"Allie, what are you doing? And what is this?" He found his roommate, pantless, on top of the coffee table, holding a beer bottle and a light bulb. Around her, a diversity of plants created a miniature forest.
"Roomy!" she yelled over the music. "I'm changing the light bulb for this LED one. It saves electricity, you know."
He made his way through the bushes and lowered the volume by pressing on the remote.
"Climb off." He extended his arms. "You can do that tomorrow."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you've been drinking and you're not wearing any pants. It's not safe."
"But the party's up here." She swayed her hips, turning to the rhythm. "Baby, this town is too small for our love," she sang off tune.
The situation would have annoyed Dean, but he became attracted to her dancing. Even more when she rotated, showing off her thong. He wished to smack her thick and round stock, but he made himself look away.
"Allie, stop. I need to sleep," he said.
"Why be an obedient boy, Dean?" she protested. "Okay, I'll come down if you drink a beer with me. Please?"
"Sure," he sighed. "I'll have a beer with you."
He extended his hand again to help her, still looking away. Instead, she locked her arms on his neck and placed her legs around his waist. He clutched onto her lower back. His heart beating fast to the thought he could have her, trying not to cave in to his human desires.
The temptation dismounted him. She hopped behind the coffee table and retrieved a beer bottle, not letting go of his hand. She kicked the plants away to make a trail and pulled him toward the couch.
"What's going on with these plants?" Dean popped his drink and sat on the couch.
Allie laughed and tripped over a small pot. He caught her hips before she fell backward. The girl smirked at him, then sat on his lap, causing him to exhale and take a giant sip from his bottle. He disliked where the train was going, but his penis yearned for the ultimate destination.
"I tried to buy an airplane ticket to New Zealand," said Allie, "but I didn't have any money, so I bought these plants instead. Just wanted the living room to be New Zealand." She drank more beer.
"Do you like New Zealand?" he asked.
"I like, love, nature," she laughed.
Dean's hand rested on her thigh. His brain flashed warning red.
"Come to New Zealand with me," she whispered on his neck.
From his core, a vibrant fire melted half of his skin, succumbing to her tongue stroking his earlobe. His hand clutched the side of her hip.
"Sure, I'll come with you any day." He groaned close to her lips.
Allie threw her arms over his shoulders. "Will you come with me?"
"What do you mean?" He perceived she wasn't speaking of traveling.
His fingers brushed the canvas of her thigh so as to not harm the delicate painting in front of him.
"I mean, Grayson's always trying these moves on my pussy, but my brain keeps wandering. I thought sex would be different; something beautiful. It makes me sore instead."
Allie observed Dean's thumb pulling on her thong's elastic. He leered at the goosebumps covering her body. The temperature raised as she unzipped her hoodie.
"Fuck, sweetheart, I can fix that."
Dean's groin rushed with testosterone at the sight of her bellybutton. He closed his eyes, trying to control himself, but it only got him more excited.
He shoved her onto the couch and laid between her legs. She struggled to keep her eyelids open while she bit her bottom lip. One blow of air could have had the power to remove the cotton fabric concealing her breasts.
"We can't do this," he said. That level of control was worth nothing if she regretted it the next day.
"Fix it, Dean. Make me feel good," she mumbled, manhandling his shorts.
He stared where their groins met, letting her uncover his manhood. His finger moved under her panties and skimmed over her clit. His jaw dropped, murmuring, "Oh, my God." She was so wet, he could scoop a pool into his hand. He grunted, resting his forehead on her breasts.
"Let's get you to bed."
He pulled her upright, put away her beer, and carried her into her bedroom. The exertion was fast to disallow a change of mind.
"Don't go," she said as he covered her with a blanket.
"It's okay, sweetheart. I'll be right next door." He rubbed his thumb against her lip.
Before bolting out of her bedroom, he watched her spread her knees and touch herself under the covers. No one was there to stop him from watching, but his father raised him to be a gentleman. He held his shaft through his shorts in frustration.
Nothing like a warm shower to get rid of stress. Each drop of water on Allie's skin was part of a relaxing massage. The pores around her bosom swelled with desire. Water droplets caressed her inner thighs. A slight breeze drew a pattern on her back. Her hair follicles were magnets, attracted to the man behind her.
"We can’t," she said. Her body screamed the opposite statement. Dean stood bare in front of her. The shower steam cleared, letting her see his wide shoulders. The area over his clavicles and the silhouette that formed his biceps drew her closer.
"Let me help you, Allie. You won't need to fake it with me," he said.
She closed her eyes and felt as he fondled her womanhood. There was a hefty amount of suction, then a burning sensation.
Her eyes opened. She was on her bed, facing the ceiling, wearing the same hoodie from the previous night. A big mound motioned between her legs.
Tight pressure. Allie lifted the blanket, mortified.
"Good morning," mumbled Grayson.
"Good morning," she sighed, relieved that she wasn't cheating on her boyfriend. Part of her wanted her dream to be real.
He continued devouring her genitals, introducing two fingers to her vagina. Without introduction or warm-up, his nails clawed her walls.
"Oh God," she yelped. Her teeth grinding from discomfort.
"Enjoy," he smiled. "This is a thank-you-for-last-night."
"What happened last night?" she asked.
His fingers grated in and out of her.
"I didn't know you were that flexible." Her fiancé's eyebrows made a small dance.
Allie still didn't remember. She watched the ceiling, perturbed by the doings of her biology after her second beer. More than anything, she desired an orgasm. The details of the ceiling were so plain but distracting, causing her to wonder if she even cared for being present.
So dry, way too dry. She needed an excuse to stop the cactus eating at her groin. It was only by herself she found relief. Most of the time, she faked enjoying her fiancé’s aggressiveness.
"Grayson." She winked at him. "After the amazing night, I can’t keep going."
"Good, I thought I'd have to be here for the next hour," he climbed off the bed. "I have to go to work."
The girl prepared herself to explain further, expecting him to protest, since he always expressed how much it pleased him to bring her to ecstasy. But he never did. He scavenged for his clothes in a hurry, never making eye contact with her. It didn’t matter; no one could give her the relief she needed. Something broke in her body.
When she was a teenager, she thought sex was the closest action to heaven. No longer a virgin, it was a labor only Grayson appreciated.
Dean stood in the hallway with a towel on his shoulder, watching Grayson fix his tie as he walked out of the bathroom.
"Um, hello?" Dean dragged the last letter, wondering why there was a strange man using his toilet.
Grayson cleared his throat. His lawyer pose made any guy look tiny, although Dean believed the contrary.
"Dean, right? Grayson Clarke. I'm Allie's fiancé."
Dean licked his left canine tooth, stopping a smirk. This was the guy who couldn't give his girl an orgasm. How he wished Allie would have woken up beside him instead of the usual pile of dirty tissues. His pitch black irises could stab through Grayson's skin. Without words, he sauntered into the bathroom.
Allie saw her fiancé to the door and pecked him on the lips.
“Is your roommate mute or something?” asked Grayson.
“No,” she frowned.
“He looks like an asshole,” he jerked his chin toward the hallway.
The girl chuckled behind her curls. “He might not be a morning person, Grayson.”
“Long as he gets out of my way, we ain’t goin’ to have a problem.”
“Grumpy." She rolled her eyes, then saw him leave.
The girl wiggled her hips to ease her soreness. She opened the curtains to the veranda, letting the light shine through the glass sliding doors. Her arms dropped, noticing the thicket of bushes.
"I figured I'd clear up the space in the living room." Dean held his backpack, dressed in his usual slim cut jeans and a square-patterned shirt over a white t-shirt.
"Where did these come from?" Allie frowned.
"Drunk shopping. You said you wanted the place to look like New Zealand. I also changed the light bulb."
Last night’s events crashed into Allie's brain. Her hand covered her mouth, and her cheeks were lava. The living room spun around her.
"I am so sorry. Dean, I don’t want you to think I’m that girl. I’m getting married," said Allie. Looking at him enhanced the memories, so she refrained from eye contact.
"How about this?" he replied in an annoyed tone. “I'll make it easier for us. Let's not talk about it. I won’t tell your fiancé.”
"Thank you, thank you," said Allie. Her stomach sank. "I-I think I made you breakfast last night."
"You did?" Dean scavenged for food in the kitchen.
"I know you have school this morning, so." She avoided unnecessary words. “It's in a container. Fridge. Top shelf."
He put the container in his backpack and left without saying goodbye.
Nothing happened between them, she was sure. But she danced for him and sat on his lap. How embarrassing. He thought the worst of her. Burying herself in her work would erase her shame.
The twelfth floor of the Queens and Jones law firm served as multiple conference rooms for special cases. Ever since they got that celebrity murder case, the floor had been full, taking on bigger clients.
Those money maker wins were what Grayson wanted. The twelfth floor was his future—not so much as part of the team, but leading it—maybe in his own law firm. But to achieve that, he needed cash.
"Not guilty," yelled Grayson from the end of the conference table.
The room went quiet.
"Clarke," said a gray-haired man. "Our client confessed to the police and they have video of the actual crime."
"Not guilty. Let’s play the insanity card," continued Grayson.
A murmur escalated.
"Who let the kid in here?" laughed a woman in glasses.
Grayson smiled and unbuttoned his suit jacket. He addressed his boss, standing across from him. He gave an intern a binder, whom passed it to the oldest man in the room.
"Three years ago, our client, Erin Fischer, drives her car into a lake while her parents are on a business trip,” said Grayson. “Not wanting to deal with the teenage drama themselves, they send her to a therapist. Her therapist instead sends her home with a bunch of medication. Ladies and gentlemen, I think we saw this coming. Stabbing her boyfriend's family to death was not done at her own will, and I know this therapist can testify for us. Not to mention, there is a genetic history of dementia in her family."
"This could work," said the senior lawyer. He turned back to a youthful woman. "Olivia, I want you to look into her family history. Everyone else, you know what to do."
The crowd began exiting the conference room.
"Look at you, champ." A gigantic man patted Grayson's shoulder, "Twenty-eight years old and already making breakthroughs."
"Yeah, you're killing it," said Olivia.
Olivia and Grayson made small talk until the place emptied.
"Keep this up and Jones might make you a lead on the next case," said Olivia. She was a petite woman—around Grayson's age—with blonde hair and green eyes.
"Thank you. I'm trying," he smiled.
"Not hard enough. How are the wedding plans going?" she giggled.
Grayson looked away and cleared his throat. "Not that exciting, to be honest."
"You should be." The colleague shook her head.
"Fake it 'till you make it, hon. Brides hate that attitude." She patted his shoulder and walked away.