SEVENTEEN
COLLISION COURSE
Five Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
As winter melts into spring, the distant orbits in which Ethan and I circle each other change, and morph into something new. A spiraling ellipse of heat and sexual frustration that has definite overtones of catastrophe, but which neither of us seems inclined to avoid.
In fact, Ethan has been actively seeking me out.
In the past weeks, he’s been around more. Instead of going off by himself, he’s been loitering, occasionally joining in with banter and conversations, not only with me, but with the rest of our friends. When he started joining us for lunch, Avery gave him shit for deigning to chow down with the peasants. Holt told him to fuck off but cracked a smile while doing it.
He’s even tolerating Connor. Well, except for when Connor touches me—then Ethan gets a look like he’s trying to figure out how to murder him and stash his body where it’ll never be found.
His jealousy is strangely reassuring, but I try not to think about it too much.
Every now and then, I stare at him and fantasize. Replay all the ways he lit me up on that incredible night.
At those times I think it’s a tragedy it won’t happen again.
When he catches me staring, I know he feels it, too. My countdown clock gets louder. It makes me restless and impatient.
Horny.
Oh, so very horny.
Would it matter if we did it again? We survived it once, didn’t we? In the big scheme of things, it’s just sex.
Right?
I jiggle my leg as I watch Holt and Avery argue across the table in the cafeteria. He’s so freaking hot when he argues. I want to suck the acid right off his tongue.
“Fuck off, Avery. In 2006, Crash deserved to win Best Picture. No doubt.”
“That’s bullshit, man. Brokeback Mountain should have won. Are you kidding me? Two straight guys playing queer? You only had to hear Erika gushing over you and Connor to know how much people eat that shit up.”
“Erika loved it because we were fucking flawless. It’s not my fault you couldn’t fake enjoying being sodomized. Maybe you need to practice that.”
“Why don’t you teach me, sweetheart? Connor said you’re a sensitive lover. Best he’s ever had.”
“That’s true. Even used the warming lube.”
He’s talking about sex. Why does he think this is acceptable? Even though he’s joking, my imagination is exploding with scenarios. In all of them, lube is redundant.
“Care to comment, Taylor?”
“Uh … what?”
Avery grins at me. He’s up to no good. “You’ve had firsthand experience, right? Is Holt a good lover? Or is it all a big act? Come on, be honest. He couldn’t find your G-spot with both hands and sat-nav, am I right?”
“Shut up, Jack,” Ethan says as his smile fades.
Avery laughs and slaps the table. “Aw, come on! You guys have been broken up for a million years. Surely we can talk about this stuff now without Holt’s head exploding. Give us the deets. Did he rock your world?”
Three months ago, this question would have made me apoplectic. Now, I’m kind of tempted to answer it, simply to see Ethan’s reaction.
When I don’t answer, Jack gives up on me. “What about you, Holt? Give us something! On a scale of one to ten, where do you put Taylor on the hotness meter?”
Ethan laughs and glances at me as he shakes his head. Crawling pinkness slides up his neck and onto his cheeks.
“Rate her!” Avery says, goading him. He starts up a chant. “Rate her! Rate her! Rate her!” Lucas and Zoe join him. So do Miranda and Aiyah. Random passersby, who have no idea what the hell we’re talking about, stop and clap.
“For fuck’s sake.” Ethan runs a hand through his hair. The chanting continues. “You’re a prick, Avery. Okay, okay! Shut up, and I’ll tell you!”
The clapping dies down and Ethan looks at me even as he talks to Jack.
“You really want to know where Taylor sits on the hotness scale?”
“Hell, yes!” Jack is almost vibrating with excitement.
Ethan’s stare paints every inch of my skin with tiny shivers.
“On a scale of one to ten…”
“Yeah?”
Ethan licks his lips. I do the same. I think I stop breathing.
“She’s about a thirty-five.”
Everyone exhales, me included.
For once, Avery’s speechless.
It doesn’t last long.
“Jesus Ass-Slapping Christ. Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Ethan hasn’t stopped looking at me, and I don’t think I could look away if I tried.
“Taylor? Care to comment?” Jack asks.
“Not really.” I’m too busy swallowing excess saliva.
“Don’t make me chant again. Just give Holt a number.”
“Out of ten?”
“Yeah.”
“For sex?”
“Yeah!”
Ethan raises one perfectly sexy eyebrow. I reward it with a smug smile.
“Ten.”
Avery’s jaw hits the floor. “Are you shitting me? Why does he get a ten?”
“Because that’s how many orgasms he gave me in one night.” The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to be embarrassed.
Avery laughs. “No, really.”
“Really.”
His face falls, and he looks between us and blinks. Everyone is very quiet. Zoe is staring at Ethan like he’s the incarnation of a mythical sex god.
“Well, fuck me. And you guys broke up, WHY?!”
It’s a good question. Sitting here knowing the myriad of things he seems to be thinking about doing to me, I have no good answer.
Before I even get to the party, I know he’s there. Every part of me is tingling in anticipation. I’ve waxed, shaved, and exfoliated so thoroughly, I feel frictionless. Like a shark. Hungry and ready for a victim.
Only one victim will do.
It’s going to be tonight. It has to be. I can’t take not having him any more.
I’ve dressed the part in a skintight black sheath I’ve borrowed from Ruby, along with heeled boots. It’s a little more dressy than my usual jeans and T-shirt, but I need every advantage. If he’s going to try to resist, this dress will convince him.
As soon as I walk through the door, he’s staring at me. He’s trying to hide his desperation, but it’s written all over his face and in every tense muscle that flexes as he ogles me. I don’t let him see how violently he affects me. Showing him all my cards isn’t part of this game. I feign disinterest and graze his crotch with my butt as I pass him on the way to the kitchen.
Not playing fair but definitely playing to win.
He’s drinking beer. I grab one, too. Then I brush past him again on the way out. He makes a sound of frustration, but he doesn’t touch me.
He’s just delaying the inevitable.
Back in the living room, Avery is setting up shots of tequila. Holt and I share a look. It speaks volumes. Without talking, we line up for our turn. I grab his hand, lick it, then cover it in salt. Lick it again to make it perfectly clean. Graze it with my teeth. His expression is pure sex as I sip and suck. He uses my clavicle. Sprinkles me. Sucks me clean. Makes me feel dirty in a good way.
We line up again.
This time we use other people, because we don’t want our friends becoming suspicious. We watch each other, though.
The shots are an excuse, and we both know it. We want to lose control. We’re both strung so tight, the only choice is to snap.
Still, if his brain has anything to do with it, he’ll get out of here before he does something stupid with me. His brain is fooling itself. Already, I can see layers of protection sliding away as the booze works on him.
It’s only a matter of time.
Three shots later, I can’t hide that I’m staring, while I imagine the parts I want to touch. He makes my mouth dry. I nurse a bottle of beer and suck on it suggestively. The front of his pants swells. He’s trying to carry on a conversation with Lucas and failing, big time.
When someone cranks up the music, I dance. I close my eyes and sway to the beat. There are bodies all around me, but as soon as he’s there, I feel it low in my belly. It’s a low, hungry burn that will only be soothed by him. I find him behind me without even opening my eyes. He sways against me, one arm around my waist. I wind my fingers through his hair and tug as his groan vibrates into my back. I wonder if people are gossiping about us yet. Even if they are, I’m beyond caring.
He drops his head to my shoulder, a supplicant in the making. I turn and whisper, “I can feel how hard you are.” He tightens his arm around my waist as he pulls me back against his erection.
“You walk into this party looking like sex in woman form and expect me to be anything but hard? That’s fucking laughable.”
I grind into him. Make him exhale between his teeth. Then I move away and turn to look at him as I dance with others to try to disguise how oblivious I am to anyone but him. Another arm winds around my waist and pulls me back to a firm chest. Shorter than Ethan. Smells good.
Connor.
“What the hell did you do to Holt?” he whispers as he spins me around to face him. “He looks like he wants to murder you.”
I turn to look at Ethan. Yeah, he looks murderous, but it isn’t aimed at me.
“Oh, you know,” I say as I take a step back. “He’s uptight, as usual.”
More than usual. Way more.
“You need me to … you know … protect you, or whatever?”
I almost laugh. If anyone needs protection tonight, it’s Ethan. I’m the predator. He’s my well-endowed prey. “No, I’m good. Thanks for the offer, though.” I hug him, short and perfunctory. By the time I turn around, I’ve forgotten he was even there.
Then I push through the crowd and head toward the bathroom. I brush past Ethan on the way and run my hand across the front of his pants. Squeeze. Keep going. Don’t look back.
I get inside the bathroom seconds before he’s there, pushing me backward and slamming the door behind us. He grabs me, equal parts angry and horny.
Before he has a chance to speak I push him against the wall and kiss him. At last I get to show him the full extent of my need. It only takes a second for him to kiss me back, then all bets are off. We’re rough and demanding, and even as he mutters that we shouldn’t, he knows very well we’re going to. Within three seconds, I have his jeans unbuttoned, and he’s in my hand. So hard and perfect.
I squeeze, then pump him gently. His head hits the wall. I kneel in front of him and look up. A single pleading moan signals his utter surrender.
“Fuck. Please, Cassie.” My ego explodes. This is the man who said we couldn’t be friends. Who swore we shouldn’t be lovers. Who broke my heart by listening to his ridiculous paranoia. Now, he’s begging me to put my mouth on him. Pleading with his eyes and soft fingers on my face. His noble intentions are forgotten in the face of the things he knows I can make him feel.
I smile up at him. Sex is power. Sex lets me have this part of him and believe it’s enough.
He begs me again, and I give in. His legs almost give out. I smile even as I take him in farther. I’ll never not marvel over the texture of him. The delicious weight. The tight noise he makes in the back of his throat every time I sweep my tongue over him.
Within a minute, I have him on the edge. I leave him there. Stand. Step back. He takes a moment to realize before he opens his eyes and delves into his jeans pocket. Then he rips the condom packet open with his teeth and rolls it on in record time.
Within seconds, he has my panties down and off. No foreplay. None is needed. That’s what we’ve been doing for weeks now. He pushes me against the wall and pulls my leg up to his hip, then kisses me hard. He’s rough, and I welcome it. I know he hates how much control I have when we’re like this. He wants to punish me. All he achieves is getting me more aroused.
Then he’s there, and pushing, and inside, and oh … oh … God, I needed this. Him. We both freeze, mid-kiss. I open my eyes and pull back. He’s looking at me, frowning and trying to stay detached. But how can he when we’re joined so completely?
He moves, slowly, sinuously. Takes his time and revels in my response. Nothing seems quite so black and white anymore. I cling to him as he enfolds me. We kiss and moan while we pant in time with the rhythm of our bodies. It all feels good. So right. Like we were born to be part of each other this way.
I shake my head to clear it of thoughts beyond this moment. Try to ignore the yawning hole that’s spewing unwanted feelings into my chest.
I shut down and concentrate on the feeling of him thrusting. Where we’re joined, the physical pleasure screams almost loud enough to drown out everything else.
Almost.
Our pace becomes frantic. The rougher he is, the harder it is for me to stay quiet.
After being so strung out for so long, neither of us lasts very long. Certainly not long enough to fully purge all of our tension. My orgasm is blinding. His seems to go on forever. I kiss him as he groans through it and let some of his essence bleed through a tiny chink in my armor. I hide it away and pretend it’s not the most precious thing I own.
When we’ve both recovered, he tries to stay inside of me, but I have to get out. I’ve had my fix, and that’s all I need.
Just sex.
I don’t need him.
I clean myself up and leave without saying a word.
Just take my waning power and go.