Palm Print

Chapter 6

I entered the room stumbling and giggling. A couple was by the bed. My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, so it was difficult to tell who they were.

I started to call to them until I realized what they were doing. The guy sat on the bed, and his head was tilted back, making it challenging to see his face. Also, I was drunk. He looked like Dion.

"Shit," he groaned, his voice husky.

My eyes widened as I observed the woman in front of him. She bobbed her head on his groin. Her plaid skirt and lacy panties were lying next to her, and her butt was in the air with everything exposed.

Her inner thighs were moist, and she gasped for air every so often. I needed to leave because watching them was weird, and I felt like a creep. However, I couldn’t look away, nor did I want to.

My nipples were tightening, and they became sensitive. The soft fabric of my bra rubbed against my nipples and stimulated them. I panted a little, my body was warm, and I began to ooze. It soaked through my panties.

“Shit,” he moaned, resting his hand on her head.  She pushed her head further into his groin, gagging. “Oh, fuck.” He whimpered while his back arched, and he collapsed onto the bed.

I felt lightheaded and my breathing was jagged.  My chest tightened and I nibbled and sucked on my ring and index fingers.  I wanted to touch myself but was afraid they would notice, although they were probably too drunk to care. She sucked so hard that she created popping sounds.  He squirmed on the bed, losing all sense of reality.

I imagined Ethan was on the bed, and I was wearing something sexy and lacy.  I walked to Ethan, our gazes fixed on each other, and my nipples were slightly hanging out of my bra. Ethan blushed, trying to make eye contact, but my nipples distracted him.

“Ethan,” I called, low and breathy, getting on my knees and placing my hands on his thighs.  He tried to answer, but his words were caught in the back of his throat.  I unzipped his pants and grabbed his expanding member.

“Taylor,” Ethan moaned, husky and shy.  Ethan’s shyness was such a turn-on.  I took him in my mouth.  “Taylor.” He gasped. 

I sucked, feeling him expanding in my mouth, and touched myself, my wetness covering my fingers. As Ethan’s whimpers elated my ears, I expanded my throat and took all of him, licking along his member. 

“Taylor,” he shouted, his toes curling into the carpet. 

“What, Ethan?” I asked, gripping his member. 

I stood removing my bra and panties and climbed on top of him. I buried my breast into his face, and he sucked my nipples.

“Ethan,” I panted.  “Oh, fuck.” I was so wet. 

While he sucked my nipples, I sat on his member.  The heat and stretch were bliss. “Ethan,” I moaned.  “Ethan.”

“Brandy, fuck!” Tristan shouted, clenching the bedding.

Brandy chuckled, “Is it too much?”

I snapped back to reality, realizing that I was touching myself and fantasizing about Ethan while watching Brandy and Tristan fooling around. I locked and then closed the door.

I leaned against the door and took a few breaths. I cupped my flushed cheeks and slid to the floor.

“What’s wrong with me?” I pondered. I ran my fingers across the glossy wooden floor. The grooves were smooth, and my fingers glided across them. I wondered what Ethan was doing. I hoped he was being careful.

He worked at a wood carving shop. Ethan was, to put it politely, extremely clumsy. For example, during senior year, we had a relay race during P.E. As I was handing him the baton, he dropped it. He recovered quickly and even regained the lead in our race. But ten feet from the finish line, he fell, causing us to come in last place.

I wished he would work in a place less dangerous. The wood shop had various dangerous machinery, and my little Ethan was his typical clumsy mistake away from having limbs removed.

He made me worry so much. His father, Mr. Byron Jones, was injured months ago in a construction accident. He almost lost his life. Mr. Jones was a very careful man but got injured because of another worker’s carelessness. Ethan was not his father, and he should really quit his job.

I crossed my legs. Honestly, his clumsiness wasn’t why I wanted him to quit. I wanted—no, I needed—more from Ethan. I get his job pays well, but…

“Ah, fuck, Tristan!” Brandy shouted. Faint claps came through the door. “Fuck me! Tristan!”

I stood and walked away, my brows furrowed.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, bitch,” I whispered.

I entered a bathroom. The glass shower panels were gorgeous. The granite sink was bumpy and glossy. There was a Google Home next to the sink, and I asked Google to change the lights to light purple.

“Oo,” I said, smiling. I took a selfie in the mirror. It was probably a combination of both the liquor and the light, but I was feeling sexy. I took off my pants and took a photo of my butt while looking over my shoulder biting my bottom lip.

I began texting a message to Ethan and attached the photo to it. I bit my lip, thinking about how Ethan would react to seeing my ass and thong. My thumb hovered over the send button.

"Should I?" I asked myself.

I deleted the message and decided not to. I put my pants back on and walked to the kitchen. The party had died down a little bit. Either that or people were, you know, in the rooms with each other.

I grabbed a bottle of water and ate some Cheetos puffs. I couldn’t believe Brandy and Tristan didn’t see me. Either they were too distracted, too drunk, or both.

“You’re here?” Cameron asked, approaching. He ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair while drinking the Peach Crown.

“Hey,” I replied, waving. I ate some more Cheetos.

“Do you want a drink?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m trying to sober up. I need to drive Brandy and Tristan home as well.” I drank some water.

“Where are they?” Cameron asked. I spat my water into the sink. “Are you good?”

“Yeah,” I stuttered, fanning my face. “They ran off. I need to find them.”

Cameron took three shots of Amsterdam and smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want a shot?”

“I really shouldn’t. I don’t like feeling wasted.”

“You’ve been wasted before?”

“Yeah, last year after I turned 18. Never again. I tend to lose control. So, we were playing 3 minutes in the closet and I flashed Ethan when we were alone.”

“Who’s Ethan?”

“My boyfriend.”

Cameron smiled and slightly squinted. “That’s it? That’s not wild.”

“Ethan and I weren’t dating at the time. We didn’t start dating until January of this year. I avoided him for weeks after that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing. He wasn’t drunk, and I couldn’t look at him. I still can’t believe I did that.”

I ate some more Cheetos. “I figured he would tell everyone.” I smiled a little bit. “But he never did. And he still won’t.”

“Did you guys like each other then?” he asked, eating some pizza.

“It’s complicated. We were talking, not talking, during the second half of junior year and over the summer, but we never acted on anything.”

Cameron laughed, and I rolled my eyes. “That’s not wild, Taylor.” He drank another shot.

“Whatever. Anyway, there’s no way you’re going to be able to drive home with all you’ve been drinking.”

“My wife is picking me up.”

“You’re married? Why don’t you wear your ring?” I asked.

He pulled out a necklace with the ring on it. “I don’t like things around my fingers.” He tucked his ring away. “Also, I don’t want to get paint on my ring.”

“Have you painted anything else?”

“Always,” he replied, showing me a new composition.

The composition was breathtaking. It depicted a forest filled with fairies flying, their wings intricately designed and painted in unique colors. I was so mesmerized that I pulled his phone closer to me.

“Amazing,” I whispered.

“Thanks, it’s for my niece. She’s turning eight in a few days.”

“That’s sweet. I know she’ll love it.” I let go of his hand, realizing that instead of asking to hold his phone, I had pulled his hand closer to my face. Hopefully, he didn’t take offense to that.

His phone pinged, and he poured two more shots of Amsterdam, handing one to me.

“No, I can’t,” I insisted.

“It’s a farewell drink. My wife’s outside waiting,” he replied.

I figured one drink wouldn’t change much. I took the shot, and we both downed it. The burn felt good, and I coughed a little bit.

“Bye, Taylor.”

“See you,” I chuckled.

Cameron left, and I stared at the bottle of Amsterdam and took a few more shots. Everything became fuzzy, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“God,” I thought, “I’m drunk now.”

I stumbled out of the house and walked to my car. The night air was gentle, sweet, and elating. Jack Harlow’s music began to fade as I got closer to my car.

I hated drinking. That may have sounded contradictory, but the reason why I hated drinking was that I didn’t know how to stop. I bumped into a car.

“I’m so sorry, car,” I said apologetically, hugging the car. “Please forgive me.”

I continued to my car. Another thing was that when I was drunk, I had no filter and was too honest. For instance, when Ethan and I were in the closet for three minutes, not only had I flashed him, but I had also told him to fuck me. This was the real reason why I couldn’t look him in the face. I was never going to tell anyone that part of the story. I would take it to the grave.

I entered my car. After that night in the closet with Ethan, I was pretty sure he thought I was a slut. I mean, who wouldn’t? But he hadn’t. He had told me he knew that I was drunk and hadn’t taken it seriously. I glanced at my home screen photo of Ethan and me. The problem was, I had been very serious. I had wanted to fuck Ethan in the closet.

I dialed his number, and my finger hovered over the call button. I had been such a bitch today, and I doubted he would answer the phone. But I really needed a ride home. I called him.
Taylor, Ethan answered.

I tried to talk, but the words were caught in my throat.

"Taylor, are you there?"

"Hey, Ethan," I finally managed. "What are you up to?"

"Just sitting on my bed. What about you?"

I pulled at the hole In my jeans. "Just sitting in my car, trying to sober up."

"How was the party?"

"It was fun," I chuckled. "How was work?"

"Work was okay. I almost chopped my thumb off."

I sat up in the car, accidentally honking my horn. "Oh my god, are you okay? Did you go to the hospital?"

"No, I'm fine. I didn't cut anything, just my glove," he laughed.

"That's not funny, Ethan," I shouted.

"I'm sorry, Taylor." His voice was so tender and soft. It sounded like he was on the verge of crying. I didn't think his apology was meant for cutting his finger off but rather...

"I love you, Ethan," I whispered.

"I love you too, Taylor."

"No," I began, sitting up in the seat. "I really love you, Ethan."

He laughed. "I know."

"Don't laugh at me," I whimpered. "I'm sorry for not responding to your messages. I wanted you here. I was the only one without anyone, and... I love you, Ethan."

"Taylor."

"Yes?"

"How much have you been drinking?" he asked, amused.

"A lot. But not that much. But a lot," I giggled.

"Send me the address, and I'll come pick you up," he said.

"No, you don't have to. I can drive Brandy, Tristan, and myself home," I slurred.

"Either you send me the address, or I'm going to tell your mom," he replied.

"No, don't tell my mom. You can't tell her, please don't," I whimpered.

"Then tell me the address so I can pick you up. You're not drinking and driving."

"Fine, I'll tell you the address. Just don't tell my mom," I whispered.

"Okay, I'll be there soon. I love you."

"Love you," I replied.

I hung up and texted the address to him. I smiled uncontrollably and felt a surge of arousal. I looked at the photo I had taken in the bathroom, biting my lip. I sent the photo to him and texted, "Fuck me, Ethan."