Weathering the Storm by Brynn Paulin

 

 

 

Chapter Five

~ Heller ~

There was too much sun. And something was pressed to my body, keeping me from sprawling like I usually did.

Not something.

Someone.

I opened my eyes to an eyeful of shiny brown locks. Though it wasn’t very long, the gorgeous strands was splayed out over my chest and the arm that was curled under her while we spooned. Her hair and skin smelled like roses. Her pale flesh seemed to gleam in the sunlight that poured into the room through her large windows.

Here and there, dark smudges marred her skin. Yeah…we’d been vigorous. Not just the first time but the three times after. I was exhausted yet filled with vigor at the same time.

Becca hummed and turned toward me, smiling sleepily. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I responded, brushing my lips over hers but being careful not to breathe on her. That would probably be a mood breaker, but she didn’t seem to think so. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me in for more.

We kissed until I heard a blaring somewhere else in the apartment, and I thought I could definitely do this every day for the rest of my life. She threw her head back on the pillow and groaned.

“What is that?”

“My alarm. I have it set in the other room, or I’ll never get up for my seven a.m. yoga class.”

“Seven! What time is the alarm for?” I asked with a wholly different alarm blaring through me. I leapt out of the bed I’d wanted to stay in all day and started looking for my clothes.

“Six-thirty. It doesn’t usually take me long…” She trailed off, watching me. She sat up, pulling the sheet to cover her breasts. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to be to school at seven-thirty. I still need to go change and grab my books.”

“I can drive you. The university’s not far.”

I froze, realizing I was a lot younger than she thought I was. Fuck, fuck, fuck! “Becca…”

“You don’t want me to drive you?” She picked at the blankets, sadness and embarrassment, and maybe disappointment darkening her face while she refused to look at me.

“It’s not that. I don’t go to the university.”

That brought up her gaze, and she tilted her head, her brow furrowing a little.

“I go to St. George High School.”

“What?” she scream-exclaimed. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” she muttered, jumping from the bed and pulling the sheet with her. “I’m going to jail. I can’t believe this. I’m—”

Leaping across the space, I stopped her, pulling her into my arms. “Baby…”

“No,” she exclaimed. “You can’t call me that. I’m… Oh my God!”

Grabbing her face, I kissed her, my tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She pushed against me, stiffening, but I didn’t let go of her arms or stop until she soften and started kissing me back.

Her freed arms went around my neck and I lifted her pressing her back to the wall. The sheet fell, and her legs automatically went around my waist. Because her body knew me. It knew I owned her. I pushed into her, thrusting in and out while she clutched my shoulders. Her head dropped back, thunking against the wall, and she moaned.

Her slick passage fluttered around me over and over before turning to a vise and squeezing me, demanding all my cum, but I wouldn’t. Not until she was flying with her own orgasm.

She came on a loud cry, and I pumped harder, finding my pleasure as our hips slammed together and she yelled my name for the whole complex to hear.

Her body shuddered in my arms, her face pressed into my shoulder as I stood there, my knees feeling like rubber as I used the wall to support us both.

“I’m eighteen,” I murmured into her neck. “I’m eighteen, and I’m emancipated. I don’t know where my family is or even if I have any living. No one’s going to care that we’re together. I’m a legal adult. And in a few weeks, I’ll have my degree and be ready for college, where no one will still care what I do.”

“Heller,” she breathed. “I… This is… I-I don’t know.”

“Give me a chance,” I begged.

She shook her head, denying me, even while I was still lodged deep inside her. Immense sadness filled me at her rejection. I sighed, but it seemed a trivial sound in comparison to what was happening inside me. My psyche raged. It wailed. It refused to believe this.

Not looking at Becca, not letting her see how she’d just ripped out my heart along with the hope and determination I’d felt since the first time I’d seen her on a fuzzy, staticky screen, I pulled away from her and settled her on her feet. Turning away, I gathered my still-damp clothes and walked out to the living room with them. Dressing in front of her seemed too much like the walk of shame…which I supposed would be doing.

“Heller,” she whispered from the hallway, the sound full of regret. I knew she wanted to apologize—not for what had happened. No, it was in that way that so-called “grown-ups” apologized to kids when they’d disappointed them and felt guilty about the reaction. I was having nothing of it. I didn’t look at her as I quickly finished then walked out the door without saying goodbye. I wasn’t sure why. It was goodbye. Wasn’t it?