Page 31 of Drawn to You
After the song ends, Darrell nods but doesn’t speak.
“If you want to back out, it’s fine. I can easily find someone else,” Mason grumbles.
“Oh, no!” Darrell says quickly. “I’m in a hundred percent. I don’t care!”
“Good.” Mason slaps his shoulder and then turns to me. “What about you, Brittney? Do you want to be my video star?”
I stutter. “I don’t know. I need to think about it.”
I should just refuse him on the spot, but I don’t want to be rude, and besides, I confess I’m tempted by the opportunity of being in Mason Meyer’s music video.
Darrell is eager to convince me. “Come on, Brittney. Mason is gonna pay us, and we might even become famous!”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“Attagirl!” Mason gives me a high five.
After work, I drive to the Target Darrell told me about and get a cartload of necessities from shampoo to blankets.
When I get home, Andrew isn’t there. His car isn’t in the garage. I feel sad. I was hoping he would be waiting for me in the living room like he’s been doing since I first arrived at his house, even though I also dreaded the awkwardness. I was afraid I would change my mind if we were alone again, so it looks like my worries weren’t necessary.
There isn’t any food on the dinner table either. I open the fridge and dig out some cheese and salad. I find some wheat crackers in the pantry and have a simple, healthy dinner. And then I spend the rest of the evening watching a new show on Netflix.
At ten, I put on my pajama and get ready to go to bed. I’m about to turn off the bedside lamp when I hear the garage door open. Andrew must be home. After a moment’s hesitation, I go out to check on him.
“Hi, Andrew!” I say as he closes the door behind him.
He turns to look at me, his eyes narrowing a bit. When he walks toward me, he looks tipsy. I shiver because of the intensity of his gaze as he near me and the alcohol in his breath. I back a step, but he holds my shoulders and presses me against the wall.
“Why are you still here? Haven’t you moved out already?” he growls.
“N-not until tomorrow,” I say, my knees turning to jelly by his proximity. His eyes are locked on mine, mesmerizing me. I’ve always loved Andrew’s eyes—they’re so blue. And maybe because of the alcohol, they’re more brilliant than usual. My head is clear, and I know a sensible thing to do is close my eyes or look away, but I can do neither. I already regret my decision to move out because it means I won’t be able to see his beautiful eyes on a nightly basis. I’ll miss them. I’ll miss him. Maybe I should cancel my contract at the new place—but that’ll be crazy.
As I’m going through this conversation with myself in my head, I feel Andrew’s thumb brushing against my lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Britt. Do you have any idea how often I think about those lips?”
I shake my head.
“Every goddamn minute,” he growls. And then he swoops down and claims my mouth. He sucks on my lips and presses them as if trying to bruise me. This is not a tender kiss at all, neither is it urgent. It’s hungry and fierce as if he’s angry at himself for wanting me.
I’m thrilled and troubled at the same time. What have I done? Have I distracted him from his relationship with Melissa? The thought clears my head a bit, and I try to push him away. But he’s like a solid wall and won’t budge at all. Instead, he assaults me with his tongue now, pillaging my mouth as if trying to leave marks there.
I keep thinking I should stop him. He’s drunk, and I shouldn’t let him do things he’ll regret later. He’s strong, but if I try harder, I could escape.Push him away. Stop him. A voice keeps telling me in my head. But I can’t resist him. I want him.This will be our last time. I convince myself.Tomorrow I’ll walk away.
Before long, his hand finds my breast in my pajama, and he squeezes my flesh hard while rolling my nipple. Pain and pleasure course through me, and I whimper, abandoning all my thoughts of resisting him. When his hand slides down to my juncture, I part my thighs without being asked.
Andrew trails his lips towards my ear, and he rasps into it. “You horny little slut. Getting so wet for me.”
I gasp. How could he call me that? And why am I not mad?
Instead, I release a stream of wetness as if to prove he’s right.
Fuck. He mutters as he rubs my silky folds. “You know how often I think about these lips?”
I shake my head again. “Every waking moment,” he says, again angrily. “Hell, I probably think about it when I sleep, too.”
Oh God. I’m overwhelmed by his confession. I forget myself and say, “Take me again, please!”
He growls as he frees a hand to unzip his fly. Soon I feel his meaty cock along my gash.
