July 2007

MARK

I'm not a violent person. Unless you're Joel Jennings. Then I can make an exception.

"You shouldn't have done that." Zoe folds a half-empty bag of frozen peas over my reddened knuckles.

Kneeling in front of me in our living room, her lips are pinched into a flat line, brow creased. I'd like to think it's concentration on tending to my battle wounds, but it's more likely displeasure at me battling in the first place.

"He shouldn't have touched you, then," I say.

It's as simple as that. She doesn't seem to agree for some reason. Then again, I did warn her that celebrating her graduation with her old friends was a bad idea, and her only solution involved bringing me along for moral support. She probably doesn't want to admit I was right.

"He was drunk."

"And that's an excuse?" I raise an eyebrow. Zoe isn't stupid—she can't seriously think alcohol is a get-out-of-jail-free card.

She shrugs and stands up, then perches on the armchair opposite. One leg swings over the other. Her thumb slips between her lips to nibble.

"I can handle JJ."

"It didn't seem that way."

Annoyance storms through her eyes. Maybe that was cold of me. Still true, though. Zoe lives in a world of fluffy idealism. She sees the best in people. That's admirable but puts her at risk of being taken advantage of.

"Violence isn't the answer, Mark." Pink colours her cheeks, and now she can't even meet my eye. It only proves my point. If she can't stand up to her closest friend, what chance does she have with dickheads like Joel?

"Maybe not." I shrug. "Felt good, though."

"Don't joke."

"I'm not. He put his hand somewhere you didn't want it. I put my fist somewhere he didn't want it. Seems fair to me."

Judging by how quickly he hit the ground, nobody has ever punched him before. That's a mystery in itself.

She sits back in the chair with a weary sigh. Her skirt rides up to expose the same patch of bare flesh that Joel grabbed earlier, and a fresh bout of rage pummels me.

"If it makes you feel better, that's the first time I've punched someone."

"Why would that make me feel better?"

"Because I'm not a violent person."

She rolls her eyes. "I already know that, and yet my ex was the one to bring it out of you."

"You're giving him too much credit." I slide my hand out of the frozen packet and flex my knuckles. "Emotions got the better of me, that's all."

I can't admit that I lashed out through protectiveness. She'll find a way to blame herself for it.

With a scoff of disbelief, she rises from the chair. Tanned, toned legs carry her over to the kitchen. It's funny; for someone so short, her legs look damn long in those heels. I haven't been able to take my eyes off her all night, except for the five seconds required to aim at JJ's face. He doesn't know what he's given up. Fucking idiot.

"I can think of a better outlet for your emotions," she tells me, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter.

"My next boxing class isn't until Tuesday."

Irritation flares in her eyes. She's not impressed that I'm dodging her point, but she doesn't let me get away with it that easy.

"Talking." She throws out her arms. "Words. Sentences."

"No thanks."

She folds her arms. It pushes up her tits, to the extent that they nearly spill out of her top. An angry fuck would be ideal right about now.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She drops her arms and clasps her hands in front of her stomach.

No. It's a bad idea. Not tonight. Not while she's vulnerable after seeing her ex. Especially not after I've just punched her ex. Each time we end up in bed together, we say it's the last time. It never is, but the timing is definitely not right tonight.

"I'm just thinking we've come a long way in the last year." I stroll over to join her in the kitchen. "We hang out. We're friends. Sometimes we even have fun together. And we manage all of that despite you not being my therapist."

She rolls her eyes once more and turns her back on me. Her wrist flicks out to turn on the tap, fingers reaching to test the temperature.

"I think you should talk to your therapist about whatever emotions tipped you over the edge today." She shoves a glass under the stream of water. "If you can't talk to your friend."

"Will do."

I head for the freezer to put the peas away. Zoe tuts, because apparently she's now a medical expert after taking a first-aid course last month.

"Can you at least tell me why you did it?"

Christ, she just won't let it drop. She knows exactly why I hit her ex. She just wants me to say it, like that proves something.

"Already said. He touched you and wouldn't back off when you told him to."

"He's touched me thousands of times before."

My jaw clenches. That's not what I want to hear when my fuse is short.

She flushes, as if catching herself, and tugs her long ponytail over one shoulder.

"I just meant that it wasn't like he was a stranger. We know each other. Knew each other," she corrects, her blush deepening. "Here, let me check your knuckles."

Before I can stop her, she grabs my wrist and yanks until my arm is outstretched towards her. She holds my hand dangerously close to her tits. So close I could touch them if I straightened my fingers. I don't, obviously. Because I don't touch girls unless they consent. Because I'm not Joel Jennings.

Prick.

"Maybe you really should become a bodyguard," she says dryly. "Channel your protectiveness into something productive."

"Mm. Not sure I'll care about random rich people as much as I care about you."

Hazel eyes dart up to mine. "That's not a bad thing. Takes the emotion out of it."

"If you say so."

"Did it at least make you feel better?" She lets go of my hand and leans back against the counter, legs crossed at her ankles.

I dodge her question. "You need someone to look out for you, Zoe. Your other friends sure as shit don't."

"If you say so." She parrots my earlier dismissal with a tiny smirk.

*

To make up for my one-sided boxing victory last night, I suggest a movie night to Zoe. She leaps at the opportunity, then immediately makes me regret it when she starts sifting through romcom DVDs.

"I actually bought a new film last weekend that I wanted to watch," I say.

It's a sneaky tactic, because I know she'll want to go with my film instead of her own. Sure enough, her head bobs in naive agreement.

"You good with horror?" I ask.

"Oh, uh, sure."

That's a no, then. I kneel next to her and pluck it out of the pile. Her eyes are wary as I pass it over for her to inspect.

"What kind of horror are we talking?" She turns it over to read the description.

"Jumpy horror rather than graphic violence."

She nibbles her lip. "Make you a deal?"

Oh? This is new. And I'm intrigued.

"Go on."

"Your film first, then mine after?"

It's a fair deal. Plus, I can't send the girl to bed alone after a horror film. She might have nightmares.

"Sure."

*

I can't tell if Zoe is hating every second of this film or if she's engrossed. Her body is tight beside mine, and she keeps leaning closer during the tense parts. Given her eyes haven't left the screen, it seems to be an involuntary reflex.

"Is that her neighbour?" she whispers to me.

"No," I reply, in my normal voice. "Her brother."

"But what's he doing in—?"

The camera jolts to the side to reveal another figure, and Zoe practically leaps into my lap. Her shoulder slams into mine, her calf slipping over my thigh.

"Crap! Sorry. That made me jump." She shuffles back onto her side of the sofa and tucks her legs into her chest, chin propped on her knees.

"We can turn it off if you're not enjoying," I offer.

Her head shakes emphatically. "No! I am. I'm just easily startled."

Evidently.

Within minutes, she's drifting back over to my side of the sofa. I try to ignore her, but not even the tense scenes on the TV can hold my attention long enough. Her perfume is inside my nose, her knee is flush against my jeans, and her hair is tickling my shoulder.

The camera jumps, and so does Zoe. Right into my side.

I hiss as her elbow impales my ribs. At least the pain is a distraction from her body.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

I grunt and rub at my side. It'll probably bruise, but I don't tell her that.

"I'm fine. Will you please relax?"

In response, she picks up my arm and drapes it over her shoulder, shuffling closer into my side. When she peeks up at me with a coy smile, I lose all cognitive function.

"I'll feel safer here," she tells me.

"If you say so."

"You don't always have to be so begrudging with physical comfort, Mark. It's a perfectly normal thing for friends to do."

"I'm not moving my arm, am I?"

She rolls her eyes, then rests her cheek on my chest. "I can sense your tension. You need to get over yourself."

That's rich considering she can't get through five minutes of this film without leaping for cover.

I shift my attention back to the TV. The problem isn't so much with the emotional side of physical comfort—Zoe likes to remind me regularly that we're only friends, as if she's worried I'll assume she's falling in love with me or something—it's just very hard to concentrate when she's so close to me. Not to mention she's jumping every few seconds, and that's more than annoying.

"Let's just watch your film." I reach for the control and press stop.

"I'm fine!"

"You're not, and it's annoying me."

She huffs, which is ironic when she didn't even want to watch horror in the first place. I bite back my smile as I switch the DVDs. While it loads, I read over the summary on the back of the case. Office romance. Boss and employee falling in love. Have to keep relationship a secret.

Guessing the relationship doesn't stay secret since the film is two hours long.

Still, I suggested this movie night to make it up to Zoe for her graduation evening gone wrong, so I can suck it up.

Once I've pressed play, I settle down next to her, and she immediately ducks under my arm to nestle into my side. My jaw grinds, but when she tips a cheeky smile up at me again, some of the tension dissolves.

She's my closest friend and I care for her, but fuck does she keep me on my toes. I love it and hate it in equal measure.

At least the film is easy to follow, which is just as well because half my mind is on Zoe's right thigh pressed up against my left one. It's fortunate my closest arm is already occupied with her shoulder, otherwise I'd be tempted to curl my palm around her knee and drag it upwards, along the inner seam of her jeans, until I reach the gap between her legs.

As soon as blood starts to redirect from my brain to my dick, I push the thoughts aside and focus on the film again. There's some mundane flirting. A few not-so-subtle glances exchanged across the office. Several far-fetched puns about stationery that should have got the writers fired.

And then, an hour in, the couple are alone in the boss' office, and she drops to her knees in front of him. My eyes fly to the DVD cover again. What certificate is this? Are all rom coms glorified soft porn? There's nothing graphic about the scene, but the act is very much implied by the guy's groans of encouragement.

"Why've you gone tense?" Zoe asks me. "Scared of sex scenes?"

I consciously relax my body. "Not at all."

She hums a gentle laugh and drapes her hand casually over my thigh. Except maybe it's not so casual. Maybe it's deliberate. Because now I can't fucking think of anything apart from her moving that hand higher and stroking my swelling dick.

"You know," she murmurs, still watching the scene while her fingers brush back and forth over stiff denim, "I'd love it if you gave me some vocal feedback."

I'm half tempted to mess with her and ask for the circumstances in which she needs vocal feedback, but there's not enough blood in my brain to fuel the effort that would take.

"You don't need feedback," I say. "You're already perfect."

Fuck. Did not mean for it to come out like that. She doesn't flinch, though. If anything, she glosses over it.

"Not direction," she says. "Encouragement. Proof that you're enjoying it."

We keep insisting that each time is the last, but now she's not even bothering to pretend it'll never happen again. She's actively coaching me for the next time.

"Like what?" I ask.

"You could moan my name." Her quiet voice lacks her earlier confidence.

I grit my teeth to avoid the automatic retort. She's nervous bringing it up. I can't be a dick about it.

But also...

"You don't moan my name."

Back on the TV, the woman is now sitting on the edge of her boss' desk, while he buries his head between her legs. Her skirt hides his face, stops it from being too graphic again, but Zoe's body has noticeably tensed against my side. Soft moans vibrate out of our cheap TV set. Her fingers are now clutching at my thigh, knuckles white, but she doesn't seem to notice.

Fuck. She's turned on. I'm turned on, and she's turned on, and this stupid film is to blame.

The woman comes with an over-exaggerated cry, and the couple start kissing again.

"Is it stubbornness, then?" she asks. "I don't say your name so you don't say mine?"

"Partly," I admit. "But mostly because we're both very clear that this is a physical arrangement only."

"And you want to be clear that it's my body you want—not me." Light-hearted amusement in her tone softens the brutality of that statement.

My mouth dries up, though, because I can't think of a suitably appropriate response to that. Seconds pass, and when too much time has gone by for me to reply with an honest answer, we return to the TV.

I'd thought the scene was over, but now the guy is bending the woman over his desk, her hair wrapped around his fist. The camera switches between the table legs, jolting with every thrust, and the euphoric faces of the characters. Zoe squirms. Her hand slides higher up my thigh.

Our conversation concluded on an awkward note. Even if she tried to disguise it with light-heartedness, the insinuation doesn't sit right. The sex might not be emotional, but she's more than just a body to me. There's a fine line with what we're doing, and I know I need to tread carefully. If I do something that remotely suggests this is romantic, she'll freak. And if she doesn't freak, then I will.

Slowly, I trail my hand from her shoulder to the nape of her neck, then up into her hair. Silky, golden strands trickle between my fingers as I splay them against her scalp. I roughly clench my fist to pull her roots taut. A gasp tumbles from between parted lips.

With her hair still wrapped around my fingers, I ease her head back until her neck is elongated. Just enough for the skin to stretch, without it being too painful.

I press my mouth to her ear. "Keep watching the film."

The sex is rough and frantic on the TV, just how she likes it. I bring my spare hand up to her strained throat and lightly wrap my fingers around it. Her pulse hammers beneath my palm. I don't squeeze or do anything to restrict her breathing, just keep the contact there so she can feel it.

"Touch yourself," I demand.

Instantly her hands fly to her jeans. She fumbles with the button and zip, legs kicking to drag the tight fabric over her feet. A bright pink thong follows.

She spreads her legs, then dips one finger between them to circle her clit. Her eyes flutter closed. Her breathing deepens. Her chest heaves against my forearm.

"Squeeze my throat harder," she whispers.

Whenever I think I've got this girl sussed out, she does something to surprise me. I rearrange my palm so I'm gripping the outside edges of her throat, not her windpipe, and apply the tiniest pressure.

From this angle, I can't see exactly what she's doing to herself, but the lack of visuals is worth it for the way my hands on her hair and neck are affecting her. She writhes on the sofa, her wrist flexing between her legs. Every time her throat pushes into my palm, I loosen my grip. At first, it's just because I'm terrified I'll do something to hurt her, even if it's what she wants, but eventually she stops. And when she does, I tighten my hold again. Soon, she seems to cotton on that if she wants pressure there, it's on my terms.

Her moans grow louder, her hips lifting off the sofa as she fucks herself. It's so hot that I'm worried I'll come just by watching.

"Oh my god... Oh my god..."

A loud sob vibrates against my palm. Tears trickle down her cheeks as a satisfied smile spreads across her lips. I've never given her an orgasm so powerful it's triggered tears. The thought bothers me. I suppose she does know her body better than I do, but still... I'm all ears for constructive criticism.

Before I can request feedback, she's tearing at my belt, yanking my jeans and boxers over my knees, then straddling my lap. Her fingers wrap around my dick and pump it a few times.

"Fuck." I tip back my head and will my body not to let me down.

Her hair tickles my cheek as she leans to my ear. "That was amazing."

I grunt. While I'm pleased she's happy with her own performance, my ego is bruised.

"You did all the work," I say.

She lines us up, then slowly sinks down onto me, hot and tight and slick. We haven't used condoms since that first time, and it's the best and worst decision I've ever made. Nobody will come close to her in the future. I'm sure of that.

"No," she breathes as she rolls her hips, her head tilted back and eyes closed in pleasure. "What you were doing to my hair and neck. That's what made the orgasm so powerful."

"I didn't know you were into that. The neck thing," I clarify, because I'm very aware on how much she enjoys having her hair pulled.

"Neither did I." She opens her eyes to look at me, and a shy smile tickles her lips. "You're the first person I've tried it with."

Fuck. I slap my hands onto her waist and thrust up into her several times. She whimpers and shoves her fingers into my hair as her hips undulate.

"I like having your firsts," I say, then instantly regret it.

Luckily, she just grins. "And I like seeing someone so obsessed with safety show a dangerous side." She nips at my bottom lip, then gasps into my open mouth when I pull her deep onto me.

The film is long forgotten as we fuck rough and fast on the sofa. She doesn't hold back her moans, and when her second orgasm triggers my own, I don't hold back either.

I moan her name into the crook of her neck as I release inside her. It's a peace offering. A gesture to show I'm not afraid to make the first move.

Even though, deep down, nothing terrifies me more than her.

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

***

This was an especially long chapter but I hope you enjoyed it! What's your favourite genre of film to watch?

If you want to read ahead on Ream, we're currently up to Chapter 22 over there 💜