I met her at a party. She was taller than me, which I liked, and she smelled like summer, like freshly picked strawberries. She dressed in pastels from head to toe, including the pale pink woven into her hair. I had been looking for a way out of the conversation some guy had trapped me into (his name was Brad or Bryan or something like that). I was eyeing the bar where my friends were making their own drinks when there was a tug at my wrist. I turned and there she was, fingers twisting between my own, a smile plastered on her face. She leaned in and gave me a hug, shouting over the music about how it’d been too long since she’d seen me last. The guy looked at us, a little shaken, and she pulled me away from the situation and out of the room.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, squeezing my hand before letting go, “but I thought you might need a little rescue.”
I nodded. “Yes, thank you. That was awful. He mentioned a philosophy degree and the rest was just a nightmare.”
She laughed and laughed, telling me she knew the type, and handed me a drink. She smiled again, dazzlingly bright, and said, “I’m Tori, by the way. Like Victoria, the queen.”
And honestly, I don’t remember exactly how we ended up in the bathroom of the house, pressed up against the door. But there we were. Her mouth on mine, my fingers in her hair. She radiated heat and charm, pushing me harder against the door. Her nails dug into my skin and I whimpered. I felt her smile against my lips and she dug harder, waiting for the sound again. She bit my lip and pulled back, staring at me.
“I like when you do that,” she whispered.
“Do what?”
Her smile was wicked. “Whine like that. Do you like when it hurts?”
I opened and closed my mouth. I hadn’t really thought about it before. But I liked the way she felt, so I nodded.
Her right hand remained on my jaw, holding me in place, while her other roamed down towards the tops of my thighs. She slid her fingers over my panties, toying. I could feel myself squirming already, pushing my hips against her. Her fingers squeezed my jaw while her hand pushed between my thighs and I started to tremble.
“Please.”
The word dropped from my lips too quickly for me to stop it. Her eyes lit up.
“Beg for it, then. Go on.”
I shook my head. Her fingers stopped moving, waiting for me. I pushed against her hand, whimpering. She couldn’t leave me like that. I wanted more.
“Beg for it.”
I broke easily, weak and craving. “Please touch me.”
A smug smile played at her lips. “You want it too much,” she said, “and I need to think about what I’d get in return.”
She pulled back from me and licked her fingers before leaving me there, alone, wet, and shaking on the bathroom floor.
