[for Marissa]
[Continued from here]
Much as he wasn't used to this part of a relationship anymore, he couldn't say he minded that their time was suddenly more about making out than talking. Like food, and friends, there would be time for that later. Logically, that meant there'd be time to make out later, but he was getting pretty fond of the lifeguard's stand ( Read more... )
Much as he wasn't used to this part of a relationship anymore, he couldn't say he minded that their time was suddenly more about making out than talking. Like food, and friends, there would be time for that later. Logically, that meant there'd be time to make out later, but he was getting pretty fond of the lifeguard's stand ( Read more... )
Maybe that was the double-edged part of this gift--the further it went, the further he wanted it to go, and he didn't think she'd appreciate it if he left her at some point, drunk and worked up on an ugly rug, to take care of himself so he could come back and keep making out with her. It would've been easier if they'd gone somewhere with a bathroom, but here they were again, a tiny room, a door, a shelf, and when he rolled over she ended up on top of him, bodies sliding, and he groaned self-pityingly into her mouth. This would be so much easier if he were the drunk one, or at least on equally inebriated footing. Then he could ignore the voice in his head telling him not to push it, or ask for something they'd regret tomorrow.
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Suddenly breathless and extremely warm, Marissa drew back, lips parted and flushed, hair falling loose around their faces like a curtain. They were on the precipice of something nameless, and her body was screaming at her to go go go, but a dim uncertainty had dawned in the back of her mind, giving her enough pause to place her here, panting and nearly trembling from need or indecision or the way the small space between them seemed practically electrified, not knowing what to say or do, not knowing what she wanted.
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Maybe he'd changed his mind. As a consideration, that was new, given the way things had been headed, but what if she'd done something wrong? What if he didn't like her like this, what if he was having second thoughts? She might have been drunk, but she remembered how Ryan had been about her drinking well enough. Ironic that he'd driven her to it so often since then.
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It wasn't accusatory so much as resigned, that old Catch-22 of slut vs. tease, and her mind too muddled to sort through it to pick out the bits that worked. Her brief foray into sex had been disappointing, but her body sure as hell wanted it now, and it was confusing, even for a consciousness with its inhibitions whittled all but completely away.
Marissa didn't want to have sex with Ray out of some misguided attempt to make him like her more -- That simply wasn't her style, and even drunk she was too intelligent for it -- but she did want to have sex with him for a hundred other reasons, and that was becoming a problem.
She kissed him again, swiftly, as if that could make her mind up for her if she did it quickly and zealously enough. She liked his mouth and the way he tasted, and if instinct took over again then, grinding her body against his, she couldn't profess to be especially sorry for it.
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"I don't trust you," he blurted, before he took a moment to breathe as well, blinking up at her. "I mean, you know, to stop when you need to." The amount of alcohol she'd consumed was already proof enough of that, on top of being the reason for his current predicament. "I really don't want to be that guy."
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Right. Well. She should have known better, shouldn't she?
Without a word, she scrambled away from Ray, to her feet with surprising agility for someone so inebriated; hair a mess, face strained and eyes wide from trying not to cry. This was her place they were in, but she needed to go, needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else, so that she didn't feel so vulnerable.
And so she did.
Not knowing what to say or how to say it without making herself seem like more of an idiot, she just walked out, forgetting her shoes, bare feet clomping heavily down the wooden ramp to the sand.
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That part was telling him anything he did now would just make it worse, but he wasn't listening, stomping down the ramp after her and this time he didn't have the restraint not to reach for her arm and stop her. "Hey," he said sharply, pulling up next to her and trying to peer past her hair to her face. "Would you just talk to me for a second? I'm trying to do whatever the fuck the right thing is, here."
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It probably didn't help to mentally compare her to a shitty Humvee, or even the fixed up Humvee, or think up a joke about riding her, and before any of those things could leap across the disconnect between his brain and his mouth, he pulled her in and kissed her. It didn't matter that she was upset, that her skin was clammy with the threat of tears and her tongue sour-sweet from alcohol and whatever his own mouth tasted like. "It is okay if that's what you want, alright? I want you to, I just don't want you to regret it later." Hands still curled around her upper arms, he felt so ridiculously like an adult, and it was making this so much harder than it should have been. "So either we can go back in there, or I can walk you home and we can work it out tomorrow." Or maybe he could just get drunk and let her take advantage of him. It would probably solve a lot of stupid shit with minimal effort.
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"Do not lie to me," she fervently insisted, hot tears spilling down flushed cheeks. "Don't say you're okay if you're not okay, and just DON'T DO IT! Everyone lies to me! My mom and my dad and all my friends, and Summer's lying to me RIGHT NOW, and she thinks I don't know, but I can tell, and Ryan won't even TALK to me, he just-" Her voice caught then, and she sucked in a wavering breath to steady herself before leveling Ray with her serious, if drunken gaze. "Don't lie to me," she repeated, calmer but insistent.
"I like you," she sighed, her face falling. "I wanted you to be different."
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