Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(5)By: Aubrey Irons
Except just when I think I’m ready to throw all the caution in the world to the wind and go for it, that feeling of boundless bravado comes screeching to a halt. We’re naked, and he’s RIGHT there, and I know he wants it, but-
“We’re not doing this, luv,” he says quietly.
I bite my lip, dropping my eyes to the side so he doesn’t see them wavering, “I’m sorry, I really thought-”
“Hey,” He puts his hand on my cheek and turns my face so that his eyes meet mine, “Don’t you ever apologize to anyone for sticking to what feels right, yeah?”
I wrinkle my brow; “You’re not mad?”
“I’d be a serious fucking prick if I was, Chloe.”
He slides onto the backseat next to me, and I ease my head down onto his chest; “So…” I drag a finger over his chest, feeling my pulse race. “So maybe we can’t do THAT, but that doesn’t mean…” I trail off as he turns his head and grins at me, “That doesn’t mean you can’t show me some other stuff?”
I almost jump out of my skin at the first touch of his mouth to me there, and then I’m biting my hand to keep from screaming as he licks me there, filling me with feelings I’ve never had. There’s a wild pressure building hotter and higher inside of me, until it bursts with a white light as I buck and moan under his tongue and his fingers. And later, he shows me what feels good for him. I’m nervous that I’m going to be awful at it, but he’s sweet with his encouragement, and then gasping for air as I move my mouth faster and faster up and down on his size that I’m honestly not sure I could have actually taken inside of me anyways. He warns me, but I don’t want to stop, and I want the full experience. And when he fills my shocked and sputtering mouth, he’s moaning my name as I swallow as much as I can.
The backseat is cramped, and I’m jumping at every creak of the wind, thinking it’s my mother, but it’s absolutely and without question PERFECTION.
And afterwards, we lie there in the dim glow of the dashboard light listening to Led Zeppelin coming through the tinny speakers of the backseat while Oliver tells me about the new job he just got at a kitchen, and how excited he is to learn how to cook “everything”, as he puts it.
And the whole time, I’m holding him close, and desperately trying not to think about what happens in two days, when this boy with the charming English accent who’s permanently implanted himself upon the pages of my life goes back home forever.
It’s the next day when it all goes bad.
It’s the next day, the day I’m wearing the world’s biggest smile, that I walk around the corner of the gymnasium to see him smoking cigarettes with some of the other guys from school.
I didn’t even know he smoked.
But it’s not the cigarette that stops me in my tracks and sends that cold, horrible feeling sinking to the pit of my stomach, it’s what he’s saying.
He’s bragging; he’s telling them that he slept with me.
It’s then that one of them looks up and sees me, and grins as he nods in my direction. They’re all turning then, all of them grinning and smirking at me in way that has the color draining from my face. And then he looks up, and when my eyes meet his stunned, shocked ones, I can almost feel my heart breaking as I turn to go run and hide myself away forever.
It’s after half the cheer squad walks in on me bawling in the locker room already having heard Oliver’s little story that I spread my own little tale. I’m drying my eyes and laughing as I spin wildly untrue stories about how small he is, and how he couldn’t even get it up. And I’m telling them he cried during it, and they’re laughing and hugging me and telling me it’s going to be okay, even though I know the lies are only a temporary balm.
My story travels even faster than his, but really, it’s not like it really even matters much for him, seeing as he leaves a day later, forever. Me though? I have to stay.
I have to stay and keep telling the same lie. I have to stay and keep tarnishing the memory of one perfect night over and over again, just to make myself smile on the outside.
It certainly makes the last few weeks of high school more interesting, at least.
Outer London streaks by the windows of the taxi like drab, grey paint. Okay, I guess I was expecting that to an extent, but not this. It’s like being in a charcoal drawing; everything running black and sooty and crummy looking.
I make a face as I think of all my friends back home who were just so excited that I was moving to London for four months. Yeah, thrilling. I certainly don’t see any of them going to live with their surprise new stepfather and the boy they used to make out with; also now known as “new stepbrother”.
Mom and Barney are grinning and talking animatedly together in the bench seat of the taxi, with Oliver and I sitting apart in the two backwards facing seats across from them, pointedly trying to avoid both talking to each other and looking at them.