Stefan Pierce

"Would you like some wine?"

"Sure," she answers. I pour us two glasses of red wine while she picks up the puppy with one hand. I wouldn't let someone bring a dog into my room, but if I try to argue with Clara about it, it will take me a while to convince her.

We make our way upstairs to my bedroom through the wooden staircase and flooring. I hold the door open for her.

She steps in, taking in her surroundings and smiling as she sees the wonderful work of nature-inspired architecture spread around the space. My room is not a money-sucking knock-off of any hotel room, it has the most basic interior.

Everything is made of wood, even concrete decorations. A wardrobe with most of my formal clothing, a flower vase on a coffee table with a chair, and a king-size bed in the center.

But instead of looking at it, she heads towards the main attraction of my room: the semicircular balcony.

She steps onto the frigid floor, and a gust of wind blows across her face. I walk anxiously behind her, much like a real estate agent does after a home buyer. Her wine glass is quickly set on the balustrade-like railing as she concentrates on the puppy in her arm.

Her mind is drawn to something far away in the dark gardens behind the houses in front.

"How peaceful it would be to live here," she murmurs, taking a long breath that carries a perfume of tranquility in its air. The night crickets are performing their own concert.

We acknowledge each other's presence while the stalling words are something as simple as they could be, yet none of us confesses.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks, interrupting my quiet.

Her voice becomes solemn, her composure remains calm, unmoving, but her eyes are shielding the thoughts racing through her mind. I'm intrigued about what's going on inside her head.

"Yeah?" I respond in the same tone and seriousness as she does.

"Why did you bring me here today? At your place?" She directs her attention away from everything else and toward me. "Why me out of all the girls that throw themselves at you?"

I'm taken aback by her words, yet her almost subtle smirk doesn't go unnoticed. She and I both know what she's saying.

Everyone on campus is aware of our relationship. They know there's no one I've ever let get too near to me when it comes to it. I've never asked anyone out or given anyone a ride in my car other than Charlie.

Yesterday's experience is still fresh in my mind. A stalker girl who claims to be in love with me approached me alone in the parking lot and yelled without waiting for me to respond.

"You know that I like you, right? Despite this, you refuse to speak to me or respond to my gestures. Why? What's so special about that bitch with whom you're always fighting about stupid shit?"

I was angry at her choice of words. And it's not that I hate it when others, especially girls, compliment my looks or express interest in dating me. What's not to like? It's just that I want to be with someone who appreciates who I am as a person and respects my choices.

That is, as cliché as that may sound, the truth.

I tried to say something comparable to what that girl had just blurted out, but I couldn't. I found myself thinking over and over again. However, I had no idea what words I was looking for.

Why does my mind keep returning to her, even if it's to fight or end her absurd fights?

I still don't have the answer to that.

Clara is demanding an answer to the same question. Her eyes have been waiting for me to speak, for a genuine response.

"I don't know," I admit. I place both of our half-empty glasses on the coffee table behind her.

My body moves involuntarily closer to her warmth, aching to be near her.

"Maybe there's something about you that I can't get enough of. Maybe I like to spend time with you. Maybe. . . I can't stop myself from touching you."

We close our eyes, foreheads touching, breathing gently and steadily as I say this.

She sighs softly as if it was the answer she was hoping for.

"I'm no different from you, Stefan. I can't help myself from thinking about you."

I open my eyes, making sure it's her saying these words. Her eyelashes slowly reveal the lovely, sensual brown orbs. The eyes that convey how pure and sincere she is about her feelings and actions, and that she is not faking anything.

The small puppy in her hands jumps down and runs under the coffee table quickly but quietly.

We both notice it in our peripheral vision, but neither of us dares to take a glimpse or break the new, unfamiliar eyes we have for one other.

My body screams within me to bring her closer, hug her tight, and kiss her like there is nothing else I treasure.

But I don't. I want her to give me consent to touch her. I'd lost control the last time, even if she was playing along. She was stunning in her bed, naked, showing her curvy, toned body to me, and I had a hard-on like no other.

When I had a taste of her, she was insanely addictive. And right now, that's all I want.

She rests her palms on my chest, where my heart is pounding for her to notice. Our breathing mixes as she brushes our lips together, tenderly. My hands reaching for her waist to pull her in for a delicate kiss.

She gives in without hesitation. Her hot, soft lips meet mine. Cloaked in her arms, she ushers my lips the way she wants, her mouth seeking to pleasure me. I lose my mind in her.

I slide my tongue into her mouth while tugging on her hair. The red wine we drank layers her lips, making her already sweet taste delicious. Our tongues teasing one other's, our lips moving slowly. We struggle against each other's bodies, desperate to be even closer.

She gasps between our lips, stroking herself against my hardening cock. A spark of lustful desire ignites in me to take her. Fuck, I can't keep it under control any longer.

I pull away, panting, attempting to get the air back into my lungs that had just escaped due to the sexy leverage I had.

But the look on her face is yearning, hungry, and loaded with all kinds of desires. It's as if she'll die if we don't resume our intense make-out session right now.

"What happened? Why would you stop?" she asks, her distress oozing from her whispered voice.

"Do you want this? Do you trust me with this?" I ask, even if my tone is cocky, I want her to answer that. I want to hear her say the words rather than push her to do anything.

We've only known each other for a few weeks or so. Yet here we are, already hooked up, where I took her virginity, the most valuable thing one would never trust someone with so easily. But she trusted me, even though I'd been rude to her all along.

She trusted me again today. She came to my house with me, ignorant of the fact that she had no idea where I lived. Still, she's in my room with me, alone in this house, distant from the main city, with no way to get back to the main road unless you have your vehicle.

She always had the most solid and self-assured demeanor I'd ever seen. 

She trusts me. And I'd never be able to forgive myself if I messed up with her, the faith she has in me, whatever feelings she has for me, and whatever relationship we have right now.

Her lips form a convincing smile. She returns her gaze to the railing, rests her elbows on it, and stares into the abyss.

Did I turn her off? Shit! Stefan, you're a fucking idiot.

She begins speaking without flinching her stiff body. "I don't normally tell strangers my I story, but this stranger—" she points at me, "—deserves to know."

That makes us both smile wider. "In high school, I was bullied and mocked for being monotonous.  Many students, mainly boys, used to talk shit about me and the things they would like to do me—and you would never want to know the things they said. I never let anyone near me because of that." She chuckles dryly and shakes her head.

"I was a cry baby and so vulnerable. Apart from Tyler, I never let any boy talk to me. I was terrified they'd just use me and talk horrible things again." Her voice begins to shake, her eyes swell with tears as they glitter in the streetlight falling on her face.

Something pierces my heart and my body tenses. Whoever did this to her deserves to have their heads ripped off, beaten to the point where they never think of the word bully again.

What kind of person could do such things to anyone? I curse myself for realizing that she wasn't the Clara I know back then.

My mind is racing with thoughts of what I would do to the guys who had done this to her.

She shuts her eyes and tears fall from her eyes. My clenched fist and stiff body relax as the sight of her washes over me with guilt.

I place my hand on her shoulder and raise her chin. Her eyes are still closed, but tears continue to fall from them.

"Look at me."

She sniffles and shakes her head no.

"Clara, look at me." I say again, taking my time with each syllable.

Her eyelids, like a rising moon, unveil her watery eyes. I've seen those gorgeous brown eyes before, but tonight I can feel the depth of her emotions in them.

I exhale and pull her closer to me in a strong and protective hug. My arms form a shield around her as she molds herself into me.

Her hands cling to my T-shirt as if she's afraid I'll leave her.

Her hands run all over my back, striving to hold me even tighter. I smile at her effort and comb her hair with my fingers.

"I want this, Stefan," she whispers, her voice faint and weak. "I really, really want this."

She looks up at me, her chin leaning against my chest like she's some small child. She has power that no one can deny.

The words I was desperately hoping to hear comes out from her mouth.

"I want you. All of you."