hard » m. phelps

XXXIX|Clarisse

All my bæs in one SMEXY picture..
______________________________________
My blood ran as cold as ice as soon as the word left his lips.

His fucking mother was standing right in front of me, and she had solid proof that her son was sexually active.

As he attempted to flash her his charming smile, she sent him a death glare.

"How are you, Mom?"

"Cut the crap, Michael," she snarled at him.

He stared guiltily down at his shoes, and had we not have been in such a situation, I would've probably wrapped my arms around him.

"Explain yourself," she ordered briskly.

Michael inhaled deeply, and started talking in order to save his skin that was currently in great danger.

"Mom, this is Clarisse Dimitrovich, she's my girlfriend of almost two months."

"Pleased to meet you, dear," Debbie faced me, a smile on her round face, but it seemed ever so fake.

She turned around to glare again at her only son, "How did you meet?"

"Um," Michael rubbed his neck awkwardly, careful not to drop the towel that had been hoisted around his waist, "I saved her from the streets."

Debbie's eyes widened as she fell into an obvious shocked expression.

"I-okay," she breathed, "How long.." she trailed off, not wanting to delve in deep with the details.

"First," he replied curtly, turning around, still in his towel, to look at me.

His eyes flew wide open as he saw me sprawled, and he dashed over to my aid, supporting me up from under my armpits.

"Shit, baby girl, are you hurt?" he whispered urgently in my ear.

I mouthed back an "I'm fine," and shooed him off so that he could talk to his mother who was currently flustered.

"We've been dating for a couple of months now," he lied, leaving out the bit where he dumped me for a nice long while.

"H-how nice," his mom forced a smile.

Michael frowned as he made his way to his wardrobe to pick out his clothes.

"You don't like the fact that I found her in the streets," he stated bluntly.

She looked taken aback as she managed to say, "What? Pshh, no," with an awkward laugh.

Michael held up a pair of white Diesels and a black pair of Calvin Klein's, ignoring his mom for a minute.

"Black," I answered instantaneously, I had to admit that he looked absolutely ravishing in black.

He nodded and flipped to see his mother as he managed to slip on the boxers from underneath the towel. His eyes took notice of the way her bony hands fingered her short brown bob of hair, and that only confirmed how unsettled she was.

"I don't believe you," he shrugged simply.

Half naked, he stripped off the towel, throwing it on the bed beside me as I watched the interaction.

I blushed a little as his graceful body arched with different poses as he slipped on a ruby red polo shirt and beige chinos with brown Vans.

He managed to look terrifically breathtaking without exerting any sort of effort.

I whipped my head around as I felt a stare boring through my head, flipping some sparkly blonde hair in the process.

Debbie was giving me a long studious once-over, and I looked back as firmly as possible.