Page 33 of Just a Little Crush
Jamie had moved in next door to me a few summers before with his mum and his stepdad. At school we’d been in different classes, and at weekends he stayed with his dad, so although I knew him, I didn’t reallyknowhim.
Needless to say, waking up to find him asleep on the floor next to my bed was unexpected. While I dry-heaved into the bin, he rubbed my back and filled in the blanks from the night before.
Rennie and I kissing (that part I remembered), then me throwing up, Rennie leaving, me crying, me trying to hitch a ride home from a track in the woods where no cars ever drove, all ending with Jamie walking me home. He’d done the decent thing and, crucially, got me to bed without my parents realising what a state I was in.
When I noticed I was still wearing all of my clothes from the night before, I came to see Jamie in a whole new light. He was kind, he was caring, and he was also pretty cute.
Rennie and I barely saw each other that summer. I spent my days working in the shop, and Jamie would drive over to give me a lift home because he had a car, and so he could.
Summer turned into autumn, then winter, then spring. Before I knew it, Jamie and I had been dating for a year. Not that we’d ever put a label or anything on it, but that’s what relationships are like when you’re 19. We’d meet up after work, drive to the nearest multiplex to see a film, or sneak in and out of each other’s bedrooms. I still don’t know why we were always so secretive about being together. Most of the time I would just hang out while he played video games.
Sometimes on the 30 second walk from Jamie’s back to mine, I’d spot Rennie and Sophie kissing on his doorstep. I don’t know how it had come about, but he was happy, I was happy, and that’s all that mattered. I wrote our kiss off as a drunken mistake, and I’m sure he never even thought about it.
17
Bec
Renniearriveshomefromhis night shift not long after I wake up from a long, but restless sleep. While he takes a second shower, I sit up and prepare myself for the conversation I’ve been mulling over since he left last night. I don’t like how we left things, and I want to clear the air before I get up for the day.
I know he’s stubborn about me taking it easy, but I’m honestly feeling OK. I’m capable of doing some things for myself, if not everything quite yet. I want my laptop so I can work, plus, I still need to talk about what happened the other night. My head is all over the place. The longer we don’t address it, the more awkward I feel. Every time I woke up through the night, he was the first thing on my mind.
I slept in his bed, just like he told me to, but it wasn’t the same without him there, and I made things worse by sniffing his pillow like a total sex creep. It was impossible not to long for his touch, so I channeled my sexual frustration into writing his list.
It wasn’t exactly a hard task. I’ve always had a list of fantasies in my head, but it did little to settle down my rampant horn. Unfortunately, after filling out two pages -I think I was very restrained- my wrist really was aching too much for me to do much about it.
In the cold light of day, though, this whole list thing feels awkward as hell. I can’t possibly give it to him. This whole situation is nuts. What happens when this little holiday from reality ends? It has to end, right?
All rational thought flies right out of my head when he comes back to his room, rubbing his hair with a towel, wearing nothing but tight black boxers. This is fast becoming my favourite sight. The curve of his pecs, his broad chest tapering down into that solid v shape that I’ve spent far too long obsessing over.
Just like yesterday, he crawls into bed and, without a word, pulls me down into his arms, into the curve of his warm body. The clean scent of his shampoo fills my nostrils and makes me light-headed. One hand rests on my stomach. The other tracks a line down my spine before pulling me tighter.
His warmth makes me feel like I’m slipping under water. Everything else melts away. I’m floating beneath his touch, pressing against him. My back to his chest, my ass to his groin, my thighs to his thighs. He shifts down a little, his mouth pressing firm kisses to the side of my neck.
“I need you,” he whispers into my ear. When his fingertips dance underneath the hem of my t-shirt, I lose the ability to breathe. “Need to touch you.”
I don’t know if it’s a question, but my answer is a moan, a roll of my hips, a tilt of the head exposing more of my neck to him. I feel his lips ghost the shell of my ear, and the heat of his breath makes my eyes flutter closed.
“Can I make you come again?” he asks, his voice pleading like this is all for him. I nod and whimper out a yes when his hand pushes into my underwear. I’m under his spell. Couldn’t stop him if I wanted to, which I absolutely do not.
His other arm slips underneath me, then up under the front of my t-shirt until he cups my breast in his hand and squeezes. It’s the perfect pressure, firm and greedy.
“Fuck,” he moans and I moan with him. “You feel so fucking good.”
Between my legs, his touch is languid and sensual. “God, you’re so wet. Is this for me?”
“Yes,” I hiss. Rennie spreads his fingers around, the slick sensation against swollen flesh driving me further back against him.
Pulling out from underneath me, his other fingers find their way to my hair, slipping through the strands at the nape of my neck. He pushes them up until he reaches my bun, curls them into a fist and tugs hard.
“You been listening to your dirty stories again?”Oh my god. So possessive. So hot.
“No.”
“Making up some filthy fantasy?”
“Maybe,” I laugh softly, grinding back, desperately seeking more of his hard length.
Rennie tightens his grip. “Tell me.”
