Free Pieces of Perfect by Elizabeth Hayley

arrived there.
     
    I walked into the stairwell, my knee high boots echoing. He was sitting on the steps, his eyes finding mine immediately. I didn’t want to stand in silence, left with my own thoughts screaming at me inside my head, so I spoke quickly.
 
    “So where’s this place you’re talking about?”
     
    “You’ll see.” As he stood and walked out of the stairwell and down the hallway, I concentrated on how much I hated surprises. But I definitely didn’t hate being behind him. He wore black cargo pants and a red Nike hoodie.   He was very casual chic and everything fit in all the right ways. As he made his way to the doors that led outside, butterflies began to take flight in my stomach.
     
    Something about this building made me feel safe, like it was a fortress against regrets and bad decisions. But leaving it stripped me of my comfort. I began to fidget as we walked, partly because of the cold and partly because I knew no one would hear me if I screamed. Not that I thought I would need saving from Max. I somehow knew that he wouldn’t ever hurt me. However, I couldn’t say the same about myself. There was a great chance that I would need someone to save me from myself before this little trip was over.
     
    We walked up a flight of stone steps and turned right into the football stadium we shared with our high school. He led me onto the bleachers, and started toward the top. As we climbed the metal stairs, our destination dawned on me. The announcer’s booth was directly in front of us. When we reached it, Max took out a key ( where the hell had he gotten that? And more importantly, what reason had he given for needing it? ) and unlocked the door to the booth. He motioned me inside and shut the door behind him.
     
    One second we were looking at each other questioningly, and then next we were on each other. Hands savagely groping. Mouths tasting salty skin. I had never been up in the booth before, and with my eyes shut as I invaded the inside of his sweet mouth, it was difficult to get my bearings. He spun me around, pressing the backs of my legs against a worn wooden table that looked out over the field.  As he lifted me onto it with ease—his able hands clenching my ass—I threw some folders and papers out of our way toward a computer monitor and switchboard while he kicked two chairs to the side and spread my legs open so he could fit in between them.
     
    “What are you thinking?” he asked, kissing me frantically, as he unbuttoned my blouse one handed and raked his fingers against my back with the other.
     
    Um, what was I thinking? That I hope Mr. Emerson’s gym class is planning to play something indoors today. The thought of 25 seventh graders watching me get fucked in an announcer’s booth while they were supposed to be playing flag football had not been on the “to do” list I had made for myself this morning. But that wasn’t what came out of my mouth.
 
    “I’m thinking I want you to get me off,” I whispered into his ear. “Twice.” Was that me who had just said that? Shit. If I hadn’t actually felt the words leave my lips, I wouldn’t have believed it’d been me who had spoken them.
 
    “Well, doll, I do consider myself a competitive person, so I’m always up for a challenge.” He retreated from me a moment and began to remove his sweatshirt, pulling his white t-shirt over his head at the same time.
     
    God, he was gorgeous. Tan, despite the winter. Lean, but well-built. I could never tire of admiring him. I leaned back to study the muscles of his chest, which were already damp with beads of sweat and glistening in the afternoon sun. I let my eyes trace his tight abs to the little line of hair below his navel. All I could think about was how that hair would tickle the smoothness of my skin when he pounded into me senselessly. He continued to strip slowly, seductively, as he unbuttoned the top of his cargo pants granting me a moment to remember what was