Make Me (5 page)

‘Just shut up, all right? Let’s go back to the living room.’

‘You mean the hovel?’

‘Hey, you wanted me to bring her up here. I could have just as easily taken her back to your swanky pad so you could … pffft.’

Funny, really, that he thinks I must have changed so much, when I know exactly what he means by that little blart of frustrated air. I can translate it exactly:
So you could
fuck her
.

‘Is that what you want me to do?’ Tyler asks, and I can hear it then. The tone has changed. Now he’s not vaguely teasing and bullish. He’s almost grave, in a way I’m not sure I’ve heard from him before.

And the silence that follows is similar, before Brandon finally answers. ‘No.’

‘So what is it you want me to do?’ Tyler asks, and that surprises me even more than his change in tone. He’d seemed so smooth and in control the night before, and it had suited him. It had suited him so well that I can’t recall how our last encounter played out.

Was Brandon the one who initiated it, or was it Tyler? And if Tyler did, is this what he offered before it? A question, plainly put, that Brandon can’t seem to answer? Because by God he can’t. I can almost hear him wrestling with it, despite the fact that my back is turned and my head is in the pillow.

I just don’t understand either of them. I don’t know what their … what their
goal
is.

Until Tyler spells it out for me. ‘You get that she won’t say no if you just roll over and slide a hand up her dress.’

He’s right, you know.
No
isn’t the first thing that springs to mind, when I think of an idea like that. It’s not even on the list. It’s somewhere below
setting myself on fire
and
gouging out one of my own eyes
, on the page marked things I will never do.

And as for that other stuff he mentioned …

I can’t think about it without melting between my legs. All of that excitement comes crashing back to my body in one big glut, and, oh, the heat from it is unbearable. It makes a little electric fire low down in my belly, and every time he says a certain word or phrase –
hand up her skirt
being one of them – the warmth blooms outwards, in a shaky pulse.

I have to bite my lip and squeeze my legs together, just to stop it taking me over altogether. Clearly, it’s already consumed them, and after that – then what? The world?

‘I’m not doing that.’

‘Why not? Go on, give me a good reason.’

‘She’s asleep.’

‘She wasn’t asleep last night. You still didn’t do anything.’

‘It’s not that easy, Tyler.’

‘She made it seem easy.’

‘Because you … you made her.’

‘So we’re going to go over this again. You know, some people enjoy a little cajoling.’

‘It’s different when … It’s not … I like it, OK? You don’t know if she does.’

‘True. But I know she was practically too turned on to walk last night, and yet you still didn’t do anything. All night long … you’ve just left her hanging. Does that sound like the actions of a gentleman?’

There’s a brief silence and it’s far from a comfortable one. I can almost feel the tension flowing from it, and it’s not just because I’m holding my breath. I could be drilling a hole in the wall and I’d sense it.

Brandon’s voice is different when he finally does speak. ‘Don’t do this, Tyler,’ he says, so sharp and steady you could cut a tin can on that letter T.

Tyler pays no attention, however. ‘Don’t do what? I’m just saying – she got you off in spectacular fashion, and in return you just watched her fall asleep.’

‘I didn’t watch her, all right? I came in
once
to check on her!’

Oh
Lord
. He feels so strongly for me that he actually has to protest when someone pulls on that thread? At this point, I honestly don’t know what’s worse: that Tyler is turning the screws on him like this, or that I’m loving it.

I don’t mean to be, but I am. He really does like me, even after all this time. He likes me so much that he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself when Tyler presents the following to him: ‘Just think about how wet she must be, right now. Wouldn’t you be hard if she’d just wriggled in your lap and rubbed those amazing tits in your face before coming up here for a nap? You’re hard now and she hasn’t even done anything but lie there.’

‘
You’re
doing something,’ Brandon spits back, sullen now.

It’s not the sullenness I’m concentrating on, however. It’s those words he used, oh good Lord those words – what does he mean? Does he just mean that Tyler’s talking is driving him up the wall, or …

‘You want me to stop?’ Tyler asks, but I think we all know the answer to that. Brandon doesn’t even make an attempt at a response. He just carries on in silence, while I eat my own pounding heart out, listening for any little hint of something beyond
chatting
.

I mean, Tyler
did
want to taste him, didn’t he? And this is a very close, heated conversation for two just-good-friends to be having. Maybe Tyler’s got his hand on something or his mouth near something or Christ, I don’t know.

I’m not even sure about threesomes. Throw a little man on man into the mix and I’m lost.

‘Or do you want me to carry on talking about what her pussy probably looks like right around now?’ Tyler finally,
finally
says, but I don’t know whether to be relieved or not. I’m not even sure if relieved is the right word for what I probably should be feeling, because, well … I have no monopoly on them. If they want to do things together, they can.

Though they should probably know that it hugely turns me on when they do the things this close to me.

‘Don’t,’ Brandon says, but now I can tell. He doesn’t mean it at all.

‘I bet she’s soaking wet. Just absolutely drenched. If she turned over and spread her legs right now, you’d probably see it glistening all over her thighs.’

He’s not wrong. The squeezing-my-legs together technique isn’t really working, because of that very problem. Everything just feels so slippery and messy down there, in a way that’s only exacerbating matters.

‘Imagine what her spread pussy looks like … all that glossy cream coating her folds and her swollen clit. Because she’s got to be swollen by now. You probably wouldn’t even need to do very much, to get her off – a little stroke over that stiff bud and she’d be screaming your name.’

‘Or yours.’

‘Does it matter?’

‘I don’t know any more, I don’t know. Keep going,’ Brandon pants, and, oh, those two words. They’re almost as good as all the poetry of the pussy Tyler’s spouting, though I have trouble figuring out why. I think it’s because they suggest Brandon’s complicity in this thing – that he knows what it is and wants it, even as he says don’t.

Or maybe it’s just because he sounds like he’s jerking off, while he says it.

‘That feel good?’

Oh yeah, he’s definitely jerking off.

‘Just … carry on.’

‘While she’s lying right there? Oh, Bran. How can you live with yourself?’ Tyler says, and though he’s teasing I kind of want to draw the line here. Maybe announce my presence in this conversation, or tell him off in some way. I mean, if Brandon
is
masturbating, I don’t see why he should feel bad about that.

Though, of course, worrying about him feeling bad relies on one fairly major assumption: that he does. And, judging by his next reaction, I’m just not sure I’ve pegged things right.

‘Mmm, yeah.’

‘She’s not a foot from you, you little slut.’

‘Oh God, OK, OK.’

‘Want me to talk some more about her pussy? Or maybe we could revisit an old favourite – the things that Maisie might possibly like. What do you think? You think she likes to be fingered while you go down on her?’

Oh yes please. Seriously, why aren’t I turning over at this point? Is it just fear of Brandon being embarrassed? Although he seems fine. In fact, it seems like he’s humping his hand, if the rocking of the bed is anything to go by.

‘Or maybe she’d like something more substantial – fill her with a dildo while you lick her clit … Yeah, that sounds good. Though if we really want to go over old times, you could fill her with something else while
I
lick her clit. What do you say? You want to fuck her while I go down on her?’

I honestly had no idea that Tyler was this good at dirty talk. Really no clue. I mean, I knew he had the confidence, and certainly he didn’t hold back when we were together, but he’s so refined. His voice is like crushed velvet – though that only seems to make it worse. He’s practically reaching across the bed to stroke me with each lewd suggestion, in a way that makes me certain he knows. He just does.

I’m awake, and he’s aware of it.

And now he’s just waiting for my breaking point.

‘Or maybe I could fuck her while you go down on her – yeah, that sounds good, huh? I could pound that tight little pussy of hers while you make a mess of your face. Maybe she’d even suck you while you go at it … What do you think? Think she’d be up for that?’

The answer is yes. Always yes, Tyler. There’s just one teeny tiny problem, however: I can’t seem to get that word out of my mouth. And, apparently, neither can Brandon.

‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ he moans, despite the fact that he hasn’t stopped masturbating. I can actually hear him, now – that slick shuttle of a hand, over a slippery cock, the pacing of his breathing, sometimes tight and sometimes rapid. He’s going to come soon, I think, but he shouldn’t feel bad about that.

I’m going to come soon and no one’s doing anything to me. I’m not even doing anything to myself, except maybe squeezing my thighs together, occasionally. And I’ll be perfectly frank – the squeezing is doing absolutely nothing for me. I might as well be punching myself in the face.

‘Oh no, wait … I’ve got the best one. Yeah, yeah, how about this? You fuck her sweet little pussy and, while you’re busy with that, I’ll get her ass all nice and slick and then I’ll just ease my –’

‘Stop! OK, stop, stop, stop. Stop. Just – red rum, OK? No, no, no,’ Brandon says, only this time it’s obvious he means it – for more than one reason. First off: he practically shouts the words, even though they’ve been keeping things quiet up till now. Secondly: the rocking of the bed ceases, about a hair’s breadth after he’s said it.

And finally – most damningly – I’m fairly certain that’s a safe word. He just said a safe word to Tyler, over some sexual thing that Tyler is saying, while I’m lying not a foot from him. Because let’s be honest here – there aren’t many other things those two words could mean in a situation like this.

My two best friends have a safe word.
Together
. For … for what? Situations like this one? And, if that’s the case, then is it also the case that situations like this one arise with some
frequency
?

I don’t know. I don’t know anything about anything. I’m too flabbergasted to process real thoughts or formulate actual questions. My whole body is frozen to the bed in this one curled position, to the point where I’m starting to cramp up and maybe get dry eye from all the wild staring into nothing but my pillow.

God only knows how I’m ever going to move again. Or talk again. Or do anything again that requires me to get up off this bed, go into the living room, sit at that one rickety table and look both of them in the eye.

Because of course when I eventually go through all of those motions, I’ll have to say something about this. It’s a given, really, and not just due to the fact that a second later Tyler gets up from the bed and disappears. Or that Brandon seems really bothered by all of this, in a way I can’t quite grasp.

There’s also the knowledge in me that I actually want to find out. I want to, because not only am I curious and almost beside myself with excitement, I’m also not willing to walk away this time – far from it.

I want to stay.

I need to stay.

I need them both, and no amount of fear is going to push me away.

* * *

The falsely bright look all over Brandon’s face is … well, it’s not a comfort. I was at the very least hoping for something less gaudy, like maybe a nod or a little wink or perhaps an arm around my shoulder.
Hey buddy
, he could have said, then followed it with a casual manoeuvring of me in the direction of my car.

So you’re going back to Hollingdale when?
he could have said. And after that everything would have been fine. I could have pretended I haven’t desperately missed them and now actually realise how much I need them in my life. He could have pretended he didn’t shoot his load down my throat last night, before masturbating to Tyler’s kinky suggestions, sometime in the a.m.

But the false smile spoils all that. Or maybe it’s just my emotional turmoil that spoils all of that, because once he’s wavered that thing at me over his morning coffee I can’t help blurting things out. I don’t even check if Tyler’s around, either. I just go for it, balls to the wall.

‘You know, if the things he says makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to do them. I mean,
we
don’t have to do them.’

Oh good Lord, what on earth did I just say? That wasn’t the plan. Abort! Abort!

‘And by that what I mean is that we don’t have to do anything – I wasn’t assuming, you know? I was just, uh … it’s just that he said those things and I … I … uh …’

Somewhere inside me, Tact puts her face in her hands. I think I just did the equivalent of farting in a crowded elevator – or worse. Maybe I farted at a funeral, because by God he looks mortified. His face has locked in one position – stone-like horror – and it’s only then that I realise the size of what I’ve done wrong here.

I’ve started with the assumption that he knows I heard him talking.

When of course he
does not
.

Let’s just underline that, shall we:
he does not
.

That was just me, making things up, inside my stupid head.

‘You heard that?’

Tact is so lucky. She gets to put her face in her hands without anyone seeing – whereas I have to make do with gripping one of the chairs in front of me very, very tightly, while all my insides freefall through my body and make a home in my feet.