall that he thinks I’m some kind of huge party slut and he probably just
wants to harass me about it or use me.

The problem is that I’m trying to ignore how devastatingly
hot he is in his form fitting white t-shirt and dark jeans. I just want to
touch his biceps, his chest, the slight bulge in his pants that could be…is it?
Oh God, focus, Victoria, you turned on slut.

“Did you mean what you said before, do you really want to
just fuck and that’s it?” he asks, his tense angry face somehow more gorgeous
and almost seductively dangerous, like tightly coiled fury, brown eyes
sparking, muscles clenched. I think,
WTF
,
now he wants to take me up
on my offer?

“Oh, now you want to fuck me, hmmm?” I say, moving closer,
pressing my body up against his, looking up to watch his expression, wanting to
see if it will change, trying to act the slut, apparently how he assumes I will
act.
Goddamn him.

I act like I’m about to kiss him, my hands sliding up his
chest, our mouths so close to one another that I can smell his warm mint and
tangy vodka breath and it almost makes me want to actually put my hot little
mouth on his gorgeous one. But he’s a statue, not moving, not responding. I
jerk away, rigid like a loaded gun, ready to go off.

“I’m not sure I can do that now that you’ve basically called
me a whore, Jared,” I seethe. “I want you to stop fucking with me,” I spit,
turning, about to stalk away from him. Before I can take two steps he grabs my
arm, dragging me back into the room, pulling me around to face him, a pissed
off smirk on his lips, nostrils flaring.
Oh how I want to slap that smirk
off his perfect face.
Either that, or really go through with what he
suggested. Just sleep with him, like an anger fuck. My heart starts to slam and
a sexual thrill runs through me.

“Brad Winter, Victoria? Really?” he sneers, pinning me with
his eyes, fumbling with the cap of the silver flask he’s been clutching all
night, finally pulling it off and taking a huge swill.

“What the fuck does that mean!?” I throw back at him.

“Well, since you’ve been with everyone else, I guess I
shouldn’t be surprised. But really, Brad Winter?” he mocks, lips curling up
into a sarcastic drunk sneer, fumbling to pocket the silver flask again.

“What the fuck did he tell you?!” I demand, studying his
face for some kind of clue, but finding nothing but dark arrogant asshole. “Did
he tell you I slept with him!?” Jared doesn’t answer, crossing his arms,
looking down at me like he expects me to go on. But I’m playing my cards close
to the chest cause I’m not sure I want to tell him the truth. When I don’t say
anything he finally speaks.

“Yeah well he also said you sucked Hunter McVane’s cock at
some party over the summer. Oh and then there was that other guy at the New
Year’s party and some other guy at the last frat party, oh and Mike Sketch-Ass
Monahan tonight with your little strip tease. God, Victoria, you are worse than
I thought. You are some kind of fuckinpartyslut,” he grinds out.

“Oh, fuck you, you double-standard bastard!” I shriek, “So
it’s okay for you to be with however many girls you want but it’s not okay for
me?! Fuck you! Go to hell, Jared McKinley!” I snap back.

“No fuck you, Victoria! Do you know how many girls Brad’s
been with? He’s a man-whore. He brags that he’s been with a ton of girls. I
know he’s a lying piece of shit, but he has been with lots of people and every
single one is a huge
slut
,” he pauses for a moment, clenching and
unclenching one of his fists, finally saying, “And I’ll bet you snorted some
fuckin coke earlier too. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Yeah actually I had some real fun earlier. I fucked the
shit out of every single guy in that room,
I let them run a Goddamn train on
me
, oh and this was after I snorted five lines of coke, smoked two bowls
and then after all was said and done, I had sex with Hannah too in front of
them on the coffee table. Oh and then I stripped for everyone. Yeah, that’s
what I did,” I snarl.

“You are not who I thought you were, Victoria,” he flings
back. Simple. Just a few words that crush me.

“Why the fuck do you care?” I shriek, close to tears now,
angry that he is accusing me, that things are going wrong, that he caught me in
that room earlier, that Brad lied to him about what happened between us, that
somehow Brad knew about Hunter at the party over the summer with the leopard
print boxers. My first and only time doing that to a guy and it only happened
because of how drunk and depressed I was about Nick.

“Seriously, Jared, fuck you! I hate you. I don’t know why
you fucking care!” He just looks at me, his asshole grin gone for a moment,
lips tightly compressed, looking pissed and upset and I have no idea why. I’m
having a hard time processing everything through my drunk, drugged up mind. I
step forward, closing the distance between us.

“Why do you care?! Leave me alone!” I growl, pushing him in
the chest. He doesn’t budge, but his eyes blaze and he pushes me back, not
hard, but enough to get my attention. I rock on my heels, stunned, feeling
slickly off kilter, off balance and before I can react he’s talking again.

“I had expectations of you and you broke them all!” he
blurts, and I’m not sure I heard correctly because the smirking, angry, biting
bastard is back. “What if I want a girlfriend, but I don’t want one who’s a
slut,” he says with another sly derisive grin, his eyebrow lifted in contempt.

My mouth hangs open for a moment until I control myself,
eyes closing down to little glaring slits.
I can’t fucking believe him!
I
try to form words, thoughts flying, but everything is turning a bit dark around
the edges, hazy and indistinct and I feel like I’m rocking back and forth, the
world not quite steady. I’ve had too much to drink and I’m reacting on
instinct, letting my instantaneous emotions dictate what I’m about to say. His
words echo and suddenly we’re back to the beginning again. My first words,
repeating themselves like a threat, a taunt and so I can hear myself say them
again.

“Why don’t you just fuck me and get it over with you fuckin
dirty bastard and then we can stop talking about it. And for the record, I
never slept with Brad Winter.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, angry, pissed
off, a fucking jerk.

“I hate you. I want to fucking hit you,” I whisper, my voice
rough with anger.

God I want to thrash him!
I want to kill him. I get
even closer to him, pause, and then hit him, one punch on his solid pec. Not
hard, just serious and he glares at me, muscled arms crossed, a tiny jerk-off
smile hitching his mouth up on one side, taunting, like “I dare you to hit me
again. I dare you to hit me with all you’ve got.”

God do I want to hit him…
fucking hard.
I’m trying not
to, but the tense violence inside me is dying for a way out. I want to scream,
throw a fit, slap him, strangle him for making accusations, grab his face and
smack that sarcastic grin right off it, instead I dig my nails into my palm,
trying not to totally lose it.

He seems calm, in control, when he closes the small distance
between us and grabs my arms with his hot hands, pulling them down to my sides,
finally pinning them behind my back. Clearly he doesn’t want to risk the
physical ambush I can feel building. But now we’re touching, thigh to chest,
his arms around me.
OH MY GOD.
I want to kiss him
. He looks down
at me and his expression is still tightly controlled anger, the tiny twitch in
his jaw the only indication that he probably wants to kill me too. He continues
to hold my arms in a tight grip and then he lets go, his arm snaking around my
waist and suddenly it hardly matters what has been said, in fact I can’t even
remember most of our conversation. All that matters is that he is here now, and
there’s this magnetic, irresistible attraction between us.

He stares at me, the tiny twitch jerking, eyes blazing,
mouth tense and without saying anything his arms tighten around my back,
holding me close, almost lovingly but with a hint of under the surface tension
and rage. And then I do the unthinkable, the unplanned. I look up at his
incredible mouth, wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, warm lips pressed
hard. And he doesn’t pull back or jerk away like I thought he might, instead he
leans in, kissing me back, harder, mouth opening, tasting like peppermint gum
and alcohol.
Warm and rich.
It’s like spontaneous combustion because I’m
burning hot and his lips are firm and intense and I feel this outward explosion
feeling and I’m drunk and hazy and yet high from the pot. I’ve never felt this
way before and all I really want is for him to fuck me.

Suddenly all the alcohol I’ve had tonight hits me. I’m dirty
drunk. I’ve gone from crawl to full speed 100 mph in just minutes. Now my
reality is glimpses of scenes, time moving at double speed. Our bodies have
taken over, hands that know what to do. Throwing off clothing, doing what feels
right, and I can hear myself say, yes, yes, yes, to everything he is doing and
little moans from him as I touch him. We’re fumbling and tearing at each piece
of clothing and now our skin comes together, hot, naked and alive. I’ve never
felt as alive as I do now.

We don’t speak and things begin to move a lot faster, time
warping. Everything comes to me in flashes of light and dark, shadow and
highlight. His face, his golden green brown eyes, sparking, warm, blazing with
intensity, his chest, running my hands over every plane, his biceps, the ripple
of his abs. Everything is sensation now, warm fingers against burning hot skin.
The heaviness of his body as he pushes me against the bed, our lips in constant
contact, kissing and biting, tongues darting and tasting. It’s like a frenzy, a
pot that’s boiling over, hotter and hotter and the world is shimmering and
glimmering and his eyes are beautiful in the half light and everything about
him is suddenly sizzling and urgent.

And then he breaks away from my mouth and murmurs something
in my ear that takes me even higher, sending heat coursing over me.

“I’ve had a fantasy about being with you like this.”

And it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, and completely
unbelievable and my heart sprints, his words throbbing in my head.
Oh my God
I want him, inside me, now.

And when he’s finally inside me, it’s like nothing I’ve ever
felt before. A deep and primitive place, a place I have never felt before,
never experienced and as he moves in and out I’m taken to new heights of
sensation. His fingers are intertwined with mine, I remember that and I
remember some pain, but then pleasure, intense pleasure and it doesn’t feel
cheap. It doesn’t feel like anger. It feels like it means something, a
connection, a spark, a torch shined into the darkness.

Every sensation, everything, hands, burning hot skin against
skin, the play of muscles, him inside me, entering a place where no one has
ever been, satisfying a desire, a raging throbbing ache that I’ve had for
years.
Sex. Making Love. Fucking.
Mouths never still, hands always
moving, hips rocking, thrusting against me, in and out, bringing a heightened
feeling of awareness of my own body.
He is the first.
The first…the
first…the first…fantasy. And then blackness. Deep, dark, satisfying blackness.

When I awake it’s just starting to get light out, tiny
fingers of sunlight slanting over the bed in which I lie. It takes a minute for
everything to register in my brain. I am still slightly drunk, I’ve got the
spins and I’m in bed with Jared.
I’m in bed with…Jared.
What the
fuck?!
Then everything comes flooding back to me in snatches of
conversation, images and feelings. His words about me breaking all his
expectations, telling me he wants a girlfriend, but one who isn’t a slut, me
replying that he should just fuck me, us falling onto one another in our lust,
ripping off clothes, everything feeling damn right, telling him yes, yes, yes
and then sex. And then the words, fantasy, us, together like this and him
inside me, his eyes as he looked at me, startling golden brown-green, like
amber in the half-light, shining. And then blackness.

I turn over and he’s still there, right behind me, his warm
hand on my hip and I feel sick. I don’t think I’ve ever been so drunk in my
entire life. I feel like I need to throw up. I climb very carefully out of bed
and into the cold damp morning air. The room is freezing and my clothes are all
over the floor, flung here and there. Jared doesn’t stir, just lays there
peacefully, his face beautiful in sleep.

My head pounds and my stomach suddenly rolls. I hunker down
on the ground and crawl around to gather my clothing cause it seems to keep the
spinning feeling at bay. I sit and struggle into several pieces of clothing and
finally crawl to the door and open it a crack. No one appears to be around. I
crawl down the hall toward where I thought I spotted a bathroom last night,
hoping no one will see me. It’s empty and I crawl inside and promptly throw up
everything in my stomach, heaving and heaving, all the alcohol coming up along
with my dinner from late last night.

I sit on the floor, quivering and weak and I realize I need
water and hot greasy food and I need to leave here.
Immediately.
I’m
suddenly nervous, out of my mind, thoughts racing. What have I done? I had
sex…with Jared. The area between my legs aches something fierce and I know I
can’t walk straight and then I remember that sometimes virgins bleed their
first time. I rip down my jeans and wipe myself.
Blood. Yup. Gross.
I
wonder if Jared will notice. Is this blood anywhere else? I must have gotten up
out of bed at some point to put my underwear back on because it had been on
when I got up this morning.
Jesus, what have I done?