Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton

 

 

Nineteen

 

Britney

 

He leans in, licking his lips hesitantly. Do it, I think to myself, please just do it.

His eyes flick down, and I know this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Right when he’s about to close the gap, the screen freezes.

“What the—” I mutter to myself, my hand full of popcorn frozen midway to my mouth.

The screen unfreezes and I sigh in relief. I’m one hundred percent emotionally invested in this movie and these characters. I’ll be pissed if anything stands in my way of watching the angsty sex scene—the point of the whole movie. It’s taken over an hour of my life to get to this point.

Right when their lips are about to meet, the screen freezes again. Unlike the last time, it remains that way. Netflix and I are about to have a serious falling out. “Gaaaah!” I’m being over the top, but the past few days of animosity between me and Becket has me wound up. If I can’t get my happy ending, I need to watch these characters get theirs.

I stand and stray pieces of popcorn fall from my loungewear onto the floor. The words hot mess spring to mind. I stalk over to the one-hundred-and-twenty-inch flat-screen TV and stare at it coldly, hoping that scolding it with my eyes might spark it back to life. Nope. There they are, larger than life, Britt Robertson, and Dylan O’Brien, ready to make sweet love, and what do I get? Nothing.

Leaning forward, I tap my knuckles against it, then tap it again. “Piece of shit,” I mutter to myself.

I mean who needs a TV this big? The people on the screen are literally bigger than me. I’m ready for rapping my knuckles against Dylan’s perfect brow once more, when a pair of hands swoop in front of my face, and everything goes black.

Instantly, the figure in the black jacket flashes through my mind and my heart stops.

I’m about to fight back, when Becket’s scent invades my senses. Lavender and birch. A deep throaty chuckle follows that sends a reaction straight down to my lady parts. If I weren’t so on edge and sexually frustrated, I might have been able to see the funny side to all this, but hell hath no fury like an orgasm-deprived woman. If that’s the case, Becket’s screwed, because this has been building for years and I’m ready to combust.

“Get off me,” I grunt.

He removes his hands and I’m staring at Dylan.

I should turn around and face him, but I can’t. The past few days have been awful. All I’ve wanted to do is apologize for pushing the New York thing too much. I knew what it meant to him and I should have backed down. Unfortunately, Becket and I are equally stubborn, so instead of settling things like grown adults, there’s been an increasingly awkward silence building.

Accepting I can’t avoid him forever, I spin around, ready to unleash my wrath. “Are you trying to send me to an early grave? Who sneaks up on someone like that?”

Gone is tortured Becket and back is the smirk. I’m not sure which is worse. Tortured Becket has me weeping inside and out, wanting to take on whatever demons he’s fighting. Smirking Becket has me wanting to slap it straight off his face, then tear his clothes off. I’ve never met someone who could draw such polar opposite reactions from me. He’s infuriating.

What’s more infuriating? The way he towers over me, and says, “It’s my house, Brit. I was hardly sneaking around.”

He has a point.

“Your fancy TV is broken.”

He smirks again. “Alexa … Play TV.” Dylan leans in and devours Britt Robertson’s mouth, sexy soundtrack, and all. “What’s wrong, Brit? Don’t you want to finish watching the movie?” He takes a step closer, getting so close our toes are touching.

I have to lean my head back in the same way I did, that first day in the gym, only this time I know he doesn’t hate me. Quite the opposite. And I’m one hundred percent certain he’s going to kiss me.

Then it hits me: he’s standing.

“What are you doing? Where’s your chair!” I shriek, looking around frantically.

He holds his arms out wide and says, “Surprise.”

“Alexa …” I say, “Pause TV.” There’s no way I’m missing watching my fellow Britt lose her V-card, but for now, she’ll have to wait.

I reach up with my arms, wrapping them around Becket’s neck before slamming my lips against his. He groans when I part his mouth with my tongue, deepening the kiss and pressing my body into his. From what I can feel, this game we’ve been playing has been as frustrating for him as it has for me.

I’m done playing by the rules, I’ve waited long enough.

My hands begin roaming, finding his belt and attempting to unfasten it. I don’t get far when Becket’s hands cover mine, stopping me from completing the task at hand. I try to bat him away and begin fighting with the surprisingly challenging metal object. Our lips never break contact until Becket’s hands firmly pull mine away from his belt, and pin them to my sides.

I narrow my eyes. “What are you doing? Why are you making me stop?”

He looks almost sheepish when he replies, “I thought we could have a date?”

“What … like right this second?”

Letting go of my hands, he takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah.” He looks at the screen, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’re busy?”

Oh, Britt you’re just like me. You’re never going to seal the deal. “What did you have in mind?” I ask, trying not to think too much about the fact I couldn’t be dressed any less appropriately for a date if I tried.

He shrugs. “I thought we could order in. Maybe a bit of Netflix and chill.”

My eyes widen. “‘Netflix and chill?’ Are we talking literally or metaphorically?”

“I’d like to say I don’t put out on the first date, but it’s been so long I can’t remember if I do or don’t. How about we wait and see?” He winks.

I roll my eyes playfully. After the animosity of the past few days, it feels good to be back to the normal Britney and Becket. The B Team in full force. Oh my God. I just did that thing social media couples do where they no longer refer to themselves as separate beings, instead becoming one and give themselves a single name. I’m in deep. Deeper than the Titanic.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, backtracking, trying to regain control of the situation. The last time we attempted anything like this, he had me sit and watch him screw another woman.

The smug expression on his face disappears and he answers, “I fucked up, Brit. Last time we tried this … I shouldn’t have done what I did. Can we have a do-over?”

Damn it. I can’t not forgive him, especially when he looks at me with puppy dog eyes. “Fine.” I sniff. “But we’re ordering pizza because I’m starving. And I get to pick the movie.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, as you spoiled Britt and Dylan, we’re starting again.”

He looks at the TV screen skeptically. “Ok, what’s the movie called?”

“The First Time.”

“Seriously?” he groans.

“The most serious I’ve ever been in my life. I was just getting to the good bit and you ruined the momentum, so now we have to start again.”

He leans in and places a sweet kiss on my lips.

“What was that for?”

He shrugs. “Just because I can, and it feels right. I like this.”

“What?”

“Us. Being normal, rather than fighting or trying to take on the world. It feels like we’re a normal couple.”

“Throwing the couple card around already? Careful, Becket, your teammates won’t think you’re cool if they find out what a softy you really are.”

This time when he leans in and kisses me, he pours every emotion he’s feeling into it. I know because I’m feeling it too. We’re teetering on the edge, ready to fall. I just hope that when we do, it’s together.

“I don’t care what they think. I don’t care what anyone thinks. Apart from you.”

Every part of me swoons, and I scold myself. After all, this could just be another one of his games.

 

***

 

Two supersize pizzas and a whole lot of candy later, we’re back to the pivotal point of the movie.

My mouth drops open. “Please tell me it’s not that bad.”

The whole point of the movie is the build-up to their first time, and then it turns out to be crap? Is that what I have to not look forward to? I swallow nervously and look at Becket out of the corner of my eye. His broad shoulders shake as he laughs silently. “Why are you laughing at me?” I huff.

“You look like someone just told you Santa isn’t real. It’s a movie, Brit. Of course, it’s not like that.”

“I don’t have a clue what to expect,” I admit. “In my head I’ve built it up to be this huge thing, and what if it’s not? What if I’m disappointed?” Ok, so that was anything but cool. Spewing the inner working of my mind to Becket is probably not the best way to handle this. 

He grabs the remote control off the coffee table and presses pause, then turns his whole body to face me and stares me directly in the eyes. “Do you want the truth?”

Breathlessly, I say, “Always.”

He takes me by surprise when he shuffles in closer and starts kissing me. He doesn’t break for air, and within minutes, I’m riled up, the conversation and any worries, forgotten.

I moan when his lips leave mine, but I’m not disappointed for long as he begins placing small kisses along my neck. He varies the pressure between nipping and sucking gently, and warmth spreads throughout my whole body.

Hovering close to my ear, he says in a hushed voice which has me trembling and that I hear in every part of my body, “The first time might hurt. But you’ll forget when you’re begging me for more.” He pulls away with a serious expression on his face. “I won’t ever make you do anything you don’t want to. All you have to do is tell me to stop.”

I nod, letting him know I get it.

He stands and offers his hand out to me.

“Where are we going?”

“Your first time isn’t going to be a quick fumble on the couch.”

Alrighty then. We’re really doing this. I totally swooned over Dylan, but he’s got nothing on Becket. Who knew the brute without a filter could be so … sweet? With the expectations of what’s to come, it all feels very heavy and becomes a little too much. Panicking, I have no control over what comes out of my mouth, a bit like someone else I know. “I totally dig you right now,” I blurt out, trailing behind him on the stairs.

A rumble of laughter fills the house, but it doesn’t stop him. He says over his shoulder, “You did not just quote the movie?”

“It felt fitting,” I squeak.

The door to his bedroom opens. This is really it. Britney The Virgin will be a virgin no more. They say your first time is a big deal. When you get to where I am in life, it isn’t just a big deal, it’s a huge deal. I trust Becket with this more than I’ve ever trusted anyone, but my stomach is still in knots. I’m only human after all.

Following him inside, I try to swallow but my mouth is drier than the desert. When he switches the lamp on his nightstand on, I pause, staring at it.

“Brit?”

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

Tugging me towards him, he wraps his arms around my waist and trails his fingers back and forth along my lower back. It’s soothing and calms my nerves.

“Stop overthinking it,” he whispers.

Easier said than done when you’re in the arms of one of the hottest NFL players in the country. I don’t get a chance to overthink it, because Becket does everything he can to make sure my mind is shut off. His mouth devours mine and I’m incapable of doing anything but respond to his kisses.

He pulls back, and in a way that is only fitting to me and him, he quotes the movie and the words of Dylan O’Brien right back to me, “I totally dig you too.” Before taking things any further, he asks, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

It’s the first time someone has asked. That’s when I realize I’m starting to fall for him, the moment he respects me and my body and all the emotions that come with my past. 

I nod and he peels away my clothing, one piece at a time, then backs me up to the bed. Falling back, I relax into the sheets, watching as he strips down to just his boxers, and as he does, every hard trained muscle flexes.

He’s about to climb over me, when I clear my throat and boldly say, “Take them off.”

All I get is a smirk before he pulls his boxers down, then stands up tall. My eyes zero in on his huge erection and of course, my mouth takes over, not in a good way. “It won’t fit.”

Becket freezes. I’ve completely fucked up getting fucked. Mortified, I’m ready to scurry off the bed and leave Jacksonville, naked. Getting clothed would take too much time, I need to get away from this situation as quick as humanely possible.

The worst possible thing happens next. Becket begins to laugh. I cover my face with my hands.

“Seriously, Brit, what now?” he wheezes out.

“Your cock—it’s waving at me … you have to stop laughing.” I watch as he begins to stroke himself up and down slowly. “What are you doing?”

He stops laughing and his expression turns serious. “Showing you what I want you to do with your mouth.” My mouth forms an O. “Brit, you’re a natural.”

Suddenly I don’t want to run away from Jacksonville, the only place I want to be is right here. Shuffling towards him on the bed, I lift my hand up and replace his, stroking back and forth in the way he showed me. When I move forward, licking my lips, ready to take him in my mouth, he shakes his head.

Gently, he pushes me back onto the bed, covering my body with his, as he whispers into my ear, “We’ll save that lesson for later. Tonight, is all about you.”

That’s the moment I’m ruined for all other men. I might not be experienced, but I know finding a man who’s happy to put my pleasure above his own is a rare find.

I arch my back as Becket reaches around and unclasps my bra, tossing it to the ground. He trails kisses from my collarbone down to my nipple, sucking and teasing with his tongue. At the same time, his hand wanders, circling my stomach, waiting, gauging my reaction. I buck my hips upwards, rubbing myself against his cock, trying to find some relief as the ache between my legs builds.

It’s the signal he needs that I’m all in. I want more.

When his hand skims under the lace of my thong and his fingers slide inside me, stars fill my vision. All the time his movements are slow, teasing, he’s giving me time to accept that what he’s doing is ok. The way he’s touching me is because I want it, and my eyes are being reopened to how things always should have been. Two fingers move in and out, while one circles my clit in a way that almost drives me over the edge. When a shudder starts to take over my body, he stops.

I lift my head and stare at him with daggers. What the fuck does he think he’s playing at?

“I want the first time you come to be around my dick.”

I’m about to filter my response, but I stop myself. Polite isn’t us. “I can’t come on your dick if it’s not inside me …” I don’t know what to do when Becket’s face starts to turn purple. “What’s happening right now?”

“I’m trying not to laugh,” he says breathlessly, “because if I do, I’m literally going to tickle you with my dick.”

I cringe. The moment is slipping away. “This isn’t working, I’m broken.”

He stops laughing and his face turns serious. “You’re not broken, you’re just overthinking it.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time for thi—”

I’m silenced as Becket’s mouth devours mine, and everything I was fretting about, suddenly seems trivial. Seconds—that’s all it takes for me to forget what I was worrying about.

“Fuck me,” I moan. There’s no uncertainty. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him right now.

He slides his dick inside me slowly, a little at a time, giving my body time to adjust around his size. “Ready?”

Yes. No. Never. Always. All the thoughts that flood through my mind. What it comes down to—this moment will never fit a fairytale, we’re both too flawed for that.

I don’t answer with my voice. Instead, I grab his hips, forcing him in deeper. I can’t hide the wince or the hiss of breath that escapes my mouth, when he finally pushes through that barrier, taking away my virginity. But I don’t want to. The moment is raw. Real. Perfectly imperfect. When the pain begins to subside, I wrap my legs around his waist, wanting more. I want to be closer to him, but he’s holding back, and I know why.

I hold a finger up to his lips, stopping his kisses and say, “Don’t hold back.”

“I’m scared of hurting you,” he replies.

We both know he doesn’t just mean physically.

“You can’t break me. I was already broken. This here, what’s happening, is you putting me back together again.”

“Brit …”

“I’ll say it one last time. Fuck me. Now.”

He must see something in my eyes because that’s exactly what he does. He thrusts his cock in and out of me at a relentless pace, hitting just the right spot. When I’m at the edge, ready to tumble into bliss, he slows down, teasing. When it becomes too much for us both, he doesn’t ease back. His fingers circle my clit at the same time he drives inside me, tipping me over the edge. Electricity courses through my body in waves, a pleasure that feels like it might never end but stops too soon.

Becket slides out of me, spent, and rolls onto his back, his chest heaving as he closes his eyes.

“I hope you don’t think you’re going to sleep,” I say, and he smirks in the way he does that drives me mad. One eye opens and meets mine. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

 

***

 

“Favorite color?”

My pen hovers over the page of my notepad, waiting for his answer. Kneeling beside him, my eyes linger on his exposed chest, then find their way to where the bed sheet settles across his waist.

“Blue, like your eyes.”

I jab him in the ribs with my pen, hard. “Now give me the real answer.”

He chuckles. “Ok. Red. My favorite color is red.”

I tug his oversized shirt down, over my legs, awkwardly. “Weird.”

“How is that weird?”

I shrug. “I dunno. I always associate red with bad things. Blood. The devil. Hate.”

“Maybe you’re wrong,” his tone is a little defensive and I’m determined not to ruin the night for the sake of one silly question.

“What’s the one thing you’ve always wanted?” I ask, choosing to ignore the change in his mood.

“You.”

“I’m being serious! I have to get some answers for this article, or I’ll be fired.”

“You won’t be.”

“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He rolls his eyes. “The article is about me. I can pull a few strings, especially if the reason you can’t do it is because I’m not being compliant.”

He has a point, but it still doesn’t feel right. “I can look after myself.”

He pecks me on the lips. “I don’t doubt that for a second. But I’m not about to let you get in shit for something that is my fault.”

“How about you answer my questions, and we don’t even let it get to that stage?”

“Brit …” he warns.

I’m pushing us over that fine line. The one where he closes off and leaves me questioning what I really know about him.

“Come to New York with me,” he says out of nowhere, stretching his arms up above his head like he’s asked for something simple like a glass of water. Not like he just dropped a major bombshell.

“You’re going to New York? I thought you hated it?”

His tone is flat when he replies, “I do.” 

“I’m completely lost.”

His face changes and he’s wearing the same cocky expression he does for the rest of the world. “You’re looking at Sports Elite’s very own Sports Personality of The Year.”

“Sports Elite? Like the biggest magazine in the country?”

“The one and only,” his voice gives away his excitement.

“That’s huge! I’m so proud of you!” I toss my notepad to the floor and throw myself at him. Without realizing I’ve wound up straddling his lap in nothing but his shirt. Pulling away, I stammer, “Sorry I—”

“I want you to come with me.”

His comment catches me off guard. “Why?”

“You know why.”

Do I though? One minute he hates me, the next he doesn’t. One minute he’s refusing to go to New York, the next he’s asking me to go with him. I can’t keep up.

But if we’re going to move forward, we need to learn to trust each other. “Ok.”

“Really? That’s it?” he asks, surprised.

Looking down at my notepad on the floor, I sigh. I’m as close to getting the article written as I was when I first touched down in Jacksonville. How can I tell the world who the real Michael Becket is, when one moment, I feel like I know everything about him, then the next I feel like I know nothing at all?

The moment is gone though, I can see it in his eyes, he’s back to being a closed book. Admitting defeat, I begin planting kisses on his bare chest, teasing him when I slide my tongue just beneath the waistband of his boxers. I pull them down, slowing my kisses, prolonging the inevitable. He sucks in a sharp breath of air when I grasp his cock in my hand, and his eyes widen when my mouth hovers right where he wants it. 

I wet my lips and say, “I was going back to New York anyway.”

 

***

 

Becket’s in the shower when I go about my new morning routine. I don’t want him to know how anxious I feel. My past is humiliating enough without him having to worry about my mom’s ‘friends’ turning up for money when we least expect it. I’m supposed to be helping him, not burdening him.

Checking the CCTV each morning helps to put my mind at ease. Like every other morning, I slip into his office when he’s distracted and begin playing the footage back from the night before. I speed it up and my focus jumps between looking out of the window and the screen. There’s never anything to see anyway.

Until there is.

It’s a small movement on one of the grids. With the footage sped up it’s one of those blink-and-you-miss-it kind of moments. But I don’t blink. I see them. A pair of feet right at the edge of the grid. Almost out of sight, but not quite.

Frowning, I look at the time of the footage. One AM. Becket and I were still up. We were up most of the night. Stopping the footage from playing, I rewind it back to the point where the feet appear. Eleven PM—when Becket’s security team swap shifts. I frown and fast forward to the point where the feet disappear. Two thirty-six AM.

The rose bush to the side catches my attention next. What are they looking at?

Setting the CCTV back to real time, I quickly leave Becket’s office and run upstairs, shouting through to him in the bathroom that I’m heading outside to get some air. Once outside, I begin scouring the grounds, looking for anything that seems strange or out of place. Everything is fine. You’re acting crazy, I tell myself. But I saw them, I know I did.

It takes me ten minutes of walking around to find the single rose bush. There are no others. Positioning myself in the same place I saw the feet peeking out on the grid, I look up to the house. To Becket’s window, where the curtains are parted a little, like they were all night. My blood runs cold.

‘I like to look at the moon, it calms me,’ I had told Becket.

But for two hundred and sixteen minutes, there was someone in the shadows who liked to watch us more.

My past has found me.