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Saturday, 28th of October 2000.
Andre didn’t like Rachel. And Rachel didn’t like Andre.
To him, she was stuck-up; a total goody two-shoes who did whatever her parents wanted, always hanging around his best friend like an ant crawling over a spilled lollipop. Funny thing was, she and him had actually known each other first. Andre only moved to New Stratford when he was eleven, while Rachel and Cal had lived there all their lives. But because of Cal’s ADD, he’d been put in special ed as a kid so he wouldn’t fall behind, and he and Rachel never crossed paths until the last year of middle school. Meanwhile, Andre and Rachel had ended up in the same class several years in a row. She didn’t like him, and that annoyed him; not because he wanted to be friends with her, but because he couldn’t figure out why. As far as Andre was concerned, he was perfectly likable, thank you very much.
Rachel, on the other hand, thought he was cold. Creepy, even. His dark eyes gave nothing away, but she was sure there were some twisted thoughts behind them. She knew he was the one dragging her friend down. She’d never been interested in talking to him when they were younger; back then it was simple, boys hung out with boys and girls with girls. And really, how could he be more interesting than Serataren, or any of her other guy friends? No matter what Calvin said about Andre being smart or fascinating. Sometimes she wondered if that scowl on his face was meant just for her, or if that was simply how his face always looked.
And in the middle of it all was Cal. Cal didn’t believe in the word “no” when it came to friendships. He never said no when Andre or Rachel wanted to hang out, and he couldn’t stand it when other people set boundaries he wouldn’t set himself. He’d keep asking, like a little kid, until the other person caved and went along with whatever he wanted.
That’s exactly how the night of October 28th came about.
Rachel’s parents were hardly ever home. They traveled constantly for work, flying off to conferences in different cities across America. So often, in fact, that her friends usually assumed the house was empty unless told otherwise.
That weekend, with Halloween right around the corner, Cal wanted to do something spooky. He rented The Blair Witch Project, which none of them had seen yet, and insisted the three of them watch it together. His house was out : his mom stayed home, his younger siblings ran wild, and there was only one TV in the whole place. No chance of privacy.
Andre’s house wasn’t even considered. His parents liked Cal well enough, but they rarely let people hang out there. They kept Andre on a strict routine, making sure he got enough sleep every night. Apparently, sleep mattered more to them than a social life.
So when Cal found out Rachel’s place was free, the decision was obvious. He planned it a week in advance, with both Andre and Rachel agreeing… reluctantly. They’d enjoy the movie, sure. But would they enjoy each other’s company? Definitely not.
For Andre, stepping into Rachel’s house felt like being a wolf tossed into a sheep pen. He didn’t outright hate her, not exactly, but every little thing she did—the way she looked at him like he was some kind of stain on the carpet—made his skin crawl. It built up under the surface, made him want to snap at her, demand what the hell her problem was, and if he was really that unbearable to be around.
For Rachel, having Andre in her house was pure awkwardness. She felt on edge, half-worried he’d pocket one of her mom’s figurines or break something just to spite her. She didn’t trust him in her home any more than she trusted him with Cal. Which meant one thing: she’d have to keep an eye on him the whole night.
Calvin wasn’t oblivious to their mutual dislike, but it didn’t stop him from planning the movie night. In fact, it gave him even more reason to. He figured if they spent enough time together, maybe they’d warm up to each other, or at least stop caring enough to keep up the tension. It was ridiculous, really. Two of the most important people in his life couldn’t stand being in the same room for more than a few minutes?
He’d given the DVD to Andre a couple of days earlier after renting it. With younger siblings who’d borrowed and broken plenty of his things, he wasn’t about to take chances with something that wasn’t even his.
He told Andre to show up at seven, while Rachel was expecting him a little earlier so he could order pizzas for the three of them. The plan was simple: hang out at Rachel’s first, eat pizza, drink soda, and watch a good movie. Afterward, Andre—now driving the used car he’d gotten when his dad upgraded—would take them back to Cal’s place, where they’d spend the rest of the night. Andre crashed there often; Cal’s parents were relaxed about curfews, treating the two of them more like adults than oversized kids.
New Stratford was small enough to get around with just a few landmarks. The night before, while they were meant to call and work on their German presentation for Mr. Fischer, Cal had given him easy directions to Rachel’s place:
“She lives one street over from Brad, closer to the woods. Big weeping willow out front, you can’t miss it.”
Andre definitely remembered Brad’s house, the one they’d spent weeks trying to find just so they could egg it. Finding Rachel’s place was even easier. Not many houses had a giant willow tree out front; most people settled for boring shrubs or just plain grass, which, in Andre’s opinion, looked depressing.
When he pulled up, cutting the engine, he noticed Rachel’s car already in the driveway. It was a metallic red with a little bedazzled sticker on the back. Lights glowed from the windows of the two-story house, and he figured Cal must already be inside.
DVD in hand, Andre stepped out of his car and locked it.
A light breeze sent goosebumps up his arms as he inhaled the deep, earthy smell drifting from the forest, the soft rustle of the willow leaves the only sound in the quiet air.
As he walked up to the door, faint music spilled out from inside. He didn’t recognize the artist, and it definitely wasn’t something Cal would ever listen to. Knocking on the dark wooden door, he shoved his hands in his pockets and waited, feeling awkward.
“Oh, Cal, finally!” Rachel said as she opened the door. But she froze when she saw him, and he froze at her words.
For a moment they just stared at each other. Andre caught the hesitation on her face before she stepped aside. “Come in,” she said reluctantly. “Calvin’s not here yet. He’s late.”
Andre exhaled through his nose at that. Of course Calvin was late. Even when his parents drove him, he somehow managed to fall behind; not because of them, but because of himself. He always lost track of time getting ready and usually showed up ten or fifteen minutes after he was supposed to, unless someone kept him moving.
They stood there, both waiting for the other to do something. Andre shifted from one foot to the other while Rachel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He looked so out of place in her parents’ house, surrounded by travel souvenirs and carefully chosen furniture that somehow made the place feel less welcoming. He seemed almost colder than the sleek, modern pieces around him.
“Did you have any trouble finding the house?” she asked, more out of politeness than interest.
“Not really.” He shrugged. “Not many houses with a willow tree out front.”
She glanced at the tree through the window, her expression softening. She had always loved that tree, spending summers hidden under its canopy with a book in her hands. It had been her shelter, a quiet companion that felt steady and real.
“The people who owned the house before us planted it,” she said. “I think it’s beautiful. I still go out there to read sometimes.”
He nodded once, and she felt a chill creep in. He doesn’t care, Rachel, she thought. He wishes you wouldn’t talk.
“I like it,” he said finally. “It’s better than those yards with nothing but grass.”
He glanced at his Casio watch showing 7:06 and wondered when Calvin would finally show up. Rachel, meanwhile, turned toward the kitchen. It was spotless, with a couple of apples in the fruit bowl, half open to the living room, and a stack of fast-food menus scattered across the counter. If someone had walked in without knowing a family lived there, they might have assumed it was just her place.
Since she hadn’t offered him a seat on the couch, Andre trailed after her, keeping a little distance. She climbed onto a stool at the marble counter and picked up the menus. He recognized a lot of the restaurants in town, though none were from the pizzeria where he worked.
She flipped through them, and he stood back, silent.
“Which one do you want?” she asked, holding them up. “We only have two pizza menus… I don’t know which one you’d like better.”
He took his time answering, stepping closer to get a better look. “Neither,” he said flatly.
Her face hardened, already wondering if he planned to make the evening more difficult than it needed to be. Then he pulled out his wallet and unfolded an orange menu from the place he worked. She raised an eyebrow as he slid it across the counter. She picked it up, giving him a questioning look.
“I work there,” he said. “I can probably get us a discount.”
She pulled a tiny purple flip phone from her pocket, a butterfly charm dangling from the side. “Two mediums okay?”
He nodded. “One pepperoni, one cheese?”
“Yup,” she muttered, carefully punching in the number before pressing the green call button. To his surprise, she handed the phone to him.
He took it, trying to ignore the charm swinging against his fingers as he held it to his ear.
“Aurelio’s Pizza, what can we do for you?” He instantly recognized the voice of Denise, his middle-aged, bleach-blonde coworker.
“Hey Denise, it’s Andre. Can I get two mediums; one pepperoni, one cheese?” His voice warmed, a smile spreading across his face.
Rachel studied him as he spoke, the way he ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips with a kind of practiced charm. That was what unsettled her. One minute he was icy and unreadable, the next he could flip a switch, acting sweet just enough to get his way. How could anyone ever be sure he meant it?
“Hello, Andre, darling, coming right up!” Denise cooed. “Just give me the address, honey… and you know it’s thirty percent off for you, always.”
“Perfect, Denise, you’re an angel. I’ll hand you to my friend so she can give you the address.” He held the phone out to Rachel.
Friend? Rachel’s face stayed neutral, but inside, she bristled. Definitely not.
She gave Denise the address anyway, then hung up. The room went quiet, the only sound coming from the stereo in the living room. Rachel snapped her flip phone shut with a sharp clack.
They didn’t know how to deal with each other, and both silently wished Calvin would show up soon. He was the only thing tying them together. Without him, they had nothing in common.
Suddenly, cutting through the music, came the shrill ring of the landline. Rachel jumped off the stool and hurried into the living room, pointing at the stereo.
“Turn it off!” she said quickly. He did, though he hated being told what to do. Rachel grabbed the receiver, tense. “Hello?”
A small smile tugged at her lips, but her brow stayed creased. “Hello, Mrs. Gabriel,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Andre could hear faint voices on the other end, but he couldn’t make out the words.
“Oh,” Rachel said, biting her lip nervously. “Okay.”
Andre watched as she stood with the phone pressed to her ear, fiddling with a button on her shirt while she listened.
“Alright, well… I hope he feels better soon. Thank you, Mrs. Gabriel. Goodnight.” She hung up, her face sinking into a frown. Andre knew immediately it was bad news.
She turned to him. “Cal’s sick. He’s been throwing up for about an hour. He thought it would stop before he called, but he’s still feeling awful.”
“So he’s not coming?” Andre’s stomach dropped. Shit.
“No.”
“Shit,” Andre muttered, setting the DVD on the coffee table and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was supposed to sleep at his place.” Frustration welled up inside him. He had no idea what he was going to do now. His parents were out of town for the night, and he didn’t even have a house key. “I’m locked out.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel raised an eyebrow. He didn’t have his own keys?
“They went out on some overnight date,” he said bitterly. “And I don’t have a key. I can’t get in.” He turned away, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing hard. He hadn’t had a house key since he lost the first one at 13 years old. His parents never forgave him for that.
Rachel wasn’t cruel. She didn’t like him, sure, but she wouldn’t just throw him out.
She cleared her throat. “You can stay in the guest room,” she offered.
“No, thanks.” He turned just long enough for her to see the refusal in his face, the disgust in his voice. Her frown deepened, anger flaring.
“Why do you hate me so much?” she asked.
“I don’t hate you,” he said automatically.
She gave a short, mocking laugh. “Oh really?”
“Yes.” He turned, fixing her with a hard stare, daring her to hold her ground. Instead, she dropped onto the cream-colored couch with a sigh, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder. He chose the armchair farthest from her, separated by the coffee table and closer to the fireplace.
Silence stretched between them. Rachel picked at her nails, chewing the inside of her cheek. Andre studied the stitching of the leather chair, running his fingers over it with practiced ease. Peace, if only for a moment, he thought.
Five minutes passed before Rachel spoke again. “I don’t believe you.” Her voice was sharp, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. His head snapped up, brown eyes locked on hers.
“That’s fine. You don’t have to believe me.” Andre smiled, quick and bitter, not because he was happy but because the whole thing felt pathetic. “But I don’t hate you.”
“Oh, so you stare me down just for fun? Just take what I offered and sleep in the guest room.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “But don’t act like you don’t look me up and down with disgust. I’m just returning the favor.”
She gasped. “What? I’ve never done that, you’re making things up!” She shot to her feet, waving a hand at him.
“Am I? I don’t think so.” Andre rose too, folding his arms across his chest, staring her down again. “The truth is, you’ve never liked me. And that’s fine.” It wasn’t, he thought. “But I just want to know what the hell I did to make you hate me.”
“You, you…” Her words stumbled. For a moment, he thought he caught fear in her eyes beneath the anger. Then she snapped, “You’re pig-headed, stubborn, and you won’t let this go unless I tell you what you want to hear. Is that it?”
Her anger poured out, her face twisting with every word, and Andre stepped closer; slowly, not like a predator circling prey, but like honey drawing a bee. Finally, she was giving him what he wanted: answers.
“I don’t like you. No, I don’t.” She shook her head with a humorless laugh, her voice rising. “Cal doesn’t need you. You’re nothing but trouble, screwing everything up for him. And I know there’s something off about you, but you hide it too damn well, and I can’t prove it yet!” she snarled.
Now they stood face-to-face, only the coffee table between them. Both red with anger, almost feral. Rachel’s eyes glistened; not just with fury, but with the shame that came after the outburst. She steadied her breathing, forcing herself back under control.
A knock on the door cut through the moment. For a heartbeat, they stayed locked in each other’s eyes, unwilling to move. She broke first, crossing to the door. The delivery guy stood there, holding two pizza boxes.
“Pizzas for Andre?”
“Yes.” Rachel took them, sniffling, not bothering to smile.
Andre stepped around her, slipping a bill through the door. “Keep the change.”
The door shut quickly, locking them away from the world again. Rachel dropped the boxes on the counter with a thud and headed for the back door.
“I need some air,” she muttered, her voice tight with emotion.
For five minutes he paced, restless. The smell of hot pizza didn’t even make his stomach growl. He wasn’t hungry; he was wound up, jittery, unsure what to do next. They needed this, whatever the hell they’d just started. They needed to snap at each other, spit it out. The adrenaline was still buzzing through his veins, and finally, with sharp, determined steps, he headed out back to Rachel.
When Andre shut the door behind him, he spotted her right away. Her back was to him, but she glanced over when the door thudded shut. She looked calmer than before—almost—but there was still fire in her eyes. He’d half expected her to be crying, but he was wrong. She turned back again, staring out at the dark line of woods past the fence, the cold biting at both their faces.
He moved to stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder.
“You mean nothing to me,” she said flatly.
“Ouch.” He clutched his chest, pretending to be wounded.
“Cut it out,” she snapped. “I don’t trust you. I’ve never seen anything good in you. I don’t trust you at all, and I especially don’t trust you with Cal. You don’t deserve him.”
“Oh, but you do?” he shot back. “Because you think he’s perfect? Because he’s the sweet, innocent one?” He turned to face her. “Because he’s cuter, huh?” He gave her shoulder a light shove, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Because he never screws up?” Another shove. “Like he’s not the one I’ve had to stop from wrecking his own life? Huh?” His voice climbed.
Her eyes burned, and suddenly she shoved him hard. “You piece of shit!” she snarled. “You liar! I’ve got plenty of reasons to hate you, but the truth is you! have! none! to hate me!” She swung and punched his shoulder.
He caught her fist, then grabbed her other when she raised it too. She struggled, twisting, refusing to meet his eyes boring into hers.
“I do,” Andre said, low and steady. “You’re the definition of everything that pisses me off.”
It hit her like a slap. She wasn’t insecure, but the words cut deep. Shocked, she froze. She stopped struggling, stopped avoiding his gaze, and finally looked straight into his eyes, trying to see if he actually meant it. Slowly, tears welled up.
“You don’t mean that,” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. “You don’t… you don’t mean it.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
His finger traced it, curious. So she cared? She wasn’t so above it all that his words didn’t sting? He thought of Cal, how Cal would probably hate him for this, for hurting Rachel. He loosened his grip on her wrists.
“Rachel, I…”
Another tear slipped free, even as she tried to hold it back, arms wrapping tight around herself.
“Rachel, I’m sorry.” His hands hovered uselessly, not sure what to do. “I don’t hate you.” The words tumbled out.
She gave a sad, disbelieving snort. And why should she believe him?
“It’s true,” he said, pushing through. “You’re a bookworm, a straight-A student… but those aren’t things I hate.”
God, he hated when girls cried.
“I don’t like how close you are to Cal, and…” His voice cracked. “I just thought you didn’t like me.”
She was swiping furiously at her face, chasing the tears away, but at that, she froze. “What?”
“I kept thinking, ‘Who does she think she is? Why doesn’t she like me?’ you know?” The words just spilled out of him. “It hurt that you didn’t like me, even though you liked Cal. It pissed me off, because I didn’t want to chase your friendship, but I wanted you to at least try with me. And you never did, you just looked at me like I was some stain on the carpet, or a leech hanging off Cal. So I figured it was easier to just throw it all back at you.”
“You just… you don’t seem like a good person to me, Andre,” she said softly.
“But Cal does?” He tilted his head.
“Cal’s just… he’s just influenced. And by you.”
“Cal’s choices are always his own,” Andre said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve never influenced him, not once. You don’t have to like me or trust me about anything else, but at least trust me on that.”
She nodded, almost shyly. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I hated you before I even knew you.”
“It’s fine,” he said quickly.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. And I’m sorry I hit you, too.”
“It’s fine,” he repeated, though it wasn’t. Still, when he looked at her, anger wasn’t the strongest thing between them anymore. Yelling at each other had somehow pulled them closer. He didn’t know if she felt the same, and honestly, he didn’t care enough to ask.
They stood facing each other, and just as Andre was about to ask if she wanted to head back inside, Rachel suddenly wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck. “I’m really fucking sorry. I feel like shit,” she muttered. He felt her body tense, felt the damp heat of tears against his skin. So he held her tighter, pulling her in until her heartbeat thudded against his chest.
“I’m sorry too, Rachel. I’ve been such an asshole,” he whispered into her shoulder. “All because I was jealous of you and Cal’s friendship.” Her fingers clutched at his sides, and he buried his face against her, his voice breaking into the space between them.
It stunned him even more than when she’d hit him; her head turned, and her lips brushed his cheek, once, twice, three times. He froze. She exhaled, lifted her face to meet his eyes, and he matched her gaze. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her lips carrying the faintest, shaky smile.
“Guess we’ve both been assholes,” she said.
Andre, desperate to show he was more than the version she had in her head—that he could be kind, tender, funny, worth her time—wiped away her tears with his thumbs. She held her breath, lips parted, eyes soft with a fragile sort of trust.
He glanced at her mouth, then her eyes, back to her mouth, then her eyes again. No. He couldn’t. Not after the shouting from only minutes ago. But then she leaned in and kissed him, just a quick peck.
“Sorry,” she blurted, stepping back, her hand covering her mouth like her lips had betrayed her.
“Stop apologizing, Rachel.”
Once, she would’ve called his tone bored, maybe cold. Now she heard it for what it was: a wry plea, something so unmistakably Andre. He stepped closer and kissed her properly this time, longer, the winter chill pressing around them so tightly she felt his shiver. Or was that from her? No, she wasn’t vain enough to believe that.
“Wanna head inside?” he asked, nodding toward the house. “Pizza’ll be cold if we don’t.”
“Mm.” She nodded, climbing the back porch steps with Andre right behind her.
Warm air wrapped around them as they entered, thawing the chill that Cal—if he’d been there—would’ve dramatized as near hypothermia. Cal. Andre wondered if he was still hunched over a toilet. He hoped not, for the guy’s sake.
Rachel slid onto a stool first, Andre taking the one next to her. They both reached for the pepperoni pizza, exchanging a surprised glance like they hadn’t just kissed minutes ago.
They ate mostly in silence. When they’d had their fill, Rachel tucked the second pizza into the fridge. Afterward, the weight of their fight and what came after seemed to settle in. Quiet lingered, until Rachel finally broke it.
“Couch?” she suggested.
The forgotten Blair Witch Project DVD caught his eye as they sank down side by side. He pointed at it.
“What do we do with this?”
“Keep it. If we watch it without Cal, he’ll bitch.” She propped her socked feet on the table.
“Such foul language. And look at that posture,” he teased, light enough not to sting.
“What? Thought I was some goody two-shoes? I’m trying to change your mind.” She stuck out her tongue, and he snorted.
“It’s working.”
“Good.”
“So what now?”
“I don’t know.” She yawned. “Doesn’t matter. We can talk. Feels like we’ve… skipped a lot by tearing each other down.”
He hadn’t expected to agree, but he did. He learned her parents were hardly ever home, and she buried herself in homework and books to fill the space. With the pizza settling and the tension fading, they loosened up, words flowing easier. To Andre’s surprise, they weren’t so different. And that was better than hating each other.
“You know, Andre,” she said eventually, her legs draped across his lap, careless from the mix of exhaustion and greasy pizza, “I still don’t fully trust you. Can’t help thinking it was all an act. But I’m willing to set that aside, for tonight at least. Strange how alike we are. Cal mentioned it once or twice. I thought he was just exaggerating.”
“It’s weird, right?” he said, trying not to notice the way her fingers absentmindedly traced the side of his face. “It’s like I hated you for being too much like me.” Her touch lingered on his lips before she tipped his chin, pulling his attention toward her.
Andre, braver than he’d ever been with any girl—though he’d always been the loser, mocked and called names—leaned down. Guided by the back of the couch, he shifted closer, his legs brushing hers, holding himself up with one arm as his lips hovered just above hers. Then he kissed her : his first real, open-mouthed kiss. It tasted faintly of pizza, warm, wet, and unexpectedly inviting.
She moved against him, closing the space, sliding her warm hand under his shirt. Her fingers explored his stomach, tracing the line of hair that led down to the button of his jeans. His own hand rested on her waist over her clothes, and he couldn’t quite believe how they’d ended up here.
He broke the kiss, searching for the right words, noticing her hesitation as Rachel pressed her lips against his neck, right on his Adam’s apple.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he murmured.
“I know,” she whispered, her voice soft, though her hand stayed where it was, unmoving, while Andre’s hunger only grew. In that moment, she was the lamb, and he was the wolf, and he was starving.
“You really don’t have to do anything,” he repeated. She faltered, pulling her hand out from under his shirt. His heart raced, but then she settled her hand back on his waist and tugged him closer.
It felt like an unspoken agreement, but Andre needed to be sure. “I know tonight’s strange,” he said, running a hand down her thigh, “but if I try anything you don’t want, you have the right to punch me in the throat.”
She nodded, and he slipped away from her side just long enough to shrug off his zip-up hoodie and black t-shirt. His skin was smooth, his body soft but lined with enough muscle to hold shape, his shoulders broad. He shifted her back into the space, sliding down to rest between her open legs, still snug inside her dark blue jeans
.
She looked at him; dilated pupils, flushed lips, hair messy as if she couldn’t believe he was really there. Truthfully, neither could he.
For once, all timidity gone, he ran his hands slowly from her knees up to her inner thighs, ignoring the strain in his own jeans. Then, under her watchful gaze, he unbuttoned her pants. She covered her mouth with one hand, blushing as he revealed her lavender underwear.
Andre grinned. Gorgeous. With her knees framing his face, he kissed each thigh in turn, moving lower until he hovered just above the fabric. He pressed a kiss there, feeling her warmth through the cotton. Her breath caught, sharp with surprise, but her eyes never left him.
He kissed her again, slid one curious finger along the band, then tugged impatiently until he freed her from the fabric, almost tangling them in the process. The sight made the clumsy effort worth it.
For a moment, time hung still. Then he leaned closer, hovering over her like a predator about to strike. Instead of rushing, he kissed her lower stomach, nipping gently until she let out a shy giggle, hiding her face with her forearm.
Then he put his mouth on her. The first touch was hesitant, a slow lick testing the waters. She was already wet, slick against his tongue, though he couldn’t tell if it was his imagination making her taste that way or the undeniable truth. Her free hand found him instantly, fingers plunging into his hair, tugging him closer as if she could fuse him to her body. The soft scrape of her nails against his scalp sent a shiver through him. He sucked, licked, and she gasped in shock, her chest rising sharply.
“Andre…”
“Yes?” His voice was muffled as he pulled back for a breath, lips wet, but she didn’t give him long. Her grip tightened, pulling him right back down.
“More.” The word wasn’t just a request, it was a command.
That was enough to make him smile against her. He found her clit, tongue swirling around it before dragging flat strokes across the sensitive spot, lapping at her with the hunger of a starved dog. His knees pressed harder into the couch as he worked, and when he dared to glance up, he saw her head tilted back, lip caught between her teeth, a soft string of whimpers breaking from her.
With his mouth busy, his tongue relentless, his jaw aching already, his hands joined in. Her skin was slick under his fingers, her thighs trembling against his shoulders. He teased her entrance first, circling her slowly, then pushed one finger inside. The sound she made—half gasp, half whimper—nearly undid him.
“Andre…”
This time he didn’t risk stopping. He kept his mouth on her, sucking, licking, while his finger moved inside her with an easy rhythm. She clenched around him as he slid a second finger in, curling them just right, making movements like gentle waves. The way her hips rocked forward told him he’d found the spot. Her moans deepened, rougher now, no longer the soft little sounds she’d tried to hold back.
“Andre, Andre, Andre…” she cried, her voice breaking with every pulse of his hand.
He kept going, faster now, tongue pressing harder, determined. Her breathing grew ragged, her grip in his hair turning almost painful, yanking when she couldn’t hold back. Then her body went still, taut all at once.
“Andre, wait- stop- it’s like I’m gonna p…” Her voice cracked, trembling between panic and pleasure.
But he understood without needing her to finish. Something in her tone, in the way she shook beneath him, told him not to stop. So he didn’t. He pushed through, fingers working deeper, tongue drawing her over the edge… until suddenly there was a rush, a flood against his face, and her whole body convulsed around his fingers.
He finally lifted his head, lips glistening, chin wet, his hair a wild mess from her grip. Rachel looked down at him with wide eyes, pupils blown, cheeks flushed.
“What the fuck?” she breathed, almost disbelieving.
Andre just laughed, low and breathless, the sound vibrating from his chest.
That night, he didn’t end up in the guest room, and Rachel didn’t make it to hers. They collapsed on the couch instead, tangled up until morning. When they woke, hungry and sore, pizza was the first thing on their minds; but they still took the time to wipe down the leather cushions, laughing under their breath. When Andre finally left, the Blair Witch Project DVD was still sitting untouched on the coffee table, like nothing had happened.