11. Stella
11
STELLA
T he door creaks open as I stumble into Anastasia’s apartment, the room spinning around me. It’s clear that I’ve had one too many drinks tonight.
It’s probably the post-game that finished me off.
“Stellaaa!” Anastasia exclaims, attempting to steady me. Her words are slightly slurred, a testament to her own part in tonight’s festivities. “You okay, girl?”
“Y-yeah,” I stammer, forcing a smile onto my face. I try to focus on her, but it’s a losing battle. “Just need to sit down for a minute.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, guiding me towards the couch. I collapse onto the cushions, their softness providing comfort in my current state. My body feels heavy and my head aches. I can’t remember the last time that I’d gotten this drunk. My sophomore year of college maybe.
“Thanks, Ana,” I mumble, my voice barely audible. My long, wavy brown hair falls in front of my face, creating a curtain between us. She pushes it back behind my ear with a gentle touch.
“Y’know, you’re….better than a boyfriend.”
She giggles. “I know right… you want some water or anything?”
I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion as the room starts spinning again. “No, I just need to lie down.”
I turn on my side, tugging at Anastasia’s throw pillows to create a makeshift pillow fortress around my throbbing head. My body feels like it’s made of lead, and I can’t shake the sensation that I’m sinking into the couch.
It’s just the alcohol. It’s just the alcohol. Repeating it in my head doesn’t help.
“Stella... you sure you don’t want some water?” Anastasia asks again, her voice laden with concern.
“Positive,” I mumble, my focus on the impossible task of finding a comfortable position. After what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, I finally settle onto my back, one arm draped over my eyes to block out the harsh light of the room.
“Okay, holler if you need anything,” Anastasia says softly before retreating to her bedroom, leaving me alone in the dimly lit living room.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady my breathing. My hand slips into the pocket of my jeans and brushes against my phone. An idea takes root, and despite my foggy state, curiosity gets the better of me. I pull it out and squint at the screen, my bleary eyes struggling to adjust to the brightness.
I’ll just check one more time. And if he hasn’t responded, then I’ll let it go.
“Let’s see...” I mutter to myself, swiping through notifications, until I spot a text from Paul – Anastasia’s brother. My heart skips a beat as I remember the steamy photo I’d sent him earlier tonight, a bold move fueled by liquid courage. With trembling fingers, I tap on the message and read his response, already bracing myself for the worst case scenario.
Damn Stella. You shouldn’t send stuff like that to a man…it’ll tempt them to do things they shouldn’t.
My cheeks flush with heat , and I can’t help but grin at his words. Paul has always been flirtatious, but I didn’t expect him to react so strongly to the photo. A thrill runs through me, as I ponder how to reply. The alcohol still coursing through my veins seems to cast aside any lingering doubts or fears.
Maybe I want that man to be tempted.
I hit send before I can rethink my decision, surrendering to this newfound boldness. My heart races as I wait for his response, feeling more alive than I have in months.
Not even Owen has ever made me this excited.
A new message from Paul appears on the screen, making my pulse quicken.
Do you know the things a man like me can do to you?
A man like him?
I bite my lip, considering my response. This conversation is intoxicating, sending shivers down my spine. I don’t remember Paul being this blunt, but I want more.
How about you tell me then?
If only you could see all of the things I was imagining.
My breath catches as I read his message. The heat between us seems to build with each exchange, and I feel an ache deep within me – a yearning for his touch, his warmth. It’s undeniable now; I want him.
Then don’t imagine. Look back at the picture I sent you.
I’ve looked at that picture more times than I can count. I want more.
In the bathroom. No big deal.
Don’t do that again. I don’t like another man potentially seeing what’s mine.
My heart jumps into my throat. His? Why do the words sound so enticing?
I didn’t realize I was your property.
The second you took that picture you should have known. I’m a man who gets what he wants, so if you’re not ready for that, I’d suggest you stop responding. You won’t get the chance to back out again.
I never would have imagined that Paul would talk to me this way – this feels so out of character for him from all of the years I’ve known him. But, I like this side – unrelenting and dominant.
And I don’t think it’s just because of the alcohol.
I don’t want to backout.
Stella, you’re playing a dangerous game. Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.
Do I mean it? I realize something…this isn’t just texting, it’s sexting. That should scare me off, make me shut my phone down and just go to sleep…something I should have done a long time ago but instead, it turns me on…so much so that I can feel the pool forming in between my legs.
There’s something so tantalizing and forbidden about this that I just can’t stop.
My phone buzzes again.
Don’t let my words scare you off. Just because it’s dangerous doesn’t mean I don’t want to play with you.
Play with me? I can’t help but to feel like those words have a double meaning.
I type back my response.
Then let’s play.
I bite my lip, emboldened by both our mutual desire and the remnants of alcohol still affecting my judgment. My heart hammers in my chest, a mix of apprehension and excitement brewing within me as I await his reaction.
Tell me the same thing tomorrow when you haven’t just spent your night at a bar.
I pout. I want to talk to him more, but he’s probably right. I am tipsy…well, maybe drunk.
Yes sir.
Saying things like that… you’re going to be the death of me. Go to bed.
I’d thought my words were innocent enough, but if that’s the kind of reaction I get…maybe I should say them more.
Goodnight.
Goodnight temptress.
My body buzzes with anticipation. A thrilling mixture of nerves and arousal courses through me, as I stuff my phone underneath a pillow.
Not like that stopped me from thinking about the messages.
“Stella, you’re playing a dangerous game” echoes in my head.
The words are true. What I’m doing right now is dangerous. Just because it isn’t a relationship doesn’t make it any less scary.
But I need to see where it goes.
I keep thinking about our exchanged texts, biting my bottom lip. His words weave a spell around me, the prospect of our rendezvous softening my anxiety like a warm embrace. My eyelids grow heavy, the drowsiness creeping in as I struggle to hold onto my thoughts.
“Sleep,” I whisper to myself, my voice barely audible. “Just sleep.”
Just like he told me to.
Who’d have ever thought I could be such an obedient girl?