Page 11 of Fight or Flight
“Uh. What?” I blink at her and just now realize how the house I share with Saint must look to someone from the outside.
I'm so used to the garbage way of living I share with the other men that I didn't even think of that factor.
I glance at the ugly yellow wallpaper in the corridor and the dirty carpet with burnt holes from cigarettes being stomped on it. Then I look into the kitchen and see the mismatched chairs and dirty old pots thrown into the moldy sink. I have to refrain from visibly cringing.
Shit, I live in a dump. I was so excited that Claire invited herself in that I didn’t even think about the state the house is in. Now, my face gets even more red than before, and I wish I just walked her home.
But it’s already too late.
“So, do you have a room or... ?” Claire questions, turning to me. She either really doesn’t care about my house, or she’s really good at hiding her initial reactions.
“Yeah, come on,” I reply with relief.
My room is actually the nicest area in the house. Also, the cleanest. Mainly because I don’t allow the gang members or anyone else to come in.
Claire walks ahead of me, and I try not to wince at the state I left it in. I’ve been getting a little crazy with my sketches lately, and on every surface available, there’s paper covered in dark swirls. Some drawings are wrinkled and only half-finished; some already done. All of them are black and disturbing.
“Sorry about the mess,” I mutter as I take a fast sweep around my room. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Sure. Whatever you have is fine,” she mutters distractedly, already eyeing the obsidian, disfigured face of a monster trying to crawl its way out of a mirror.
“That’s incredible,” she gushes before grabbing the next one from my desk.
“I’ll go grab the drinks,” I say and quickly retreat from my bedroom.
I’m not angry at Claire for looking at my drawings, but I’m not used to sharing that part of me with anyone. My brother used to mock me about it, so I started to hide whatever came from my hand.
I quickly grab two cans of soda from the fridge and do a mental pep talk on my way back to start behaving like a normal human around Claire, or otherwise, I’m going to blow it.
I’m stopped in my tracks when I enter the room and see her standing in the middle of the room facing me. Without a word, she drops her jacket and lifts her shirt to let it fall behind her, revealing a black lacy bra on a set of perky breasts.
Swallowing heavily, I drag my gaze from her perked nipples, which are on full display through the translucent fabric, and look at her in question.
My dick stands up in full attention, but I ignore it completely as I rasp out, “Claire, what are you doing?”
Without hesitation, she opens the fly of her jeans and, in one swift motion, drags them down her incredible, shapely legs to then step out of them with a kick that sends them back.
“Everyone says that sex makes them feel good. I want to feel good for once, Aidan,” she says confidently and blinks her big eyes at me.
Trying to think of a way to respond to that, I make the mistake of taking a full look at her standing there in just her underwear. When my eyes stop on her simple black panties, I notice the way her belly shifts in a sudden intake of breath, and I almost drop the soda cans, finding it hard to stop myself from reaching out to touch her.
I move closer to the bedside table and place our drinks there before giving her my full attention again.
“Claire... You know we don’t have to... That’s not why...” My mouth turns dry, and I don’t know what I'm even trying to say here.
I don’t know why I’m feeling so torn right now. Here is this beautiful, almost naked girl standing in my bedroom, basically asking me to fuck her. I should be halfway through getting myself out of my own clothes. Normally, that would be the case.
But there’s just something about Claire. I have this tugging feeling that she needs more, and one thing I know for sure is that she’s definitely too good for a scum like me. I can somehow attest to the pureness of her heart, even if I’ve known her for a day.
Yet, at this moment, there’s nothing left of the babbling girl from before, appearing to be unsure of herself. She still looks sweet and small. But there’s no vulnerability in her gaze or even a shadow of doubt. She looks completely calm as she steps closer to me to put her hand above my heart. Her head barely reaches my chin, and I feel her soft hair tickling the skin on my neck before she asks quietly.
“Will you make me feel good, Aidan?”
“Why me?” I whisper back stupidly, still fighting with myself to not reciprocate her touch.
She tilts her head back and, looking at my lips, replies, “There’s just something about you. I don’t know what it is, but I think you get me. The real me and that’s so intriguing.”
My heartbeat speeds up as she starts to caress my torso with her fingers, almost like she would play some kind of instrument.