Isabella
I invite myself into Aya's bedroom by abruptly throwing open her door.
"Aya, you're coming to the club with me today." She peeks at me from behind her phone, then runs her attention across what she's wearing. An unspoken suggestion that it's going to take her a while to dress out the comfort of her night clothes and set aside snuggling in bed.
"I am?"
"Yes, and Francis—the guy I told you about yesterday—is coming. So are Seb and Blake."
"Oh, sure, sure, sure." She shuffles aside so I can plop myself onto the mattress. "What about your fetching boyfriend?"
I roll my eyes at the mention of him.
"Andreas is a dick. He's made firm reminders that the status of our relationship will always fall under bullshit, then whines when I go on to have my own fun with someone else. But at least a hot guy earned my number today." Aya drops her phone to the side and breaths out a sluggish laugh. I do not inform her of his intriguing hint that he'll bind me to his bed.
"Don't worry, girl." She takes my hand and looks me straight in the eyes. "You have the right to disregard his rubbish and choose between our hot new guy or Francis." She considers as she releases my hand and stares at the mute TV. The channel is open to a music video. A very indicative music video. A young bloke dressed in finery and too much lavish jewelry is sitting on a chair, singing inaudible words as two girls dance around him. "Or...you don't need to choose."
I roll to the side and inspect the vanity occupying the right side of her room. Unfolded bras, dirty makeup brushes, near empty foundation bottles, and hair clips are scattered across it. A guilty feeling tells me that if it weren't for Andreas and his unexplainable impulses to keep everything uncluttered, his bathroom's counter wouldn't look too different—because of me, of course.
"No. I like the hot guy, Leo, and I've told Francis I'd rather stick to a friendship between us." It's true. I ended up texting him after our little encounter at the club and clearing that up. After dodging a life with Jasper, it was time I found some stability and made friends.
"That's cute." Aya hops off the bed in a swift motion that startles me. "Now get your ass off my bed. We don't have too long to prep." She swings open the off-white doors of her closet. The stress of getting ready creeps in on me even though I was the one who demanded we go out and spend our night at the club. All because I want to annoy Andreas.
"Now?" I groan and twist onto my stomach. "We have a long while left."
"Yes. You wouldn't want to miss the chance of looking hottest on an Andreas-free night, would you?"
Despite my inclination to soak into the bed and rejoice on the silk of its blankets, I slowly get up with the hopes of igniting some kind of angered lust in my sulky boyfriend. Aya manhandles me to the closet. This is a clutter, just like her vanity, but in the most appealing way possible. It's clear that the congestion of hanging clothes on the right side is dedicated to casual outfits, and the left side...it's elegant, expensive, and sexy.
"I want a dress." With the bare suggestion, Aya gets to work. I try aiding in her rummage through the bunches of clothing but immediately get told to stand back. She dives in deeper, to the floor of her closet, and pulls out a stack of fancy clothes hidden in the recess of the wall. She hauls herself up and distributes it across the bed. Soon, we're pairing up tops—which are rather just thin scraps of material—with miniskirts and pressing pretty dresses to our chests.
I'm glad she got us on to this hustle early because it takes us a straining two hours to put together what we want to wear and get ready.
I run my hands down the satin black of my dress, admiring the way in which the V-neckline draws attention right to my chest. When I'd decided on this, I knew precisely what my sole intention would be: having my not-so-subtle boyfriend's eyes skid to my breasts as I stride past his room with my matching purse of gold chains slung over my shoulder. I do not doubt at all that right after that, he'll drop his gaze to my cut-out heels, drag it up my legs, and pause where the dress ends above my knees and splits across my thighs. Then it'll linger there for a few moments before he throws in enough self-control to meet my eyes.
That's when I'll walk away.
Aya's outfit isn't put together by obscene tendencies to tempt a man like mine is. Though that doesn't mean it's not jaw-dropping. Two thin strands that wrap around her neck in a cross emerge from a yellow band encompassing her chest. The mini skirt fitted below is of the same, bright color, but it's the chain of silver rings running down the side of her hips that stuns me. It takes a few seconds for me to realize that Seb has walked in and is ogling just as hard as I am.
"You sexy bitch." My eyes are still set on her as I weave my way through the forest of clothes on the floor.
"Fuck me, Aya." Seb sweeps her into his arms, and it's my sign to shut the door behind me.
Just before I brace myself to cross the corridor, I hear her say, "Oh my gosh. Get out before I kick you out." To my own benefit, he doesn't listen. I'd rather face my boyfriend on my own. There are a few laughs I hear before walking down the hall.
I'm probably going to topple over. My ability to walk in heels isn't quite great, even if clubs have given me the most practice I'll ever need. So I halt at the top of the stairs and lean against the post for a break.
Gosh, there's always something wrong with me. I knew that wearing hooped earrings—silver, especially—would make my skin react. But who doesn't like black earrings to match a black fit, right? I refrain from scratching at my lobe and push off the post.
But a door creaks, and then I'm spinning to the source.
Moving like a sloth, Andreas appears from his room, dressed in sweatpants and a loose jumper. Taking all the time in the world to get to me. I'd scoff and walk away according to plan if I didn't notice the hungry gleam in his eyes as he almost slogs over like he's awoken hungover.
I'm correct in only part of my presumption of how he'd react. Yes, he's gazing at me with a look that tells me he wants to eat me up, but...he's begun at my face. Stared at it for a few slow seconds before running the rest of the course and slipping his attention up and down my figure shamelessly.
"Where are you going looking so exquisite?" He manages to grin through his examination. It falters when I cross my arms and offer my breasts the beauty of being pushed up.
"To the club with the rest." He quirks an eyebrow. Our eye contact, finally, is held.
"I don't remember getting an invite." It's very obvious with the continuous alterations of his expression that he's having a battle with being mesmerized. Good.
"Neither do I."
"I'm coming."
"No you're not." I laugh in his face—then am immediately struck with a tension that quiets me as his gaze falls still. Nervousness and eagerness claw at the tissue of my stomach. Those feelings continue wrestling when he moves towards me. There's demand in his eyes. A request to invite him. It fastens my pulse—but isn't enough to sway me.
"Fine. I won't." Again, he peeks down at my breasts. My lungs refuse to work at their natural rhythm. Particularly when he takes another step and something rigid prods at my lower abdomen.
His boner has come to life. I'm staring at it, internally tussling the urge to wrench down his pants and get to work. I don't move back.
Content tugs his lips into an appealing grin when I return my attention to his face. His tip dips further into my skin. He's pushing himself forward. I force myself to snap out of silence.
"Is that meant to make me stay?" I'm not as loud as I intended, but it's better then remaining mute as he is. "Speak to me. You love speaking."
His tip retracts from my dress, and he walks over to the bathroom in long, slow steps. When he reaches the door, he turns to me and gives a view of his erection. Just the sight of it messes with my breathing.
"Have fun, baby. You look very...edible tonight." He gently shuts the door behind him. Still, I stay in my spot, focusing all my senses on where a cock had just touched me. I feel the heat of it, and for some reason, I look down in expectance that it burned through the velvet of my dress.
I hear the toilet seat come down and clothes shuffle. If he's going to urinate a few feet away from me, then I'll have fun scolding him. But I don't hear any further indication that he's going to begin pissing.
Instead, what is heard are moans intertwining with shallow, lascivious breaths. They come out soft and every so often break into a hitch, making my stomach react in what could either be pleasure or shock. He begins gasping, and there's the sound of aggressive yet softly muttered words: "Fuck", "Yes", and others I can't make out with the surge of wild thoughts circulating in my mind.
Now, I feel like my efforts won't be enough to keep me from stumbling in these heels, especially when I register that it's up to me whether or not I enter the room.