The Whisper Seekers

A Knee to the Groin

Brandon shakes me awake when we arrive back at Derek's house. I gently wake Derek up and we both look like zombies as we slowly walk into his house half asleep. I feel gross from the lake water and exhausted from the sun and the alcohol. My hair is in that weird state where it's half wet, half dry, and clumsily thrown up into a messy bun on top of my head. I smell the remainder of lake water lingering in my damp swimsuit and I can't wait to get showered. I grab Derek's hand and quietly lead him down to his room, trying to avoid his parents so they don't realize he's drunk.

Derek's room is on the bottom floor, where he has total privacy. As soon as Brandon moved out, Derek claimed the massive space, but I'm never allowed down here alone with him. His parents know that full privacy with a teenage boy is only going to lead to trouble.

But since they didn't see me sneak in, I manage to get Derek all the way to his bed. He flops onto it, and I collapse beside him. His room is immaculate and organized, which surprises no one who knows him. A large king-sized bed sits at the center, and two French doors open to the pool. The curtains are drawn, leaving the room cloaked in darkness, and I'm already tempted to just pass out.

I know I need to get off his plush down comforter before his parents find us here, half asleep, skin exposed. I don't need that kind of trouble. I start to pull myself up to grab him some dry clothes, but he grabs my arm and pulls me in for a kiss.

Since Liam hasn't bothered calling in two days, I let him have me. 

It's been a long time since Derek has wanted to just sit and make out, but I assume it's the alcohol talking more than any logical decision on his part. His mouth tastes like stale beer, and I can tell I've gotten sunburned by the way my skin stings when he touches it.

I feel awkward wearing only a bikini while he touches me. This is the least amount of clothing I've ever had on in front of him. Part of me wishes I had thrown my cover-up back on, but it was just too hot out on the dock.

His hands stay on my face and neck as we lean back, and then, in one swift movement, he shifts on top of me. His elbows hold up most of his weight, but I can still feel every inch of him pressed against my skin. I'm completely pinned beneath him now, and I'm a little surprised he's let things go this far.

I want this. I want her. I wonder if he can feel my heart pounding against his chest as I listen to the rush of his thoughts, thick with desire. His hand moves from my neck slowly down my torso. The room feels like it's spinning, and while part of me is exhilarated, another part is unsure. My arms stay wrapped around him, but when his thumb slips beneath the edge of my top, I freeze. Now I know exactly what he wants, and I have to stop him before he assumes I'm ready to give it. Today isn't that day.

"No, Derek, don't do that," I whisper, but his hand fully slides under my top. I'm completely uncomfortable. I shift my weight and arch my back, trying to ease the pressure, but a sharp moan escapes me as my sunburn scrapes against the bedding. He mistakes it for something else. Oh, she likes that.

I reach for his hand, trying to pull it away from my chest, but he doesn't get the message, or doesn't want to. I push harder, but he's stronger. My voice catches in my throat before I manage a quiet, firm, "Stop." Derek stops kissing me as he snatches his hand away from under my top. 

"I'm not ready, I'm sorry, Derek, but don't push this," I beg. He nods, but he still doesn't let me sit up. His eyes are glassy, lids drooping, his face flushed deep red. He's drunk—too drunk—and clearly not thinking straight. I manage to shift onto my side, but his arm remains heavy across my waist, holding me in place.

I press my nose gently against his chest, trying to soothe him, hoping he'll relax enough for me to slip out from under him. But instead, he leans back down for another aggressive kiss.