A/N: cover made by @ForeverChanged02
"Come on girls!" Teresa cried cheerfully, nudging her friends up the thin, wooded and modern spiral staircase, shoes in hand and makeup smeared from all the sweat that had coated their faces.
When we reached her bedroom, I entered with exactly the same expectations. Everything was gold. Her curtains were gold, her bedsheets, her laptop, her desk chair. The walls were a glimmering shade of gold that seemed to sparkle against the hardwood floors.
"Why do you love this color so much?" the orange haired girl asked, Jane, I learned her name was, as all of them admired the master bedroom in awe.
"It represents expense," Teresa replied softly. "Beauty. Purity."
I walked up from behind her. "You like it because it's what you want to be," I whispered into her ear.
She turned around and glanced at me. "Who says I'm not pure?"
The girls fell into an awkward silence, but the snicker that soon turned into laughter escaped Teresa's mouth, and almost immediately everyone began to follow along.
"Who am I kidding?" she giggled. "Fûck being pure. At least fûck it for tonight."
"That's the spirit!" I cheered with fake enthusiasm, all of the girls howling with laughter.
I wondered what her father would think, seeing that she's a bundle of rebellious teenaged emotions masked by an innocent daddy's girl.
"So are we opening the presents?" Jane asked, eyeing the pile of colorful, neatly wrapped gifts that were now shoved into the corner of her bedroom.
The girl that I had met earlier with the piercings and white-blond hair, Rebekah, piped up. "You said we'd be drinking vodka," she whispered, a joyous yet esoteric glint in her eyes, as if she were hiding something.
She had made it clear at the party that she hasn't consumed alcohol before, but perhaps she was covering a little secret. These girls were wide-eyed, boy crazy and slightly immature, but that doesn't mean innocent.
"Rebekah, of course we are. What's a sleepover without alcohol and a game?" Teresa asked, oblivious to Rebekah's uneasiness, instead laughing giddily.
Teresa was sitting in the middle of the room with her legs crossed, and the other girls were sitting around her, the glow of their iPhones illuminating their adolescent faces. Soft pop music echoed from the speaker hooked in the corner of her room.
As everybody chatted and sent pictures back and fourth from the party, I leaned against her wall, arms crossed, and sighed.
"Teresa," I said monotonously, boredom creeping into my attitude. "I'm going to use the restroom. Is there any food from downstairs you want me to bring?"
Teresa thought for a second, and a devious smile outlined her lips. "Are you good at sneaking stuff?"
Shamelessly, I cracked a mischievous smirk. "Of course I am. What do you need?"
"There's alcohol stashed in my father's office under his desk. Pick anything that we can all share, but don't make it look obvious that it was taken." Teresa said seriously, her eyebrows pulling together. "He trusts me."
"I don't mess up." I said simply, locking eyes with her. "You can trust me."
"I know," Teresa responded. She looked around at the girls. "What do you guys want for snacks?"
After literally writing a list of snacks I were to bring back upstairs, I exited the bedroom and quickly shut myself in the bathroom.
Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I quickly rummaged around in my suitcase for my pajamas and proceeded to undress.
Slipping on my pink shorts, which so happens to be slightly undersized and perhaps a bit provocative, I threw my dress off, unhooked my bra, and slipped on my white t-shirt, which reached just above my navel. Surely Mr. Rossi won't mind that I accidentally forgot to bring a sports bra to wear to bed.
After perfecting myself until I liked what was staring back at me, I zipped my suitcase back up and left it next to Teresa's bedroom door.
Quietly padding down the staircase, the wood of the steps feeling cold against my bare feet, my hands clutching the thin railings, I observed my surroundings with completely no idea as to where his office was.
I peeked into the room next to the foyer, where an all-black love seat was placed in front of a marble fireplace, with two bookshelves on each side, the shelves bulging with so much literature that a book-worm would twinge with envy.
Letting my curiosity disseminate my conscience, I walked over to one of the shelves and let my hand graze against the spines of the books, dust decorating my fingertips.
"Looking for something?" A deep, husky and irresistibly divine voice sounded from the archway of the room.
My body froze, my hand unable to move any further. I froze not with fear of getting caught, but with lust- so much of it that my body seemed to lack the knowledge of how to deal with such a pulsating heart. Taking a deep and shaky breath, I turned around and mustered as much confidence as I possibly could.
I wore a mellow smile and slowly intertwined my fingers with my blond curls, twisting and twirling my hair around my finger. "I was just browsing. You have quite the collection. I see you're a fan of H.P Lovecraft?" I asked delicately.
Almost cautiously, he stepped into the room. I let myself take in his features- dark blue jeans that hung loosely on his hips, button down black shirt, no socks. Two of his buttons were undone, revealing a minuscule tease of chest hair.
His eyes, which were so dark and brown like rich and melting chocolate, grazed over my body as mine had done to his. And when they stopped at my chest, although for a few seconds, I still knew they were acknowledging my breasts, which were perky and completely in desperate need of large hands to grope on to, such as his own.
"Yes, I am a fan. I assume you are as well?" he responded, inching closer, although not close enough.
I slid out a thick and dusty book and read the spine out loud. "Edgar Allan Poe." I held it up to him. "H.P Lovecraft is more modern, but I prefer Poe. Such a wonderful book should be better taken care of, sir," I said as I purposely blew the dust off, letting the specks float to the hardwood floor.
"Indeed it should," he responded, glancing again at my breasts, which caused my breathing to rapidly increase. Placing the book back in its spot, I slowly sauntered past him and stopped midway, his elbow now almost touching the side of my hip.
I arched my neck and turned so that I was facing him, my mouth dangerously close to the side of his neck. Being so close to his jaw made it horribly difficult to not smell his wonderful aftershave, which only caused my insides to clench and a warm blush to explode on my cheeks. A shaky sigh escaped my lips.
He was staring ahead, and being this close made his heavy breaths more than obvious. He was struggling. His fists clenched at his sides, which caused my face to flush even more, if possible.
I refused to look down at his manhood, for I have already fantasized about his erotic body part, and I would never be able to control the beast that was aching to explode out of me. Not yet, anyways.
"You have a marvelous taste, Mr. Rossi." I hummed breathlessly, my warm breath against his neck, my words slow and tantalizing coming from my mouth that was craving something quite sinful. Clearly, we were talking about his taste in literature.
Reluctantly, I backed away from him and exited the room, but I could swear I still heard his heavy breathing, or perhaps that was just my own.
I was downstairs for alcohol and food. Nothing else. Nothing else at all.