This segment of the story differs DRAMATICALLY from the previous chapter. This includes some mature and vague references to sex. You have been warned.
What If?
She closed the door gently, letting her head rest against the back of the cheap hollow wood. It had been close. Exceedingly, painfully close.
Pressing a hand against her face, Claire felt the flush and sweat that mild intoxication brought. She could smell the smoke on her clothes, and her fallen hair suddenly irritated her. She absently tucked it inside the back of her shirt collar, grateful that it was off of her neck.
She turned to greet the darkness of her empty apartment, suddenly struck by how desolate it seemed. What had passed for bare chic now seemed kind of…sad.
Her biggest moving investment had been the "monstrousity", as Chris had affectionately dubbed it. A four-poster, wooden frame bed with a pillow top mattress. It easily took up a quarter of the apartment space, grudgingly making room for a small desk and lamp.
Stepping on the heels of her sneakers, she kicked them off, and let her jacket fall to the ground in a neglected heap. Stepping out of her jeans, she collapsed on top of her bed, letting the cool, unmade sheets press against her heated face.
She might have been half asleep. She might have been having drunken delusions brought on by bed spins. Regardless, she suddenly felt a weight beside her, vaguely alerting her to another presence.
"Leon?" She mumbled, unable to open her eyes. She felt the weight shift slightly, and soon felt an arm enclose around her waist, in sort of a half-spooning position. "What? Couldn't find your car?" A hand settling on the bare skin where her shirt didn't cover her hips.
No response. Just a gentle shifting. She was comforted by the feel of a warm body behind her; very reassuring that he was here and not wandering the streets of Portland, perhaps singing bad renditions of Bon Jovi. Amazing that she hadn't heard him come in.
Before dozing, she was suddenly aware of the gentle hot breath against her neck; and she responded by snuggling against him, letting the press of her back meet the firm, unknown planes of his torso. His hand tightened on her side, shifting to the gentle slope of her belly. She felt the gentle, feathery suggestion of lips against the side of her neck, fully awakening her arousal. If this kid didn't want to complicate things, he sure as hell wasn't doing a very good job.
Fingers toyed with the elastic band of her low-rise underwear. She sighed, turning her head slightly to look at him. Instead, he gently guided her head to face the wall, refusing eye contact. His gentle, subtle kisses became more frequent; his hand shifted from her belly to lift her hair over her head, effectively giving him more access to her skin. The hand drifted back to her underwear, toying with the odd mesh feel, flicking the elastic straps in his fingers.
She responded by pressing against his fingers, shifting her hips against his pelvis, suddenly frustrated by her lack of access to him. As if sensing this, he responded by a gentle suckling of the neck, and firmly trailing his fingers over the confines of her panties.
She moaned. She couldn't help it. Her mind blanked on the last time she had been given adequate sexual attention. She reached from behind to caress his face, but was again, gently denied. Instead, his fingers snuck into the elastic waistband, pressing against the firm, moist skin underneath.
With those insistent lips nibbling her neck, and the experienced hand manipulating her arousal, it wasn't long before she climaxed. Loudly.
Heavy breathing. Her heavy breathing. She felt the lingering kiss on her neck, as if congratulating her on her speedy, thorough orgasm. The hand went back to her tummy and remained there until she fell asleep once more.
She awoke to the sound of insistent knocking. A glance at the window told her that it was late morning, or perhaps early afternoon. Though never prone to hang overs, she nevertheless felt dehydrated and tired. Like a slug, she made her way over to the relentless pounding of her door, opening it to find a mildly annoyed Leon who shifted his expression to one of mild shock.
Oh, right. She was still half naked. She could feel his eyes going over the wealth of her lean legs covered in rather minimal underwear.
"Uh, sorry." His eyes quickly looked away from her, setting his vision on the well-worn poster of "Interview with the Vampire," against the wall. Smirking, Claire quickly pulled on her jeans from last night, shaking them out from their disheveled position on the floor.
"Are you here for breakfast, or you just seeking cheap thrills?" She glanced around for her wallet, noting that the benefit of having little furniture was that very little is lost. She found it in one of the deep inside pockets of her jacket. Her hands froze, grasping the collar of the jacket as her thoughts filtered relentless conclusions. She swallowed, attempting a casual tone. "Um, so did you end up leaving early this morning, or what?"
He raised a brow, as if determining the level of her delusion. "Well, yes, as I recall, we came to the mutual consensus that having copious amounts of inebriated sex, though enjoyable, would bring about detrimental effects on our present friendship." He smirked, gesturing to the bag of Noah's bagels in hand. "And so I come bearing breakfast of the 'fuck adkins' variety. Care to partake?"
He promptly sat down on the cold, wooden planks of her floor, setting the cardboard tray of Starbucks coffee beside the rather considerable bag. He couldn't help but notice her still stunned expression.
"You…didn't crash here?" She lowered herself slowly into a seating position facing him, looking at the hefty assortment of bagels as if they had sprouted arms and legs. Sighing, Leon handed her the traditional café au lait that was her constant morning preference, helping himself to one of the asiago cheese bagels.
Her memories were vague and distant, as some alcohol-stimulated actions are, but the sensory overload had completely resonated within her. Allowing her jacket to cover her lap, she gently touched the sensitive skin of her neck, feeling the gooseflesh break out in full form along her arms. I had been practically seduced in my sleep. Could I have actually had a tequila-induced erotic dream?
Leon was regaling her with the stories shared the night prior, especially expanding on the knowledge regarding an attraction to a certain previous president. She was sort of half listening, crudely tearing a random bagel in half.
Outside of the apartment, well outside of the city limits, a young man with the cool, calculative eyes of a predator congratulated himself on a conquest well sought. The crimson in his hair danced in the sunlight as he walked to the area designated by his master.