Oh, hey you guys! Remember me? Haha. I just had an idea the other night, and this is what it has borne. It's just for fun. I'm currently writing a big project story, and I needed a little lighthearted break.

~ Stats ~

Rating: M

This story contains an underaged female and adult male. It's nothing gross, but if you don't like it/can't handle it, there's the back button. (;

Word Count: about 4.8K

Story type: Short story, three-shot format, Part One.

And without further ado...


You know the bed feels warmer, sleeping here alone. You know I dream in color, and do the things I want. ~ Kelly Clarkson4


Running was my aphrodisiac. It wasn't something I pursued on a professional level. It wasn't something I was going to college on a scholarship for. I didn't do it for anyone except me, and that was the way it was staying. When I ran, I wasn't super-freaky-smart Bryony, or Bryony-that-sarcastic-bitch, or Bryony-whose-brother's-name-is-carved-on-championship-baseball-trophy-in-the-school-lobby.

When I was scared, angry, confused, worried or stressed, I ran. When I ran, I could get away from all of that for a little while. Almost as if I was literally leaving my problems in the dust. Then I would stop, and everything would catch back up to me.

It was one of those fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk days in late June, about a month and a half after I had received my letter of acceptance to Princeton University, where I planned to major in Comparative Literature. I had gotten up that morning around seven, with the sun just barely grazing a murky purple and blue sky.

It was about nine-thirty now, and the golden sun blazed prominently against a fluorescently blue sky, the kind of color that hurt your eyes when you looked at it. It made me remember why I reeked of sunscreen: my pale skin could barely take it. My black mesh shorts and black tank top stuck to my sweaty skin, and my strawberry-blonde hair was matted to my forehead and neck.

I debated on whether I wanted to take a shower or just jump into the pool, and the latter won out. I slowed my run to a jog, and then a quick walk as I turned the corner and my house came in to view. I sighed in relief. The white Camry was gone, so my father had gone to work, probably dropping my mother off at one of her clubs on the way.

Delia Bennett was notorious for being an important figure in the quiet and cookie cutter community of Princeton, New Jersey, residing on the neighborhood council and involved in several other community-related projects. It was either her way or the wrong way, and that was that.

I went in through the side door and nearly moaned in relief as the air-conditioned atmosphere attacked my overheated skin. I passed by the mudroom and caught sight of myself in the living room mirror and almost laughed.

My face was redder than a tomato, and the smattering of freckles across my nose seemed darker. I kicked off my Nikes, which had seen better days, and walked into the kitchen, my whole body throbbing. I stopped in front of the sink, where the window showcased the backyard. The above-ground pool splayed out against the lawn, sparkling blue waters beckoning sweaty teenage girls forth.

Hydration of a different sort came first. I opened the fridge and, knowing it wasn't the best choice of drink, twisted open the top of the orange juice carton and took a deep swig. Call me unsanitary, but I learned all my bad habits from my brother. I swear.

"If there's one thing I remembered about your mother, it's that she hated when you and Matt did that," a familiar voice sounded, the accompanying chuckle sending my heart into an erratic frenzy.

I spluttered and staggered back from the fridge as the orange juice reversed its track and decided to come out of my nose. I dropped the carton, my eyes watered, and I bolted over to the sink without turning around, knowing only humiliation waited for me.

When I walked into my house this morning, I wasn't even thinking about him, which was saying something.

When I walked into my house this morning, I wasn't expecting to see him.

The guy—the man—I couldn't get out of my head for the past two years. My brother's best friend.

The douche in tinfoil himself.

Darren fucking McFadden.

June, Two Years Previous

At first I thought it was an earthquake and shot up like a rocket in my bed. But when I heard the low grumbling sound again, I relaxed. It was merely my stomach, complaining about its lack of nutritious food for the past few days.

Recently, it had been sleepovers galore with my best friends Hope and Molly. For the next ten minutes, I battled with my belly on whether I would get up from my cozy cocoon of sheets and venture through the quiet house to make something to eat.

In the end, my stomach won out.

I threw back my light blue sheets, alertness accompanying my hunger pains. The glowing numbers of the digital clock on my white wicker nightstand confirmed that it was indeed late; a little after two in the morning. I threw a robe over my tank top, not even bothering to put anything on over my underwear.

It was just me, and my brother and his best friend were out for a night downtown, just recently having returned from college at the University of Illinois.

I walked over to the Kitchen Aid refrigerator and swung the door open. "Ah," I muttered, narrowing my eyes against the blinding fluorescent light. My eyes roved over the contents: assorted fruits, vegetables, milk, lunch meats, breads, condiments, butter, that sort of stuff. After contemplating a few minutes, I grabbed out the bread and a couple lunch meats and cheeses, working at the granite island countertop in the middle of the kitchen, and went for the mayonnaise.

I piled the innards high on a hunk of bread I had sliced in half, slathered on the mayo and topped it off with the second piece of bread. I opened my mouth wide and took a huge bite.

After putting everything away, I flicked on the light above the stove and took a seat at the low kitchen table, contemplating life. I had had a hopeless, unrequited crush on my brother's best friend for as long as I could remember. Probably the day of my eleventh birthday party in May, when Matt had gathered the brilliant idea to hide my favorite Barbie at the top of the massive oak tree in our front lawn.

Then sixteen-year-old Darren, who I had said all of about five stuttering words to in my life, had swept in, playfully decking Matt in the stomach, who had fallen to the ground in hysterical dramatics, much to the delight of eight other ten and eleven year old girls.

Darren had scaled the tree with ease, as if he had been born climbing them, like Tarzan or something, and had swiped the molested doll down from the unmerciful grip of the braches and whatever surely dangerous squirrels were lurking up there.

Then came the best part: in front of all my friends, my brother (now rolling this way and that, groaning, clutching his abdomen), and my parents, he had pressed a smacking kiss to my plump cheek, eliciting several shrieks and catcalls from the girls.

I still blushed and smiled like mad from the memory. From that moment on, I grew to idolize him, and Molly, Hope and I had taken to referring to him as the knight in shining armor.

He was handsome enough to be one, too, with looks that I had never seen before on a boy. His body seemed to be sculpted by the gods, and it only grew better with age. His mother was Filipino and his father was Irish, resulting in a lovely skin tone the color of a rich tan. His hair was thick, silky and black, the kind that begged fingers to run through it.

His lips were perfect, not too thin and not too plump, curved just right. His eyes were shaped like almonds, with a thick fringe of lashes. And when he smiled, they lit up, the gold and green and brown seeming to glow from within. As I got older, I began imagining scenarios between the two of us that would probably have made my brother turn twenty shades of red and bellow that I was never allowed to see Darren again.

It was pretty impossible not to, though. As the years passed by and I grew into myself, developing the kind of boobs that made my father threaten a turtleneck every time I wanted to go out, I tried to flaunt my newfound features around Darren as much as I could without making Matt too suspicious. To my chagrin, Darren couldn't seem to see past the whole my-best-friend's-kid-sister-deal, and my unrequited crush remained, well, unrequited.

I reached down for another bite of my sandwich, but to my surprise, the plate was empty. I glanced up at the clock, and discovered that forty-five minutes had already passed. I rolled my eyes at myself. I really needed to get over Darren, it was pretty pathetic now.

I was sixteen years old, and Tyler Remington, the cute, smart, funny basketball captain was dying to get a date with me. The only problem was, he wasn't Darren.

The whole thing just made me want to walk over to the nearest wall and bang my head against it. I got up and tossed my paper plate in the trash, and went to make my way back upstairs when the front door opened, and Darren and Matt stumbled through.

I jumped at the sudden noise and pulled my robe more tightly around myself.

"Bryyyyyyony," Matt sang, tripping over our father's work shoes and righting himself against the wall. He shoved his reddish-gold hair from his eyes, which were a deep cerulean color, the same as mine. "Me and Darren had sho mush fun!"

"I can see that," I rolled my eyes, fighting a grin at his disheveled appearance.

Darren came in behind him, and my heart lurched. He was obviously pretty gone, but nowhere near as bad as Matt was. He wore a blue button down that he left unbuttoned, a white shirt showing underneath, and the sleeves were rolled up, showing off his toned forearms. Cargo shorts and boat shoes accompanied his getup, and he looked as if he'd just stepped off the pages of Hollister.

Matt and Darren had both been twenty-one for a few weeks now, and they were taking every possible advantage of it…not that they weren't drinking before the specified age.

"Everythingsh shpinning," Matt slurred, giggling.

"I told you…not to hit the gin, man. Fucks you up, man…fucks you up good," Darren replied with difficulty, as if stringing his words together caused him physical pain.

If I had a camera…

Wordlessly, I grabbed the Advil off of the windowsill above the sink and filled a plastic cup with water, no ice. I handed them both to Matt.

"For the headache you're going to have," I said tersely. "Both of you go to bed."

"Is she telling ush what to do?" Matt asked, swiveling around and teetering dangerously to face Darren. He swiped the medicine and water from my hands.

"She is," Darren agreed. "We'll…have to make her regret that…in the morning."

I raised a brow. "The only thing anyone is going to be regretting in the morning is their massive headaches," I said pointedly.

"Meh," Matt replied airily, waving an arm through the air and almost dousing Darren with the full cup. "I'm hitting the sack. And not jusht becaushe you told me to, Bry," he added, and stumbled off down the hallway to his room at the end of the hall.

Darren was staying in the guest bedroom across from him. My parents' and my bedrooms were located upstairs. To my chagrin, mine was the farthest away from Darren's, not that I'd ever have the guts to make a move.

He sat down in the chair that I had just vacated, and rubbed a hand over his bloodshot eyes. "Come sit with me, Bryony," he gestured, the opposite chair his intent. Except he pointed at the sink.

"You should go to bed, too," I suggested flatly.

Darren raised his eyebrows. "I'm not as fucked as your brother," he replied. "Talk to me. What's going on in your life? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. Stuart says you're still jerking his little brother around, you little tease," he winked.

I willed the butterflies to stop swirling around madly in my stomach. Stuart was Tyler Remington's older brother, and I'd forgotten that he was friends with Matt and Darren.

"I'm not jerking him around," I rolled my eyes, sitting down in the chair across from him. "I'm just not interested, I guess."

"You're interested in somebody, though," he said slowly, the gold in his eyes glinting in the light as he leaned forward. "I know you, Bry. There's no reason not to go for Remington unless there was someone else."

For a second, I panicked. He knew. He knew. I thought I'd been so careful, but really it was just pathetically obvious, and he was probably making fun of me right now, having his own little laugh, thinking that I didn't get it, thinking about how I was just an immature, stupid, inexperienced—

"You're so pretty."

I choked on my spit.

He didn't seem to notice, and once I had my throat under control, I leveled him with a blank stare. "Don't say stuff you don't mean," I said.

Darren returned my deadpan look. "Who says I didn't mean it?"

My heart thundered. I needed to go to bed before I had myself a heart attack. "Well…thank you fpr the compliment. I think I'll go back to my room now. Don't fall and hit your head on anything on your way to bed." I braced my hand in the middle of the table to level myself up.

Suddenly, Darren's hand reached out and covered mine, and I stilled. "Bryony," he murmured, and his voice came out all choked and hoarse. He stroked his thumb along my knuckles, eliciting little sparks on my skin that reverberated all the way to my heart.

"Yeah?" I whispered.

He stood up, and I was suddenly aware of how tall he was, and how muscular. Say, if he wanted to shove me against a wall and have his wicked way with me, he probably could, and I wouldn't be able to stop him. An image came to my mind, his sweaty body covering mine as he thrust in and out of me, my nails digging into his back, his lips closed around my nipple…

A tiny, barely audible moan slipped out, and my breath caught in my throat. I looked into Darren's eyes, and gulped. They had darkened, and his chest was rising and falling quickly. His grip on my hand had become tighter, and he had most certainly heard it.

His eyes closed briefly, and he let go of my hand. For a moment, I seriously thought he was going to leave, leaving my body humming in all sorts of places I didn't know could hum. Slowly, he took a step forward, and I took one back. The corner of his mouth kicked up, and he took another step. I backed up. We did this until I felt the cool marble counter of the kitchen island biting into my back, even through the layers of clothes.

I looked up at him again, my breathing almost embarrassingly loud. Darren braced his hands on the counter on either side of me, and leaned forward until our noses were almost touching.

"Nowhere to go now," he murmured, and from the way his breath fanned across my face, I knew he had been imbibing in mojitos.

My legs nearly buckled.

"I think Tyler Remington's a twat," Darren announced, lifting one brow.

My eyes widened. "H-He's nice enough."

Darren shook his head. "If I was Tyler Remington, I would have asked you out by now, and let everyone know you were mine."

"You're not Tyler Remington," I reminded him, my heart rate accelerating at his possessive tone.

"You're right," he agreed, his mouth curving into a full-on smile that sent heat shooting straight to my core. "Tyler Remington wouldn't have the balls to do this."

Instead of kissing me on the mouth, where I thought he was going, Darren's lips, soft, warm, and slightly wet, landed on the side of my neck. I jolted at the foreign contact, unintentionally pressing my lower region tightly against his. Darren hissed. My eyes widened further. He was so hard, and judging from what I could feel, he had nothing to complain about.

He pulled back a little, his eyes unnaturally sharp and clear for his state. "Easy, Bry," he whispered, gently, just barely running his knuckles over my cheek. "Baby, I've got you."

I let out a breathy sigh and tentatively tilted my neck to the side, offering him an easy access. His lips lowered to my skin again and I melted into him easily this time, but kept my hands clenched to the counter. He pressed more firmly on my neck with his lips as he trailed up and down the column. I moaned each time his tongue flicked out here and there, leaving scorching marks.

As his mouth skimmed along my jaw, I grabbed the back of his head in a burst of boldness, twisting my fingers in his inky black hair. I tugged gently until he looked at me.

"Yes?" Darren asked, his eyes dancing in amusement.

"Can you just kiss me now?" I asked impatiently.

He worked his teeth over his bottom lip. Without warning, his hands left the counter and skimmed down to my waist, and he lifted me up as if I were nothing. I sat on the counter, finally level with him, and my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to me. I didn't know where this demanding attitude of mine was coming from, but I also didn't know if this was ever going to happen again, and I planned on taking full advantage of the situation.

Darren swallowed hard, and cupped my face in his hands. His gorgeous, soulful eyes roamed over my face as if memorizing every annoying freckle and dimple. "Damn," he growled, and then pressed his mouth to mine.

One of my hands slid over his shoulder and down his back, and my other cupped the back of his neck, raking my nails lightly across the exposed skin there. He shuddered against me, and my eyes nearly rolled back into my head, because having Darren McFadden's body shudder against you was definitely something to write about.

He nibbled at my lips, tasting first the bottom and then the top, and then his tongue emerged once again, tracing insistently at the straight seam of my mouth.

I immediately surrendered, granting him entry without a second thought. His tongue slid in, and I tasted the sharp flavor of mint and lime, but it seemed like something vital was missing, something…

Fuck it, I couldn't think.

One of his hands left my jaw and trailed down to my shoulder, tugging at my robe. His other hand fell to my waist, where he easily undid the sash of the garment. The robe was off in less than two seconds, discarded somewhere behind him, and the granite was a cold slap to my now-bare thighs and half-exposed bottom.

Darren broke away from me, settling his large, warm, calloused hand on my bare skin. "Jesus, you're not wearing any pants," he said, his voice rough with disuse.

"It's hot," I nearly whined, eager to have his mouth on mine again. With my hand still cupped around his neck, I pulled him towards me.

He reached behind him and caught my wrist, pressing a kiss to the sensitive inner flesh. "Relax, you. I'm not going anywhere. At least, not for a while."

I could barely contain my grin, and with that behind said, his hand dropped back down to my knee, skimming along until the tips of his fingers reached the simple cotton edging of my light pink panties. The sight of his hand there, his skin so dark against mine, was enough to make me dizzy.

"Darren," I murmured, bracing my hand on his forearm.

He looked up at me through hooded eyes and grinned lazily. Without warning, his hand trailed up and over my stomach before stopping to gently cup my breast in his palm. My breath caught, and I clenched my teeth so I wouldn't moan.

Darren pressed his mouth to mine and his tongue traced the seam of my lips again. "No bra, either?" he groaned, and his thumb moved over my already hard nipple. I sucked in a breath and arched into him, coming into contact with his erection, which felt even harder and seemingly bigger than it had been before.

I wanted more of him. With an impatient sound, I slipped the button-down shirt off of his shoulders and threw it to join my discarded robe. Before I could, he stepped back to shuck off his shirt. I'd seen his bare chest many times before, but all the other times, I wasn't half naked and he wasn't kissing me senseless.

I ran my hands over his skin when he stepped back into the space between my legs. It was feverishly hot, stretched over hard, corded muscle. The ridges in his stomach rippled as I trailed my fingertips over him, over the strip of dark hair that bisected his abdomen. Liquid heat shot between my legs at the sight and feel of him, and I pressed my thighs together, but it only made the feeling intensify.

"It feels so good when you touch me," Darren growled in my ear, and his low, rough, lust-clotted voice sent shivers down my spine. He gently nipped the lobe between his teeth, and I gasped. "Be quiet, now, or I'll have to spank you."

The space between my legs throbbed at the sexy threat. "I-I'll try," I replied shakily.

It must have amused him, because he chuckled, the sound seductively low next to my ear. And the next thing I knew, he had pulled the straps of my tank top down, leaving my shoulders bare and the top of it rubbing agonizingly over my nipples. I let out a whimper.

Darren's lips trailed over shoulders, which turned out to be surprisingly sensitive. I arched into him again, pressing my breasts up against his chest.

"God, I love the sounds you make," he said as his mouth and tongue moved over my skin, teeth nipping at the tops of my breasts. "If we were anywhere else, I'd have you screaming."

"Y-You think so?" I said with difficulty, burying my fingers in his hair as his head rested momentarily against my chest.

"Babe, I know so," he replied, and pulled the rest of my tank top down so that it bunched, tube-top like, around my midsection. I made a small noise of protest and covered myself, but he caught my wrists and pinned them at my sides. The dominating pose had me panting, and I gritted my teeth. "Remember what I said about being quiet."

He started with my left breast, kissing the underside of the fleshy mound while I struggled not to scream. I'd never felt anything like this before, and I knew if he stopped now I would just die a slow, painful, melting death. His tongue circled around my nipple, driving me mad, because it wasn't exactly what I wanted, I wanted him to suck—

"Yes," I moaned as his hot, wet, mouth finally closed over me. A pleasant buzzing sound filled my brain, blocking out any attempts to think about anything besides Darren and his wonderful, talented mouth.

His mouth moved over my nipple, alternating between suckling and touching the sensitive point with the tip of his tongue. My hand clenched in his hair harder, and his other hand went to my other breast, pinching and twisting the second nipple until it was as hard as the first. My panties were drenched now, and the friction of rubbing my legs together was unbearable.

Seized by sudden inspiration, I trailed my free hand over his bare chest and abdomen before dipping down into the waistband of his cargo shorts to cup him through his boxers. Darren hissed against my skin.

"You're so hard," I breathed, exploring the size and texture of him.

"Seems to be my usual state when I'm around you," he said against my breast, nipping it.

His cock twitched against my palm and I flinched at the unfamiliar sensation, but I was not deterred. After a few more seconds of inexperienced fumbling, I finally found the slit in his underwear and came into contact with a full-on throbbing hard-on. It took me another second to realize Darren had gone completely still. My fingers fluttered over his cock.

"Can I…?" I whispered.

"Please do," he choked out.

I'd read romance novels before, and also from common sense, I had the slightest idea what to do. I closed my hand around him slowly began moving up and down, marveling at his length and width. My fingers couldn't touch.

"Fucking Christ," he ground out, and buried his head in the crook of my neck, kissing it. His hand reached down to close over mine. "A little faster," he whispered, and I complied, our hands moving together over his cock.

The whole thing struck me as so intimate, and my heart opened up to him even more. I wanted what he wanted. I wanted him to feel good, and for me to be the cause of it. I alternated between gently rubbing his tight balls with the pad of my thumb and stroking him hard, fast.

When he started thrusting helplessly against me, his hips moving back and forth, groaning softly, I leant down by his ear and whispered, "Are you going to come for me, Darren?"

And he exploded with a barely-contained cry, hot, sticky fluid coating my palm. I should have been grossed out, but I wasn't, not even close. I blushed.

For several minutes nothing was said. After he caught his breath, I pulled my hand out of his shorts and placed it awkwardly by my side, not touching anything. His eyes remained unnaturally clear and bright, and he clenched his teeth, walking funnily over to the kitchen sink to wet a paper towel.

"Clean your hand," he muttered, not looking at me.

It was then that I began to get a weird feeling, and after cleaning my hand, I quickly pulled my tank top back up to cover my breasts, still wet from his mouth.

He turned to face me then, and all I wanted to do was fall into his arms and have him hold me. What I had experienced—what we both had experienced had been amazing, didn't he realize that? I hopped down from the counter and took a minute to regain my balance, my head still fuzzy and my legs like jelly. "Darren, I—"

"Shit," he said over me. He ran a hand over his face. "Bryony, I—fuck. This was wrong. Damn, that's an understatement. You're sixteen years old. Fuck."

I flinched and my skin heated, and I was sure I was red. When everything was happening, our age difference didn't matter. But now…I could get him into serious trouble, and he was scared I would. I was hurt. How could he think I would do that?

"This can't happen again. Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry," he said, swallowing hard.

It hurt to look at him. Hot humiliation washed over me, and I walked past him and retrieved my robe without looking before turning again and fleeing up the stairs to the safety of my room.

Who the hell had I been kidding?

Because he made out with me, that meant we were suddenly dating?

I flopped onto my bed, in the middle, and curled up into a ball. Gray light filtered in through the open slats in my blinds, and I glanced at the clock. It was almost five o' clock in the morning. I still smelled him as if he were right next to me, and it was then I realized that I hadn't grabbed my robe, but instead his shirt. I brought the garment up to my nose, inhaling the scents of a dive bar but more so him, and to my chagrin, I began to sob.

One thing was for sure. Darren McFadden would never be my knight in shining armor again. He had hurt me more than I myself could comprehend at the time. Because of him, I wouldn't be able to trust in the male sex for a very long time. In a way, though, he ended up making me stronger. Because I could learn how to protect myself so nothing like that could ever happen to me ever again.

A week after Darren McFadden introduced me to his erotic side, I took up running.


A/N: Phew. I think I did a good job, but what about you? Leave me a review! :)