Page 57 of Dirty Chorus

She takes her hands and rubs her breasts, massaging them and pressing them together, pushing them up, biting her lip and moaning with the sweetest sound. Her fingers wrap around her nipples as she makes them pointy and hard.

“Touch me, please.” She lies on the sheets, and I’m hypnotized, and I grab her left breast, squeezing it hard, as my mouth finds the right, sucking and biting down on her nipple. My body molds against her, and she's soaking wet as she grinds against my thigh. Her legs wrap around my waist. I can’t breathe anymore. There’s no oxygen left on his planet.

“Please...” she begs, her nails digging into the skin of my back.

I sit up, her pussy lips swollen as they run up and down my dick.

Fine. Fine. I’ll fuck you. I have no moral compass. I can’t even find where North is. Maybe she's my North. I’d do anything for her to be my North. I grab the sides of her thighs harder than I expected and pull her closer. Her skin is softer than silk. Her hips are perfect to handle a beating. I spit into my hand, using it to lubricate my dick as I stroke it. Her eyes shimmer. “Noah...” She reaches for my waist, and I snatch her hands and slam them above her head.

The tip of my dick pushes her folds, and I find her opening out of instinct. She’s steaming hot down there as I push in just the tip and watch as she bites her lips, moaning and thrusting her hips to go in deeper, but I recede. My breath is jagged, my heart rupturing into millions of pieces as it beats into my fingers. I try again and push in just the tip. My mind screamed to just ram into her and get it over with. Let her bleed on the mattress and fuck her, just like her eyes are begging me to do.

I pull out. All the way out as the thoughts sink in. She’s too drunk. She doesn’t know what she wants. Again, she can’t make this decision, and if she wakes up tomorrow filled with regret, I’m going to carry it with me if I take her virginity right this second. I release my grip on her wrists and admire her before I back away. I can’t go any further.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, using her elbows to sit up. Arms wrap around my shoulders as she peppers me with kisses.

“I can’t do this.”

“Please,” her wet opening tempting my dick and the blue balls I’m going to have. “Why don’t you want me?” Her eyes are so glossy, her cheeks rosy red. I don’t even know if she's conscious of her own decisions.

“Not like this. You’re drunk... I can’t. I can’t have you as my favorite regret. This isn’t going to happen tonight.” I peck her on the lips before removing her arms from my shoulders.

“I’m over him though... I don’t want him,” she pleads as I scoot off the bed searching for my boxers on the floor with only the hallway light giving me any guidance of where they went.

“That’s not it, Charlie. You can’t lose your virginity, almost black-out drunk. I sleep with girls all the time, but I won’t do it to a completely wasted girl.” Once I find them underneath the bed frame, I slip them on.

“I’m... I’m fine,” she slurs, her arms stretching to reach for me.

“No, it’s not gonna happen tonight.” I find the weighted blanket folded at the edge of the mattress and throw it over her. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” I leave it at that as I snatch my jeans from the floor, putting one leg in than the other, leaping to get them on. I button and zip them up as I head towards the door. She stares at me with wide eyes, and I can see them glisten as she covers up her face with a hand. Her swollen pretty lips tremble, and I grip the doorknob as I close it behind me softly. I make it two steps down the hallway before my back meets the wall, and I slide all the way down.

Chapter 26

Charlie

This is awkward. More than it needs to be. My legs shake under the booth nestled against smudged windows, and I’ve been staring out into the parking lot since we arrived. I played around with the salt and pepper shakers and moved the metal napkin holder to the edge of the table. Cutlery clinks on tables, scratches plates, and waitresses rush past us carrying several plates at a time. There’s bacon wafting in the air, eggs, the sweet taste of syrup in my mouth as people pour it over their pancakes.

I’m starving and nauseous all at the same time, but I’m more queasy when I glance up at Noah clinking a spoon in his mug while pouring a bit of sugar. The only words that came out of his mouth this morning was a single question.

Do you want breakfast?

My answer wasn’t any better, with a plain, sure.

All I want to do is crawl into a hole, take a knife, and cut out the tight fingers clenching my lungs, so I can breathe for two seconds. My head pounds, and every five seconds there's the memory of sucking on his dick harder than I’ve ever attempted on any guy. Usually I don’t want a dick two inches from my face, but I wanted all of him, and he just told me no again. I’m just waiting for him to say he doesn’t want to talk or hang out anymore. We need space. Anything to get away from me.

What I did was awkward and weird, and I’m mentally insane. It will forever be tattooed in his brain as the girl who sat in the bathroom giving Brody all of my attention, when Noah deserved my time more. If he ever finds out I threatened to slice my wrist with a butter knife over Brody, he’d throw down money and walk out of this cute diner hiding around the block, and I’ll never see him again. I don’t want him to disappear.

Noah takes a sip of his coffee and flips the laminated menu over.

“I’m sorry about last night...” There it comes off my tongue, and I twist the brown paper napkin in my hand until it tears down the middle.

He releases a stifled breath, holding onto the cup. His tattooed fingers that have touched me, already becoming a distant memory. The bulge in his jaw spasms, and it’s sinking into the pit of my stomach. I’ll never come across another guy who can pull off a messy bedhead bun better than me.

I use two fingers and clean out the gunk in the tear ducts again. I know there's a matted nest of hair on one side of my head, my makeup smeared. I’m the kind of girl who makes sure I’m picture-perfect before going out anywhere; yet here I am, wearing yesterday’s clothes, probably have a stench coming off my armpits. God, he isn’t saying anything. He just places the menu on the table.

“Do you know what you want to eat?” he asks with the bulge of his throat wrenching up and then down. He avoids it. He absolutely dismisses my pathetic attempt to make amends. “I always liked the pancakes here.” His eyes go back to the menu I haven’t even looked at. All my eyes do is blur over the words, and the prices turn upside down.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore.” I sit on top of my fingers and let them tingle and go numb. I’m starting to bite off the dead skin on my lips.

“How long did you want to wait?” He sips his coffee again and as places the yellow mug on the table, it sloshes, and bits of coffee splatter over the table.