Smart

Why am Ireallyhere?

"You look thirsty." Abby was jarred back to reality with her rival's taut monotone. "Would you like a glass of water?"

The sandy texture on her tongue and throat reminded her of drinking and how parched she really was—whether it was out of need or nervousness, she wasn't entirely sure. Unable to respond, she simply nodded, and Bahir calmly got up from the table and walked with his long, loping gait to the set of counters behind them. Abby watched him as he stretched his arm to reach a small glass cup on a shelf above the spotless steel sink, every sinew of his lean muscle suddenly catching her attention in a way that never had before. Baffled by her lapse in judgment, Abby squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to dissolve the image with a single blink. But when she opened them again, the situation was only exacerbated—immediately, she inadvertently studied the way his long fingers arched over the glass it was filled with water from the tap and the manner in which he sauntered back over to her with his slender legs.

Before she could question her sudden notice ofBahir Salib, of all fucking people,he slid the glass of crystal-clear liquid into her hands. She glanced up at him, begrudgingly thankful as she took a tentative sip. The cool water slid down her throat, quenching her dryness and turning the grating sand into mud. It tasted so good that she began to gulp, large swigs nearly overflowing in her mouth. She perceived a droplet trickle down her chin, but she was so enraptured in her drink that she hardly noticed the moist streak. With a flicker, Abby saw Bahir examining her actions out of the top corner of her eyes, having not moved an inch since giving her the cup. As she drained the last few drops from the bottom, tipping her head back, she thought she saw his tongue dart out and slowly lick his own lips, strangely pink in spite of his coffee-colored skin.

Abby nearly dropped the glass.Did he—

"Done?" Bahir inquired impatiently. Without allowing Abby even a meager answer, he swiped the glass from her grasp and placed it on the table beside her. "Can we get on with the study session now, or do you need another glass?"

Abby glowered. He couldn't even be hospitable for five minutes. "Not until you answer my question from before, dumbass," she spat, the bizarre connection between them fading to a dull throb in her temple. "This 'study session' seems like a load of bunk, if you ask me. You told me you didn't know anything about the Renaissance artists, and yet you just spewed information about da Vinci that you wouldn't have remembered if you were no good at history. I think you're doing perfectly fine in class and you'll do perfectly fine on the test, because you're Bahir Salib and some academic miracle worker."

Bahir smirked.

"And no, that is not a fucking compliment," Abby snapped.

"What exactly are you getting at?" Bahir asked. "I genuinely have no clue what I'm doing, Abby. I thought I made that clear to you over the phone." Rage flared within Abby at his words, dripping with sarcasm and obvious venom. Hewasbaiting her, the asshole! And she had been foolish enough to bite, regardless of her previous warnings to herself. He was a sneaky son of a bitch, slipping the noose around her neck and tightening it like a practiced executioner. Somehow, though, Abby was not keen to the idea of cutting the rope. She needed answers, and if she had to play his game to get them, so be it.

"You know exactly what I'm trying to say, so stop playing coy, Salib," she said. "Why am I here? If not to study or be fodder for your bottomless need to annoy people, then what?"

Stillness, like a peace pipe, was passed between them once more, and Abby was reminded of the clock in the other room as the wasted seconds ticked by. The sound seemed louder than before, screaming as the sand in the hourglass sank further into oblivion, never to be retrieved. For the first time since she had arrived at his house, Abby made eye contact with Bahir—and held it with unwavering control. The glow from minutes prior had returned in his russet gaze, amplified by his slowly dilating pupils, consuming him as if Abby had poured gasoline on his internal fire. The spoiled, foreign rich boy probably wasn't used to people standing up to him, she ventured—but from the glazed, rebellious way he looked at her, he appeared as if he was enjoying it.

Out of nowhere, Abby was bombarded with the memory of her ex-boyfriend, a barrage that had ostensibly no trigger. He was tall and doughy (andwhite, she remembered pointlessly), and Abby had met him through a business leadership organization at school when she was a freshman, a group she'd been active in for a while. A year her senior, he was light in every sense of the word except weight—almost bottle-blonde, blue eyes, and a stocky build. He was a loner and did everything with a shy sort of caution, worried he'd step on someone's ego or offend his friends. Because of such prudence, he had few to begin with, but Abby was eager to associate with him. Maybe she'd been attracted to his warmth and kindness, or maybe it was his timid manner of courtship; whatever the reason for her feelings, she loved him dearly. She was even sexually enticed by him, excited whenever he sent her a dirty text or slid his hands across every seam of her skin. Eventually, they both worked up the courage to have sex her junior year, but they broke up not long after. He was nothing more than a story to her now, a tale to reminisce about with herself once in a while.

Here she was, staring into the belly of the beast—into Bahir Salib's eyes, the gateway to the soul—completely transfixed, and she wasn't sure why. Abby hadn't liked enough guys to pinpoint a "type," but she was pretty sure Bahir's insurmountable douchery did not rank among them. He was the polar opposite of her first lover. If she had to assign colors to her ex and Bahir, they would be white and black, respectively. Her boyfriend had been a benevolent, gentle spirit, unselfish in his actions and persona. Bahir, meanwhile, was a wall of utter contempt, and the way he treated others was indication enough of his sour self.He's a bad nut,Abby's best friend said of him once.He should have been thrown down the chute at birth.

But she was drawn. Neither of them were speaking, but as Bahir reached out to her, Abby knew what was coming. She was powerless to stop it, the control she'd once had slipping away.

She was drawn—and perplexed.

His brown fingers, long and thin, curled around her shoulder, brushing the ruffled sleeves with his usual air of disdain. This, however, was quickly covered by a different tone entirely, reflecting in the gaze staring so intently at Abby. It was heavy, half-lidded, and unbearable—Abby felt her body heat up, as if singed by the flame that was burning brighter by the second. His fingertips were icy in comparison, nearly burning Abby with the strange mix of temperatures. Leaning down slowly, his domineering self looming over her, he pushed his face within a hair's breadth of hers, the tips of their noses close to touching. Strain crackled almost perceptibly in the small space between them, and when Bahir opened his mouth to speak, Abby felt the cool rush of his breath on her cheek.

"I hear..." His voice trailed off. Abby was strung like a wind-up toy, ready to spring at the slightest provocation, every muscle in her body tense with anticipation and thinly veiled rage and frustration.

But she wasn't sure where she would spring—backward, away from Bahir, or into him.

Bahir cleared his throat. His pupils grew yet larger as he awaited the completion of his own sentence, but it never came. Abby never did get to figure out what he heard or any such indication, because his lips were on hers before she had any time to react. His mouth was surprisingly soft and melted into her like chocolate on a hot day, and Abby found herself lapping it up as if that was all it were. Emerging from the throes of her body, another wave of heat engulfed her as his tongue probed her, pleading for entrance. Either in an act of impulse or total insanity, Abby parted her lips and allowed their mouths to tangle, a wet clashing of teeth and saliva that was astonishingly erotic. The kiss, hungry and long, was finally broken by Bahir as he pulled back, perhaps shocked by the rashness of his action. Abby took a hard look at his face and was amazed at how attractive it suddenly appeared with his breathing slightly labored and lips swollen—and how the small fire was now an uncontrolled inferno of sheer lust.

Abby's head was spinning too quickly to think rationally about how wrong this was—when she wasn't clouded with arousal she hadn't felt since she left her boyfriend, she could have made a lengthy list of reasons why sheshouldn'tkiss Bahir Salib. But as his hand traveled slowly down from her shoulder to her breasts, slipping into the crimson fabric and grazing the soft flesh, she couldn't even drum up a shred of good sense. She barely felt him lean in closer to her ear as he cupped her heavy breast, giving it a rough squeeze and eliciting a gasp from her.

"I hear," he continued from earlier, rolling a thumb over her nipple, "that you're a bit of a slut. That interests me." He nipped at her earlobe in a manner that was almost playful.

In a moment of clarity, Abby found the strength to challenge him again, as she usually did. "I... am not a whore," she hissed, fighting with every ounce of might within her. "I don't put out for dipshits like you." She'd been with one guy! How the hell had such a rumor started circulating? Sure, she'd been a little... dirty with her ex, of course, but what girl wasn't in a relationship? She'd liked him at the time, so the sexual activity was justified. Maybe she was a bit of a nymphomaniac, but only with men she believed to be handsome and generous. In short, not Bahir Salib.

Still, she was paralyzed when Bahir's other hand, unoccupied until this moment, made a beeline for the snap of her shorts, undoing it with suspicious agility. "Oh, is that so?" He breathed, an obvious snicker behind his voice. "Then you'll object to me doing this, I suppose." His fingers dipped beneath the waistline of her panties—they were pretty lacy today, she remembered uselessly—and glided over her sex. That single, swift motion made Abby realize how wet she really was. She never recalled being so turned on with her previous lover.

Lashing out, Abby grabbed Bahir's wrist, but by then, it was already too late. A spark, wholly electric, jolted her and caused stars to glint in the corners of her eyes. She moaned—dammit, shut up! You arenotenjoying this!—and her grip slackened. Snapping his hand from her grasp easily, Bahir coyly slid his finger repetitively over her engorged clitoris, and Abby had to bite her lip to keep from making any more noise. She made the brutal mistake of looking back into his eyes, and the vast glare of hatred and desire jumped out and devoured her from his pitch-black stare. It was enough to stimulate her further, but she briefly came to her senses and slammed her thighs shut so as to give him less leverage. Unfortunately (fortunately?), the pressure of her tightened skin only increased the friction, heightening her pleasure. Abby wanted to scream, both out of need and anger.

"You're not helping yourself, you know," Bahir growled, yanking her blouse down around her breasts in one adroit tug. A satisfied purr rumbled from the back of his throat as he discovered she wasn't wearing a bra. Abby tended not to wear one when she was alone in the house and was mentally kicking herself for not remembering to put one on before she came to Bahir's house. As he got down on his knees and buried his face into her chest, his lips caressing both knolls until they were soaked and glistening with sweat, Abby came to the dull revelation that he was right: she really wasn't helping herself.

With that, she took the opportunity to taunt him further. "I thought you were Muslim," she jeered breathlessly, sucking in a breath when she felt a single finger probe her entrance. "You guys don't do stuff like this until marriage, right?"

Bahir glanced up at her and pulled his mouth away from her left nipple, twinkling with interest. "Why don't you," he began as he promptly pulled her shorts down, ensnaring them around her ankles, "shut the hell up?" To ensure the expected silence from her, Bahir jammed the same hand that had been palming her with into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself. Shoving his digits down to the hilt of her throat, a cruel smile stretched across his face as he felt her gag reflex close around them. Abby was overcome by the sharp, bittersweet fluid coating his fingers, having not tasted herself since her ex last went down on—

In an instant, Bahir's face was no longer slightly above par with hers and was instead between her legs, the tip of his tongue tantalizingly caressing her, lapping thirstily.Would you like a glass of water?His inquiry from several minutes ago echoed distantly in Abby's mind, now devoid of all situational logic and understanding, and she felt an ironic laugh bubble up at that. However, it was rapidly repressed by the electrifying pulses of pleasure snaking throughout her nerves, making everything from her toes to her scalp tingle with a foreign sensation. Her ex had been good at oral, but Bahir was unbelievable—so unbelievable that when Abby felt the first twinges of her climax begin to build, she had to frantically grasp for the silky black tendrils of his hair to keep herself from shaking out of the chair. When she did come, her entire body convulsed, shuddering with tremors so powerful that her hips bucked forward, nearly collapsing from the force of her orgasm. Bahir planted both hands on either side of her hips, holding her steady until her trembling died down, leaving her panting and winded, as if she run a very long—and very pleasing—marathon.

Bahir stood up, and Abby saw his perpetual half-smirk painted with the glistening shine of her juices, the wetness extending onto the dark skin of his cheek. Abby was strangely turned on by that; the image of her rival's face between her legs was one she'd constantly remember when passing him by in the hallway at school or exchanging a knowing glance with him during AP world history. She wasn't a whore, and her standards, though low, did not include Bahir. But this was a dirty little secret, and she was somehow willing to let this particular instance slide. Practically glued to the chair, her shorts down by her feet and her lower half still soaking and exposed, Abby felt she still had enough of her dignity to glare up derisively at her nemesis and mouth the phrase "I hate you" in silent mocking, the quiet words shaping around her puffy, tired lips.

Bahir laughed, deep and insulting. "You won't hate me after this, slut," he sneered. Reaching down, he calmly undid the zipper of his khaki shorts with a swift, resounding—

Slam.

Abby was jerked awake by the abrupt noise, staring up at the blindingly white ceiling from her reclined position in shock. Quickly, she sat up, assessing her surroundings, the direness of her former situation weighing down immensely on her. With one blink and a minute of relative distress, she realized she was in her room, back at her family's apartment within the city limits—her vanity and dresser in the corner, the old television with its familiarly crooked antennae, and the floor littered with various bras and shirts alluded that she was no longer in Bahir's unimpressively large (and disgustingly clean) house. She was even on her own bed, the twin size only allowing enough room for her and a pile of missed homework at the foot. Throwing a fleeting look over the edge, Abby discovered that her anatomy and physiology textbook had fallen to the floor, the source of the noise that had stirred her back to wonderful reality. The clock on her bedside table read 6 p.m. on the dot, indicating that she'd been out for more than an hour or two.

She let out a breath that she'd possibly been holding since she'd fallen asleep.It was all a dream.Abby was flooded with a veritable tsunami of relief, praising the gods Bahir did not follow for being merciful to her. Good lord, what kind of a dream was that? Receiving cunnilingus from her archenemy? She must have been going mad from the lack of sexual contact. But that, of course, was what masturbation was for.Masturbation whilenotthinking of stupid Bahir,she thought as she slid off the bed, standing up and stretching, her muscles aching from her long nap.I'll bet he's not even that good at oral. He's too skinny to be deft with his mouth like that.

The second she bent down to touch her toes, however, she noticed the display of her cell phone light up, as jovial as a Christmas tree, bringing her attention to a caller. Straightening her back, Abby headed over to where she'd laid it earlier, plausibly before passing out on her bed while doing homework. She saw that the call was coming from an unknown number. Normally, she didn't answer those in fear of telemarketers or bizarre stalkers, but with her sense of curiosity refreshed after a long nap, she decided to live dangerously. She held the received up to her ear and greeted the anonymous person. "Hello?"

His voice, taut and bitter, flowed innocently into her ear. "Abby," he said. "I need help studying for the AP test next week. Come over and help me."