17. Mia
SEVENTEEN
Mia
No… Fuck, fuck, fuck , I’m shrieking, trying like hell to disconnect my laptop from the TV screen.
I hear Elias stomping over, and I slam my laptop shut, looking around me frantically, realizing that I’m already naked and that my vibrator is ready on the bed next to me a split second before something ridiculous happens.
Elias tries the handle of my door, realizes it’s locked, then front kicks it , entirely shattering the wood around the doorframe. The door swings open, and he stands in the doorway like an enraged bull, chest heaving, nostrils flaring.
My mouth drops open. I completely forget that I’m naked. “What the fuck?” I breathe. “That was…” My mind blanks for a long moment. “…Unnecessarily dramatic,” I manage.
Elias blinks, then comes back to his body. He looks at the door. “I have no idea why I did that.”
My mouth is still gaping open like a fish. “That’s…” I shake my head. “You will be paying for our security deposit, Elias.”
He takes a deep breath then looks directly at me. “I have a proposition.”
I raise an eyebrow, Elias style.
“Friends with benefits.” My eyebrows go higher. “Well, lifelong friends with benefits,” he amends after seeing my reaction. “Sex friends. Lifelong sex friends,” he rambles, then cringes. “No, not that. But just sex. Keep it a secret and never tell Leo. At least until we get this,” he gestures at his dick, obscenely hard under his pants, “all out of our systems.”
“O-kay,” I manage.
“But I want to be clear. This is just sex. Will you be able to handle that?”
I think about it. Can I separate those weird, clingy feelings I got towards the end of last weekend? You better, bitch , my vagina screams at me, we need his dick, now . After the fucking dinner from hell, or heaven, depending on how you look at it, I fully expected there to be a puddle on my chair after I stood up. Some rational piece of my brain screams at an equal volume, you will really regret this . I look at him standing in my doorway, just past the door on its hinges, his chest heaving, the contours of his body visible under the thin material of his t-shirt. My vagina drop kicks my brain after we look at his dick again, in the same way he drop kicked my door.
“Fine,” I tell him. “We do this until we get it out of our systems, until one of us is over it and wants to end it, or until one of us finds something else.”
His nostrils flare. “Fine.”
Protect yourself , the fading remnants of my brain gasp faintly, before succumbing to its wounds. “And we keep going with the lessons. Teach me how to fuck like an animal.”
His grin becomes predatory, then, something sharp and mean and delighted. “Fine.”
Yesss , my vagina screams triumphantly.
“I know you’re on the pill, Mia,” he says, creeping forward. “I’ve seen it in the bathroom. But are you clean?”
“Y-yes.”
He takes another step forward. “I’m clean, too.”
“O-kay.”
He’s at the foot of my bed. “Does that pussy want to be filled with her brother’s best friend’s come? Is that what you were about to get off to? It’s been a long fucking week, Mia. I can fill you up.”
“Please,” I whisper, never above begging for his dick.
“How wet are you?”
I check, whimpering when I brush my clit. “Soaked.”
“Good. Because I’m about to shove this big dick inside you,” he says, just before climbing over me and slamming his mouth onto mine.
We revert into animals, instinctually, no lessons needed, battling for dominance with our tongues, hands pulling hair so hard it stings, hands kneading my tits so hard it burns. Elias takes a second to rip his mouth away, biting down on my nipple and frantically pulling his pants and boxers down but not off in desperation.
I’m given no warning before he does, indeed, shove his big dick inside me, and I scream into his mouth as he releases a guttural sound from deep in his chest. He doesn’t give me a moment to adjust, instead grinding into me, hard, and my eyes roll back at the feeling of him bare inside me. Finally .
“Fuck, gorgeous, your pussy is so wet. So needy for me,” he says between thrusts, and I’m moaning unabashedly. “So good. You feel so good on my bare cock. It’s unreal,” he says, pulling out all the way. “Look at your cream all over my dick, beautiful. Look how hot that is. This is better than your fucking porn.”
I manage to tilt my head up, see my wetness covering his cock. I shiver. “Wow.”
He flips me so I’m suddenly on all fours. “I’ve been thinking about this view,” he says, running a hand down my spine, pushing my head down on the bed. He slowly winds my ponytail around and around his hand, pulls it all the way back so my back arches obscenely. He makes a strangled noise. “You make me feel like an animal. It’s been a long fucking week,” he says, almost angrily, before pressing into me again, and my toes curl with how full I am. He groans. “I can go so deep this way. Should I teach you how I can fill this pussy with my come?” he asks between strokes.
“Please, please, please,” I beg.
“What do you need, Mia?”
I moan into the pillow on my bed.
He grabs me and lifts so we’re vertical, keeping the same rhythm, a slow and grinding in and out. “Use your words, Gorgeous.”
My brain and my vagina are finally on the same page when they spot the vibrator next to us on the bed. “I want to use my vibrator.”
He chuckles evilly, grabbing it. He turns it on and hands it to me. “Put this on your greedy clit. I’m not coming without you. No one ever comes before you, Mia.”
Fingers shaking, I take it and rest it in just the right spot.
“Holy shit,” he says, feeling me tighten. “Move with me,” he commands, and I rock and gyrate when my ass meets his pelvis, meeting him thrust for thrust. “God,” he grunts, “I missed this fucking pussy.”
“Nipples,” I gasp. He twists a little too hard, and it only takes one, two, three more strokes before I detonate, screaming through waves of pleasure. We’re still vertical, on our knees, and he slams up, up, up, and I feel him grow huge and pulse inside me, groaning in my ear. He twists my head so he can attack my mouth, wrapping his tongue with mine as he gives me one last thrust.
We collapse on the bed, and again I’m in my favorite place, being crushed by Elias.
He rolls us over after a minute. I realize he’s still wearing a shirt, and his pants and boxers are still around his shins. He doesn’t let me go anywhere, instead opening my legs to watch his come leak out of me. “Tell me that this isn’t better than porn,” he says, nipping me on the shoulder.
I laugh, feeling almost hysterically giddy and only slightly unhinged. “That might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Wait,” he says, slipping his pants down and ripping his shirt off. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he tells me, before getting between my legs, his cock impossibly hard again, and positioning it at my entrance. “Watch,” he says, as he slowly pushes into me again, pushing all his come back in. He slides in, then out, and the feeling is unreal.
“I’m gonna come again,” I whimper.
“That’s the point of this whole arrangement,” he grins, and he starts to move.
You’ve made a grave mistake, you dumb cunt , the logical part of my brain screams at my content vagina, when I wake up with Elias wrapped around me in my bed. This feels too feeling-y. This feels warm and like where I belong and like I never want to leave and never want to share. Just sex, just sex, just sex , I say, as a twisted sort of pep talk.
This week has been hell. I’ve been on autopilot, just going through the motions, hiding in my room. Missing Elias. But now, as I feel him start to wake up, I decide it was all worth it. I decide I love learning these minuscule details about him, ones that I’d never known before. The sharp inhale he takes when he wakes up. The smell of his chest, like his soap and a little bit of sweat from the night before. The feel of his skin. I snuggle further into him, wanting to crawl inside his chest like a lunatic.
He freezes.
Shit .
“Morning, Gorgeous,” he still smiles down at me, even while pulling away.
“Morning, beautiful,” I answer, playing it cool, and not like a lifelong sex friend.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep here,” he murmurs. He reaches over still, and plays with my hair, rubbing the ends between two fingers.
“It’s okay. I—” I cut myself off before saying I loved it. “—don’t mind. I mean, it’s easy. Or hard, I mean. Because you live here. You sleep fifty feet away, anyway. This is the same thing. It’s just too easy. Or hard not to,” I ramble frantically.
He barks out a laugh. “Relax, Meems—” that fucking nickname is back and I hate it “while we’re here, let me do this,” he tells me, before leaning over and making out with me for a full five minutes, in spite of morning breath, and it’s soft and warm, and everything washes away.
He finally pulls away, grinning, his Dimple saying good morning now, too. “I missed this mouth.”
His random, sudden affection is infectious. “I missed your dick,” I manage.
He slaps my butt. “Let’s go shower.”
The shower inevitably turns into shower sex, which logistically has never worked for me, but obviously Elias teaches me how to handle it just fine. Unfortunately, this makes us late for work. Well, not actually late. We’re still there ten minutes before our contractual hours, but that’s really late for me. I see his notes for today’s class with my kids stuffed in his back pocket as he walks away.
Dazed, I walk up to my classroom, leaving five minutes to prep for my entire day. But I feel okay about it today.
“All right, peeps,” Elias is yelling over the Olympic theme song he’s blasting from a massive Bluetooth speaker.
A new idea pops into my head as I watch him. Opening ceremony. We need an opening ceremony.
“Welcome to the PS 2 Fall Olympics,” he orates in a strange accent, looking like one of the original competitors in the first 1869 Olympics in Athens, with his sculpted Zeus body and slightly crooked Roman nose. My kids stare at him, rapt.
Kyle raises his hand. “Where are the basketballs?”
Elias doesn’t miss a beat. In his terrible accent, somewhere between British and maybe Romanian, he answers him. “Settle down, Kyle. We haven’t even gotten through the Opening Ceremony, yet.” He mimes pulling his hands out of pants, and Kyle copies him.
I grin.
“Now, we’re all gonna participate in the Olympic Games, but not all of us are going to be athletes. Some of us are going to be athletes, but some of us can be referees or judges or even sportscasters.
Sean raises his hand. Elias nods at him. “Can some of us be the audience?”
Elias’s previously serious demeanor softens for a moment, but he reverts back quickly. “Sorry, bud. You gotta remember that this is P.E. And what does the ‘P’ stand for?”
“Physical,” my class of eight-year-olds chants dutifully. I am pleased to hear only two or three other ‘p’ words of varying levels of inappropriate-ness.
“But don’t worry,” Elias continues, in his English Dracula voice. “There will be different levels of physicality! Obviously athletes will be doing the most. But referees and judges and sportscasters need to be familiar with the sport in order to make sure everyone follows the rules! Or to score the athletes! Or… sportscast! So you’ll have to participate a bit. Most refs also need to be running around on the courts with the athletes, so they will have a more middl-y level of physicality!”
I am truly impressed with the number of words Elias has managed to invent in one breath.
Most kids look psyched. Sean, along with some other kids who are more sit-around-and-chat-at-recess kids, still look pretty hesitant. I see Elias note who they are, though.
“Okay everyone, our first sport is going to be… Kyle guessed it… Kyle, what’s it going to be?” Elias points at him with finger guns.
“Basketball!”
“So for basketball, we’re going to need athletes, referees, and sportscasters. Let’s get into groups. Pick which one you wanna be and go stand with the others who picked the same.”
I raise my eyebrows. We actually hadn’t discussed this part, but I’m impressed, because it’s a natural way to separate kids into “levels” without anyone feeling badly about themselves. I watch Sean and the other athletically disinclined kids shuffle over to the far corner of the gym.
Elias takes the rest of the period to teach and practice dribbling, making sure to spend extra time with the sportscaster group, taking it pretty easy on them and making them feel comfortable.
By the end of the class, all the kids are really psyched. Like post-recess psyched. Like, I could be in trouble when I take them back upstairs, psyched. But I don’t care, because everyone is glowing—my kiddos, Elias, and myself.
“So over the next few classes, we’re gonna go over passing and shooting and lay-ups. Then…” he pauses dramatically here. I imagine the Dracula theme song playing, if there is one. “…we will have our very first Olympic basketball tournament, complete with referees and sportscasters.”
My heart melts when I see Sean crack a smile.
“Turning it back to the wondrous, amazing, fantastic, Ms. Roberts!” Elias shouts. “Adios, amigos.”
He winks at me on our way out.
“You were really spectacular today,” I tell him earnestly on our walk out of the building, his arm slung around my neck. I’m thrilled to have my Elias back. It was a long fucking week indeed.
He smiles, and it’s a sincere, cozy thing, his green eyes alight. “Thanks, Mia,” he says genuinely. “You’re an amazing teacher. But seriously… that was mostly your idea. You’re inspiring. You’re legit extremely good at what you do.” Just sex, just sex, just sex , I think, melting a little bit now.
The thing about Elias is he’s never shied away from compliments. He rains, nay pours, positive reinforcement. He could make an ogre feel like a supermodel. He could find something nice to say about a serial killer. “So thorough,” Elias would tell him. “The way you slice an appendage off so cleanly. You’re legit extremely good at what you do.”
“They could’ve done without the posh Dracula accent, though,” I manage.
He frowns now. “That was my Ancient Greek accent.”
“The Olympics didn’t start in Ancient Greece, Elias. They started in 1869.”
“Oh.” He slips a handful of individually wrapped string cheese into my backpack. “Ms. Barbara gave these to me. I know you’re always hungry after school.” He takes one, opens it, and hands it to me, slipping the trash into his back pocket.
I squish my lips together so I don’t say something insane, like “I think I’m obsessed with you,” or “the last week without you was one of the hardest weeks of my life.”
“Well, I gotta get to the gym. See you at home.” He slaps my ass before he walks away. “Good evening!” he says, in his Dracula voice.
We’ve always called it home, but it somehow has a different connotation now.