Chapter 5 #2
He fixed his attention back on me, and I watched him clock my every movement. The rise and fall of my chest. The trace of my swallow. The way he felt it against his hand still at my throat. His hungry look all but ruined me.
“Let me warm you up,” he murmured.
He kissed me then, avoiding pressing me harder into the bricks by turning us—one hand on my hip, the other cradling the back of my head—so his shoulders were against the wall and all I felt was him as my body molded against his.
The warmth of his arms around me, the soft raggedness of his breath.
The playful coaxing of his mouth against mine and the smooth glide of his tongue as he traced the seam of my lips.
He made a hungry noise in the back of his throat when my tongue touched his.
Cooper deepened the pressure, swallowing my moan of pleasure.
My limbs became languid and heavy, head light and spinning.
He caught my lower lip between his teeth, nibbling gently, desire threading through me until it was the only thing holding me together.
After a few minutes, he grew hard between our flush hips, and I pressed even closer, dragging my fingers through his hair and then grabbing it by the fistful, holding on for dear life.
Eventually, we came up for air. I was delirious. Starving. About to ask him up to my room. But as he stared at me, cheeks flushed, his jaw tightened, a muscle ticking.
I watched him fade again, all the fire in me still not enough to keep him in the moment. He brushed his knuckles along my cheek, then cupped my shoulders, turning me toward my door, telling me he had a nice night as he walked away.
I didn’t embarrass myself further by telling him that was my first kiss.
I didn’t hear from him for five days.
I snuff out the ember of the memory before it sparks a forest fire. Being young and tenderhearted was such a fucking curse.
I look at Ray’s message again, more water dripping down my body. I leave my phone on the windowsill and step back under the stream, grabbing my shampoo and lathering up my hair.
A well-adjusted, emotionally evolved person would ignore the bait, wouldn’t engage in further conversation.
I am not that person.
If there is an opportunity to talk shit, I will be talking shit. Similarly, if there is an opportunity to gossip my ass off, I will be spilling as much piping-hot tea as I can provide. It’s one of my most honed skills, and I’ve considered putting it on my résumé.
“Hey, Siri, send a text to”—a glob of shampoo drips into my mouth, and I start to choke—“Ra—” I cough so hard I gag. “Really?” I wheeze out. “I can’t have one moment of peace?”
“What do you want it to say?” Siri’s robotic voice replies.
“Rylie”— cough, gasp, heave —“is the antichrist—period.” Hack, retch . “He does have a huge dick for what it’s worth. No distinct curves but I agree he gives off that vibe.”
There’s a moment’s pause, and I see the purple-blue circle twirl on my phone screen through the drops of water in my vision.
Siri’s voice rings out, echoing off the walls: “Sent to Rylie: Antichrist. He does have a huge dick for what it’s worth no distinct curves but I agree he gives off that vibe. ”
Wait…
No.
… No.
Fuck. No!
“Siri, unsend! Siri, no send! Hey, Siri, unsend!” I scream as I lunge forward.
My feet slide on the wet tub, moving like a cartoon character’s under me before completely giving out and slipping away.
My body crashes forward, my chin clipping the edge of the windowsill and hip catching the majority of my fall as I land.
“Okay, resent,” Siri’s serene voice calls.
I instinctively try to curl into the fetal position, but my tub is too small, so I lie there scrunched like an accordion, chin blood coasting down my body and mixing with the overhead spray. I wonder how long I need to lie here in order to drown. Maybe I could reach my toaster from here.
I’m contemplating the likelihood that the brown water stain on my ceiling will finally give way and all the upper floors will collapse on top of me when my phone vibrates on the windowsill with a text.
I reach my arm up and slap around for it.
I finally palm it and bring it to me, water spraying into my eyes and across my phone.
For the first time, I find it extremely annoying that Apple made phones waterproof, because an old-school model would have died long before this type of incident.
Maybe mine is faulty and will malfunction. One can only hope.
But the screen lights up like normal, proudly displaying a text from Rylie fucking Cooper.
Wow. When you said you’d contact me, this wasn’t what I was expecting as the initial message.
Another one comes through in rapid succession.
You really want me to know about the antichrist’s dick.
A third message pings. Is all of this info firsthand?
Did you fuck the antichrist? When did you fuck the antichrist?
I switch to defense. You would know, you were there , I type like each tap of my fingers is going directly for his pretty gray eyes. He goes low, I go lower.
Three taunting dots bounce in the bottom-left corner for a breath, then his reply pops up: Glad you think my dick is huge
Shit. I can’t let him take that as a compliment.
Don’t take that as a compliment.
I’m running on adrenaline here, I can’t be expected to come up with something clever. Then, as a follow-up: isn’t your whole schtick to detoxify masculinity? Should’ve guessed you’d be that shallow
Just because I can’t let virtual silence linger for even half a second, I add: and regardless, size is no indication you know how to put it to use.
I know how to put it to use
Well… fuck. My entire body flushes hot. In anger, obviously.
I sit up, slapping the knob to turn the water off and gracelessly dragging my body out of the tub.
I spare myself half a glance in the mirror over my kitchen sink, ignoring the feverish look in my eyes, focusing instead on the small cut on my chin.
I press a wad of tissues to it, although the bleeding has mostly stopped.
That wasn’t the case when I knew you , I shoot back in a message, still dripping wet and naked in the middle of my kitchen. But I can’t let too many seconds pass and let him think he got to me.
I roughly dry off, trying to ignore how sensitive my skin feels, how the drag of my pajamas over my still-damp body sends a shiver through me that doubles in intensity at my imagining of Cooper whispering I know how to put it to use in my ear.
Clearly I scrambled my brain with my fall.
I crawl into bed, my head pounding with annoyance, a frustrated scream building in my throat.
His response comes through: Believe it or not, I’ve learned a thing or twelve in the six years since I’ve known you.
I reposition myself, trying to alleviate a sudden, annoying pressure between my thighs. Probably a prelude to… menstrual cramps.
I’m not bullshitting when I say how vital communication is between partners , he adds. Because he’s really trying to prove a point and waste my time, he sends a third message: you’re my only complaint, actually .
Indignation flares. I know, instinctively, he didn’t say that to cut me.
Cooper isn’t one to go for the jugular like yours truly.
Even in college, he was good-natured to a fault, always seeing the best in people and vocalizing as much if they ever came up in a roundtable of gossip.
It was one of the things that always drew me to him back then.
Even the light stalking I’ve done on his videos lately shows that he doesn’t come from a mean-spirited place as far as I can tell.
But his text makes me feel wrong all the same. Broken. Pokes at that hidden, festering wound that the problem in relationships is me, I’m the reason I can’t get off with another person. No one can figure my body out because I’m too damn difficult.
Your right hand doesn’t count as a partner , I text, shooing the self-doubt far from my head.
I’m left-handed
I hate that I am collecting facts about this man against my will. I should have guessed, you have that vibe
REGARDLESS of how you want to paint me, I do listen to my partner and actually take great care in making sure they leave every encounter fully satisfied
Heat erupts across my cheeks. The dickhead is rubbing my nose in it. Guess you returned the calls from those willing to teach you , I type. Shame I wasn’t one of the chosen ones to worship at the Cooper cock of fame
Again, I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I truly do mean that and regret how things ended. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Eva.
Lick my butthole, Cooper
I will if you ask nicely;)
Oh, this fucker. I throw my phone to the side as my pulse pounds, sinuous warmth unfurling through my body. No. Absolutely not . I refuse to be aroused by that Neanderthal.
He’s an asshole , I tell myself as I drag my palms over my stiff nipples, the sharp lines of his jaw flashing in my head.
A total fucking prick , I scream internally as I fumble through my bedside drawer, then shove my vibrator below the elastic of my pajama bottoms, picturing those heavy-lidded eyes looking up at me as his mouth dips between my legs.
I hate him so much , I chant over and over as I touch myself, imagining his shoulders pushing my thighs further apart, his stupid, gorgeous, annoying face as he licks me to completion.
He won’t get the best of me , I promise through the shaking waves of pleasure, seeing his dark eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks as he savors every minute of my taste.
And what I just did will never happen again , I swear to myself through the aftershocks.
My phone harmonizes with my vibrator, and I reluctantly glance at the screen. First date on Saturday? Cooper asks. I’d be more demanding and tell you to block out the morning but I don’t think that’d win me any favors.
Maybe you aren’t as clueless as I thought , I respond, a shiver tracing down my spine.
He sends me a series of disco dancer emojis in response. Then adds, see you at 7:30am on Saturday, Evil Kitten. Have fun with the Antichrist in the meantime 3
I read the text over and over, red bleeding into my vision.
Who in their right fucking mind schedules a date for that early in the morning and doesn’t anticipate violence?