Unfortunately, as she informs you, you can’t just buy some wallpaper and stick it on. For one, neither of you know how, and you’re not sure if Dad knows anyone who could put it on. But even if you did know how, it’s also true that putting on wallpaper is expensive. You need to buy the wallpaper itself, and that’s not cheap—and you need to buy the glue to hold the wallpaper on, which is even more expensive. You’d be out hundreds if you tried to do that.
The same problem goes with the floor. Carpeting that amount of floor would easily run you several hundred dollars, maybe even a few thousand if you wanted comfortable carpets rather than the cheap stuff you might find in most DIY stores. Your best bet, or so Emma informs you, are some large rugs. Some large, colourful rugs. You can hide most of the rest of the drab floor with your furniture, but the middle of your room and the area around the stairs needs some lightening up.
It won’t be cheap, that’s for certain. But you trust Emma’s eye enough to accept that the room will look good once it’s all said and done.
With your plan all sorted, you lead Emma back out of the basement and upstairs. Dad gives you a curious look as the two of you emerge out into the living room, but eventually just shrugs and accepts it.
“Do the two of you want to stay for dinner?” Dad asks, looking between the two of them. “I’ve got some chicken stew cooking.”
Alan shakes his head, clapping Dad on the arm. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says with a smile. “We’re getting pizza tonight, aren’t we, Emma?”
Beside you, Emma nods, looking all too serious for the occasion. “Yeah. I’m getting pepperoni.”
Dad shrugs. You pout at Emma, but she just grimaces and points towards her Dad. You settle down, giving her a sad frown, which she mirrors. You do kind of want her to stay for dinner, but if her family has other plans, you can’t force her to stay. Yet.
As Alan and Dad finish saying their goodbyes, you pull Emma off to the side and into the kitchen, temporarily away from their prying eyes. Once you’re alone, you snake your arms around Emma, giving her a small hug.
“Thanks for your help,” you whisper to her. She sighs shakily and returns the hug, resting her cool cheek against yours. You turn your head a little at the same time she does, allowing you to press a kiss to her cheek—then another one, a little further along, a small kiss to the corner of her mouth. Then, heart pounding, you quickly step back out of the embrace, standing back just far enough that you can watch her cheeks flush faint red again.
“Any time,” she replies in a voice just as soft as yours. “Just send me a message if you want my help again. Any time.”
You nod. “I will,” you murmur softly.
Your heart is still pounding.
Emma and Alan don’t linger—it’s nearly six thirty by the time they leave, and they won’t get home until about quarter to seven, not leaving them a whole lot of time to order and eat their dinner before needing to settle in for the night. You accept that they have to leave, but you still can’t help but feel a little resentful that Alan pulled Emma away before you could get her to stay for dinner.
It doesn’t kill your mood too much, thankfully. After all—you can always invite her back over the holidays, and this time make sure that Alan knows she’s going to stay.
The rest of your time passes easily. Thursday night is nice and restful; you go to sleep a little early, falling asleep at half past ten, rather than eleven or later. You wake up the next morning refreshed and energized, just in time to go for your morning jog.
School itself chugs along just as it did yesterday. You meet up with Madison in the morning, and with Charlotte and Aisha at lunch. It’s mostly inane talk, today, although you do spend some time making sure that Madison understands that you seriously want her to spend her money on her own hobbies.
Nothing interesting happens until you get home a little after five, flushed with the knowledge that school is over for the term, and you have a full two weeks ahead of you.
Sophia is waiting for you on your porch. You give her a little wave, which she returns easily enough as she stands, shouldering her bag once more. “Hey, Hebert,” she greets you.
“Hi, Sophia.” You slip past her to open the door, holding it open so she can walk in. Once she’s in, you slip it closed and dart ahead, glancing around to see if Dad’s home yet. He’s not. “You’re early. I haven’t had time to make you anything to eat, sorry.”
She shrugs. “It’s fine,” she says dismissively. “Got a track meeting later tonight, I’ll eat there. Thanks.”
“Of course.” You smile at her. “Did you bring your Chemistry work?”
“Mm.” She shakes her head, following you as you walk through the house and into your bedroom. Once she’s in, you close your door, locking it behind you. “I did.” She hesitantly moves over to your bed, pulling her backpack with you. You study her for a moment, taking in her cautious movements. She seems to notice your appraisal, because she scowls at you for a moment before her face softens. You wait, and after a moment, she curls up on your bed, pulling her knees to her chest. “Hey, Hebert,” she says abruptly. “You any good at maths?”
You look at her, taking in her nervous demeanour. You’re tempted to make a joke about it, but you’re pretty sure she won’t take it well right now. “I’m okay at it,” you say, moving over to sit next to her. She hesitates as you move to take her hand, but she doesn’t pull it away before you can take it. She doesn’t reciprocate, though, just sits there, allowing you to hold it. “Do you need some help with Maths, too?”
Sophia sighs. “And History,” she says grudgingly. “I’m just—busy all the time, and everyone expects me to have all this time to do all this bullshit work and I don’t.” With her free hand, she savagely hits your mattress. The whole bed bounces a little. “And my grades are tanking because of it,” she concludes, frustration thick in her voice.
You hesitate. You don’t actually take any History classes at school. “I can help you with Maths,” you say carefully. “I’d have to spend some time catching up on History if you want my help with that, though. I don’t mind, but it’ll take me a while to go through the material for your class.”
She stares at you, then nods slowly. “That’s fair,” she says. “What do you want in exchange?”
“What-“ You balk at that for a moment, before you remember—right, the deal. You’d, you’d honestly almost forgotten about that. “Oh. Um. It’s okay.” You smile sweetly at her. “If you need the help, I’ll help you. I’m not going to blackmail you with your grades, Sophia.”
Raising her eyebrows at you, she sneers a little. “Right,” she scoffs. “That’s why we spend so much time here every week, is it?”
Your brow knits together as a little burst of pain stabs through your chest. You’d really thought she was into it. You try to disguise the hurt as you reply, “We can stop if you want.”
She sneers at you for another moment before leaning back, shaking her head. This time, you’re pretty sure her scoff is directed at herself. “No. No.” She waves a hand at you. “Just—sorry.” She throws her head back for a moment. When she looks back down, she looks a little less agitated. Not very much less, but a little. After a moment, she softens a bit more. Her hand in yours squeezes a little, the hand-holding actually reciprocated. “I know you’re not blackmailing me. Just payment for services rendered, right?” She smirks at you, the expression somehow still challenging.
But you still shake your head. “No,” you insist. “We can stop that, if you really want. I just—I just like… kissing you.” Your voice grows smaller as you finish your sentence, and you turn your head down a bit, starting at your joined hands. “But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I’ll still help you with your schoolwork.” You look back up, giving her an embarrassed smile. “It might even give us more time to study, huh.”
The attempt at a joke falls flat between the two of you. Neither of you speaks for a moment.
Finally, Sophia nods, her expression a strange mixture of curiosity and frustration as she looks at you. “No, it’s fine,” she replies. “It’s—not exactly a chore.” Finally, most of the sudden frustration has bled out of her face, leaving her usual teasing tone in its place. “We’ll just make a new deal. You help me with Maths and History too, and I’ll…” She grimaces. “You can pick two more bits of clothing for me to take off when I’m over. Sounds fair?”
You slowly shake your head. That sounds—that does sound more than fair, but… “I want something else,” you say abruptly. “I’ll help you with Maths, that’s fine, but History is going to take me a lot of time to catch up on.”
“What?” You can sense the trepidation in her words.
“I want a date.” Sophia blinks, taken aback. “During the holidays. I want to ask you out on a date, and you have to say yes. If you do, I’ll help you with your History work. Does that sound fair?”
She eyes you warily. “When?”
You shake your head. “I don’t know yet. During the holidays, definitely, but I don’t know when I’m going to be busy. I’ll let you know closer to when I can do it, okay?”
There’s a significant pause. You sit there patiently as Sophia considers it for several long moments, as though searching your words for a trap. Eventually, she looks over at you with a guarded look. “I’m going to be busy a lot during the holidays.”
“That’s fine.” You give her a smile. “If you can’t make the first date, I’ll set a second one. But you’ll have to make time.” The message is clear; she’ll have to make time for you, like you’re making time for her.
She bites her lip, as though considering something. Then she exhales and nods, a jerky movement, as though she’s already regretting it. “Fine,” she bites out. “I’ll go on a date with you. But you’d better help me get top marks in History, Hebert.”
Yes! “Of course,” you tell her with a demure smile. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Good.” She nods roughly. “Now tell me what clothes I’m taking off, Hebert.” Her cheeks flush dark, a charming colour that makes you want to squeal and pinch her cheeks… not that you would. You’d like to keep your fingers unbroken.
Besides; you’re a little too confused to be squealing at her. “Uh…” you stall. What’s she talking about?
A moment later, it clicks, and it’s all you can do to stop your eyes from widening in front of her. Did—did she think you meant a date in addition to taking off her clothes? And she agreed?
You lick your lips. This is uncharted territory. You don’t want to waste this. You also don’t want to push her too far. “Um… take off your bra,” you instruct her, trying to hide the trembling in your voice. “And—and your socks.” You nod firmly.
Sophia’s confused look is adorable. “My socks?” she asks incredulously.
You nod. It’s not that you’re a foot fetishist or anything, although you bet that Sophia does have cute little feet. It’s—it’s a vulnerability thing. Sophia, like Emma, uses her clothes like armour. The more you take off her, the more vulnerable she’s going to feel around you. There’s a certain appeal in having Sophia vulnerable around you—god knows you’ve had more than enough late-night fantasies about taking advantage of a vulnerable Sophia—but if you push her too fast too soon, she’s going to slam up her walls.
You don’t want to pass up on this opportunity, and taking off her socks will be another dent in her armour. It’s perfect—it’ll open her up more without pushing her right out of her comfort zone.
At least, in theory.
She stares at you for a moment, then shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Whatever floats your boat,” she grouses, and begins taking off her shirt.
You can’t help but stare once she takes her bra off. You’ve felt her up beneath it, sure, and you’ve certainly imagined what they’d look like unbound—but you’ve never actually seen Sophia’s breasts before. You can’t help the little moan that escapes you as they bounce slightly once they’re free of their confines. She smirks up at you, a little of her confidence restored. They’re perfect for her.
All of your girls have perfect breasts, of course. You love playing with all of them—Madison’s small, pert breasts just give you a different kind of pleasure to Victoria’s larger, softer breasts, which in turn give you a different kind of pleasure to Sophia’s rounded breasts, each tipped with dusky nipples. You have to restraint yourself from leaning in and biting them.
You tremble a little as she reaches down and pulls off her socks. You’d—you’d fantasized about having Sophia in your bed like this, but it’d always been a distant fantasy. It’s hard to restrain yourself, now that they’re within arm’s reach.
Her cheeks are dark when you finally tear your gaze away to stare in awe at her face. All the frustration from earlier has melted away, replaced with shimmering desire.
Well—if she wants it as much as you do, why should you hold back?
In the end, you and Sophia don’t get much studying done that night. Or, more properly, the two of you don’t get any studying done that night. It’s hard enough to tear yourself away from kissing Sophia on a normal day. When Sophia is showing you her nude breasts for the first time, it’s practically impossible.
