Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 04

He smiled as he flopped onto the bed. Maybe he'd run into a pretty girl, and told her to come visit him later? He wouldn't put it past himself to do something like that. In fact, he hoped he had; there were worse things in life than having a pretty girl show up at the door to your motel room.

He awoke from a nap about three hours later. Within fifteen minutes, he ate some food, downed some aspirin and Gatorade, and showered. By the time he padded out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his headache was gone and he was darn close to sober.

He heard a knock on the door. He figured it was probably Jack, here to get him for whatever their friends were planning on doing that night.

"Just a sec," he yelled as he headed towards the door. "Hey, did you kick me—"

Maisie. Maisie had knocked on his door, not Jack. And Maisie was now standing in his doorway, looking him straight in the eye with her own wide open, a blush creeping up her face.

"Hi—"

"Hi—"

They both stopped when they realized the other was speaking, though neither resumed in the long silence that followed.

Maisie spoke first. "Um, I figured now was as good a time as any, so . . . ."

She looked nervous. He wondered how long she'd stood there, building up the courage to knock. But why was she here?

"Right. So . . . do you want to come in?" He stepped aside and gestured with his hand. He was surprised to realize he wanted her to come in; he wasn't just being polite.

"Oh. OK, yeah. If you want me to?"

He exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Yeah, of course."

She was wearing a pair of dark jeans, a peacock blue t-shirt, and last season's cross country sneakers. It was a typical Maisie outfit, and he appreciated the way the jeans and shirt hugged her slender figure. Her long hair hung in a ponytail, and as she brushed past him he found himself mesmerized by the sight of her reddish-blond locks swaying back and forth in time with her steps against the blue background of her shirt.

His fingers itched to reach out and touch her, to find out if her hair was as soft as it had been when they were children.

He stared at her retreating back, dumbfounded. She was stunning, even in jeans and a t-shirt. Had she always been this beautiful? Why had he never noticed?

Maybe he had noticed. He realized with a jolt that he had stared at her hair—and her body—quite a bit this year. Not that it had done much good; she'd rejected all of his attempts to talk. Maybe she was here to set things right, friendship-wise? Had that been what she meant when she'd said that this was as good a time as any?

He shook his head as he turned towards the room. Maisie had stopped in the middle and was chewing her lower lip. He saw her gaze flicker down to his towel, her face growing scarlet as she did so.

He couldn't help but smile. She was nervous. They'd known each other since birth, had bathed together as babies and gone swimming in their skivvies as grade-schoolers, and she was nervous around him. It was kind of endearing.

"Sit down, Maisie." He laughed, waving his hand at an empty chair in the corner. "I'll put some pants on, OK?"

When he looked back after throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt, he saw her perched on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were flitting around the room, looking anywhere but at him. She'd placed her hands by her sides on the bed, and was keeping some weight on her feet. She looked as if she couldn't decide whether she wanted to sit or stand back up.

He moved to sit next to her, but stopped in front of her when she lifted her face to look at him. Her eyes looked wider than they had earlier; she looked nervous, curious, and . . . something else. It frustrated him to realize he couldn't place that last emotion. It had been so long since they could tell what the other was thinking.

"Do you want something to drink?" He was surprised to hear that his voice sounded strained.

"No," she whispered, still staring up at him.

Her eyes flicked down for the briefest of moments, which, given that he was standing in front of her, meant she looked right at his crotch. She swallowed hard and pulled her eyes back up to his face.

At last he saw it, that last emotion: desire.

His left hand acted in some sort of automatic response to the look. He ran his fingers back along her scalp, twirling them through the few soft tendrils that had fallen out of her ponytail.

She leaned her head into his hand and smiled. Given her earlier nervousness he'd expected a shy smile, but she surprised him. Her smile was the teasing grin he'd seen countless times in their youth, the one she'd always shown him before launching into some crazy plan for a summer afternoon.

As if in some automatic childish response, he reached for her ponytail and yanked.

"Ow! Hey, stop that!" She batted his hand away, but continued to grin as he moved to sit next to her on the bed.

He must've misread her. There was no way she wanted him, not in that way. That grin she'd just flashed him . . . she must be here for some other reason. Surely she wasn't thinking about that sort of adventure?

Unfortunately, his brain disregarded these logical thoughts and instead went hurtling along a libidinous path. He found himself mentally undressing her, trying to create an image of her beneath her clothing, beneath him.

Desperate for some sort of distraction, he looked around at the room.

Textured, cream-colored wallpaper surrounded them. He tried to focus on how it was peeling in a few places, but imagining her nude form was far more interesting. Mismatched floral bedding and curtains dominated the room. Both seemed to be at least a decade out of date, as did the worn, teal carpeting under his feet. The bedding was pilling, and there were several dark stains near the middle. The drawn curtains let in quite a bit of light from the fluorescent bulbs in the parking lot outside, and the overhead light in the room was harsh and bright. He could hear the pulsing of the Jake brakes from the tractor trailers on the hilly interstate beyond the glass, as well as random drunken shouts from his former classmates in the hallway.

The dingy room brought him back to reality. They hadn't seen each other in over a month. It was the longest they'd ever gone without seeing each other, even when they weren't speaking. After today, they wouldn't see each other for months, maybe even years; he'd deferred his acceptance to college for a year, and would be leaving next week for his grandmother's in Italy.

The prospect of not seeing her was a strange, gut-wrenching thought. She'd probably realized it, too. Perhaps she was here to say goodbye?

He was about to turn towards Maisie and ask why she'd knocked when his eyes fell upon the room's tiny set of table and chairs. They would have been right in front of her when she'd walked into the room, and he'd waved his hand at them when he'd told her to sit. A chair was even pulled out from where he'd sat earlier in the day to put on his shoes. Yet she'd ignored it; she'd looked straight at that empty chair, and chosen to sit on the bed.

He needed to clarify why she was here. His brain was beginning to run away from him again.

He turned towards her to speak. "Maisie, why—"

Her lips brushed his, cutting off his words. He blinked, yet when he opened his eyes she was still there, inches away, looking back at him with big, beautiful, blue-green eyes. Her lips were open, and her breath was on his lips. He couldn't believe she'd done that, but it had felt . . . good. Amazing, even.

Unblinking, they both leaned forward, and their lips met once more in another short, simple kiss. Then they met again, and again, and again, allowing their lips only the smallest of touches. Alessandro reached his hand out to stroke her hair, savoring the feeling of soft silkiness sliding through his fingers as he dropped her hair tie onto the floor.

Their eyes remained open, as if each were waiting for the other to jump up and laugh, proclaiming the kisses jokes or dares, though neither of them did.

Alessandro broke first. He slid his hand down to the nape of her neck and pulled her towards him. He closed his eyes and licked her bottom lip, hoping for an invitation into her mouth.

He heard a sudden intake of breath and a moan as his tongue slid inside. She tasted incredible, like something in between the sweetness of her mother's strawberry preserves and the salty tang of the ocean. Her lips were full, wet, and soft, and her tongue kept meeting his with hesitant little touches. He didn't know how long they kissed for, but before long they were both breathing hard as they explored one another.

He needed much more than a kiss, but as the realization that this was Maisie—Maisie Barnes, the girl he'd grown up next door to and hadn't had a single conversation of substance with in years—hit him, he broke away.

They were still sitting on the edge of the bed, wide eyed and panting as they stared at one another. At some point one of his hands had fisted in her hair. The other spanned her ribcage, his thumb brushing the side of her breast. Her hands had wandered, too; one rested on his chest, while the other squeezed his upper thigh.

"Maisie?" He cleared his throat; her name had stuck in his throat. "What are we doing, Maisie?"

She searched his eyes, her lips wet and swollen from their kisses. "I thought you . . . I mean, don't you want to? Do you want me?"

"Yeah, I do." Her fingertips pulsed on his legs and chest at his words, making it hard to concentrate on his answer. "I've wanted this—you—all year, I think."

"Yeah?" Her lips curved into a smile, and her eyes sparkled under the room's fluorescent lights. "Me too. For a long time, I think."

"Good." He'd had enough with talking; there'd be time later.

He stood and pulled off his shirt, and watched as her eyes flared and flitted across his chest. He straddled her legs with his own, put his hands at her waist, and grinned as he moved them both up to the center of the bed.

He yanked her shirt over her head but then stilled at the sight that greeted him, a brilliant burst of cream complexion against the dark greens and blues of the bedspread. Her graceful arms, trim waist, and tiny, rounded tummy were splayed out before him, as were her glorious breasts, which overflowed her lacy bra as her breath heaved them up and down.

He could feel her eyes on him, watching and waiting for his reaction. He wanted to say something eloquent, but couldn't seem to find any words to describe her, besides . . .

"Perfect," he said in a rough voice. "You're beautiful, Masie. I'm such an idiot; I don't know how I could've missed it for so long."

She smiled as he straddled her hips with his knees. He stretched out a hesitant arm and traced the cup of her bra with a finger, reveling in the soft flesh beneath the tip of his finger. Her skin was pale against his tanned hands, and he moved his finger back and forth, over and over, as slowly as he could make himself, until she began to squirm beneath his touch.

She licked her lips as he pulled a cup down, and gasped when he began to massage her breast. He rolled her hardening pink nipple between his fingers and gave it several gentle tugs, before reaching out his second hand to repeat the process with her other breast. He didn't know how long he played with her, stroking and kneading and tugging and rolling, before he heard her.

"Please, Alessandro."

Her words were halfway between a whisper and a whimper. His eyes flew up to her face; he'd been so enthralled with her breasts that he hadn't been paying any attention to her reactions. Her hands were fisted in the bedspread, her knuckles white as she gripped the fabric. Her head was arched back, and her eyes were closed. He wondered if she'd even realized she'd spoken.

She looked as desperate as he felt. His pants were tight and uncomfortable, his erection hitting the unforgiving material of his jeans. He reached down for the button and paused, looking down at her.

Did she want to do this? Should they do this? She'd said she wanted to, but something didn't feel quite right.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, staring down at her. As if in answer to his unvoiced questions, Maisie opened her eyes and smiled. She pulled herself up so that they were kneeling on the bed, face to face. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips before pulling away and trailing her fingers down his chest. She lingered over the muscles of his stomach, causing him to suck in a sharp breath, and grabbed the waistband of his jeans.

She was breathing hard, but she looked him straight in the eye as she spoke with a clear and steady voice. "I want this. I want you."

That's when the memory hit him. He had been kicked out of his friend Jack's room earlier because Miranda—Jack's girlfriend—had stumbled in. Jack had rushed him to the door . . . and asked if he had any condoms.

That's why they'd stopped at the convenience store. Alessandro had purchased more condoms, but Jack had been in a bad mood and remained in the car, grumbling about how Miranda still wouldn't sleep with him.

Alessandro had given him the entire box; he'd been too drunk to take the time to consider his own needs.

"Maisie, I don't have any condoms. And I don't have my car keys. Jack Crowley has them, and I don't think I'm getting them back tonight." His voice was hoarse as he slumped onto the bed.

"What? How can you not have any?" She was still panting as she knit her brows together in confusion.

"It's a long story."

They were silent for several moments before she spoke.

"I'm on the Pill. You know, because of Peter."

Alessandro screwed up his face in thought. "Peter Reynolds? The guy you dated this past spring?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, OK." He shook his head, trying to get the image of Maisie and Peter Reynolds out of his mind. "Well, I've always used condoms. Have you? With Peter and every other time, I mean?"

She began to pick at a pill on the bedspread, but didn't answer.

"Maisie?"

"Um, there hasn't been any other time. I mean, there hasn't been any time," she whispered as she stared at her fingers.

"No other time?" His brain couldn't comprehend her words. "You mean, you haven't? You're a . . . you're a virgin?"

She nodded, but didn't look up. She just continued to pick at the pill.

"Right. So . . . do you want to? I mean, if you don't, that's OK—"

"Yes, I want to."

"Really, we don't have to, you know. We could—"

"Yes, I want to. Don't you think I thought about that before I came here tonight?" Her voice was weak, but held a hint of annoyance.

He was stunned. Maisie Barnes? A virgin? And she wanted to sleep with him? Lose her virginity to him, the neighbor who'd been so awful to her, whom she'd barely spoken to in four years?

"OK."

Maybe he should have pressed the point further, but he was well past the point of logical thought.

But the flow was gone, and the silence was awkward. He was at a loss; none of his past experiences were any help to him now. He'd never been with a virgin, let alone one with whom he had such a long and complicated past.

The fact that Maisie's earlier bravado had fled wasn't helping matters, either. She was picking at the pill on the bedspread, staring down at it as she gnawed on her lip. He smiled as the sight kicked a memory into his head. He hoped that reminiscing together might take the awkwardness away, and he started talking without giving much thought to his words.

"Remember when you convinced me to borrow your brother's unicycle, Maisie?"

"Yeah. We took it to the barn. You figured it out on your second try, but I just couldn't get it." She let out a tiny laugh as she glanced up at him, but then returned her eyes to the bed. "You tried to teach me, and to get me to fall against some bales of hay, but I landed on the wooden floor and split my lip open."

"I've never head your curse like you did that day. But you figured it out eventually." He grinned, but she hadn't stopped looking down or picking at the bed. "I thought Ben was going to kill us after that. He blamed me for your lip and tossed me in the ocean; he threw you in, too, after you refused to apologize for taking the unicycle."

"I know." She was still looking down, but he saw her smile. "You said you never knew I was so stubborn."

"I didn't. But it was . . . well, it was fun to learn with you, about you." He paused and swallowed, gathering up his courage to continue. "I'm really sorry about how I treated you the past few years. I tried to make it up to you this year, but, well, that didn't work so well. Maybe we can, um, I mean, maybe here, the two of us . . . ."

He trailed off as he saw her hand still. He'd wanted to somehow convey that they would be able to be friends again, but it wasn't like they were about to go out for a coffee. How the hell would he make things up to her by taking her virginity? He wanted to kick himself; what an asinine thing to say.

He held his breath, waiting for her to reply, and was relieved to see small smile creep across her face as she looked up at him.

"Why, Alessandro Conti, are you offering to teach me how to ride you?"

He choked—he hadn't thought of it quite like that—but gave her what he hoped was a lecherous grin.

"Absolutely."

She flashed him a genuine smile, and he found himself mirroring her expression.

Her smile turned wry. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

He chuckled. "Nope. But this is certainly one harebrained idea of yours that I'm damn thrilled to go along with."

Her smile faltered, and her eyes began to flicker away from him again. "Yeah? You're not just saying that?"

"Yeah." He leaned forward, catching her wandering gaze. "Make that, so fucking excited that I'm about to burst out of my pants."

"Hmmm." She gave him a tentative smile as she reached out and stroked him through his jeans. "I can see that."

He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. Her touch was light, but the knowledge that it was Maisie made up for the lack of sensation. Her smell was intoxicating, too; it was a mixture of the strawberry he'd tasted earlier, and some sort of herbal soap. Verbena, maybe.

He gave her hand a playful smack. "You'd better stop that. I have a feeling I'm going to have a hard enough time not embarrassing myself with you."

He waggled his eyebrows as her face flushed, and stood and reached behind her to pull down the stained bedspread. It was a cheap motel room; clean sheets were the least he could do for her.

She sat on her heels and grabbed for his jeans, and had them unzipped and yanked down before he could stop her. She stilled as his cock jumped up in front of her face.

"Um." She knit her brows together. "You're bigger than Peter."

He snorted. "Good to know, I guess? Trust me when I say that I'm not exactly a porn star."

"Oh. Right."

"Relax, Maisie."

She looked away from him and stared at the curtains. He grimaced; this was getting them nowhere.

"You trust me, Maisie?"

She chewed her lip and remained staring at the curtain, but he saw her smile.

She forced a laugh. "I don't know. You will need to find my . . . well, I mean, you'll need to put yourself in . . . um, you're kind of crappy at finding things, you know? You have no sense of direction."

He held up two fingers in a Boy Scout salute, trying not to laugh at her inability to put what they were about to do into words. "You have my solemn promise that I know where I'm going."

"Right." She flushed and laughed again. "I can't believe we're doing this."

"Yeah, it's kinda weird, huh?" He ran his fingers through her hair, and leaned over and gave her a long, lingering kiss on the lips. "But it'll be good," he whispered as he looked into her eyes.