Taught by the Brother’s Best Friend

Elara's POV

"I just don't fucking get it, Leo! They actually said it to my face like it was a dirty word." I slammed my bedroom door shut, not wanting Ben to overhear me losing my shit in the hallway. I paced the length of my room, kicking off my heels and letting them thud against the baseboard. "They looked at me like I was some kind of fucking exhibit in a zoo. A virgin. Like it’s a goddamn disease."

Leo was leaning against my desk, arms crossed over his chest, looking at me with that mix of amusement and pity that always drove me up the wall. He watched me strip off my jacket and throw it onto the bed, his eyes following the movement of my body but staying respectful, distant.

"Elara, calm down," he said, his voice steady. "It’s just talk. They’re bored. They want a reaction."

"A reaction? Leo, they told me I was 'acting like an alien.' They said I was fake because I haven't spread my legs for half the football team yet," I spat, running my hands through my hair to untangle the knots from the wind. "I feel like a piece of chewed-up gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe, but for the opposite reason. I'm too clean for them. It’s fucking suffocating."

I walked over to him, needing him to understand the humiliation burning in my gut. The air in the room felt thick, heavy with the scent of my perfume and the frustration radiating off my skin. I grabbed his arm, desperate for some kind of anchor.

"I mean, is it really that big of a deal? Am I really such a freak?" I looked up into his eyes, searching for an answer. "I’m twenty years old. I shouldn’t have to apologize for not wanting to fuck random guys in the back of a frat house just to fit in. But God, I’m so sick of being the odd one out. I’m sick of feeling like I’m missing out on this massive human experience."

Leo sighed, uncrossing his arms to rest his hands on my waist. He was warm, solid. A friend. "You aren't missing anything you aren't ready for. Look, don't let them get into your head. You're smart, you're hot—any guy would be lucky to be with you. It should happen when you want it to, not because Jessica and her clique think you need to drop the V-card to be cool."

His words made sense, logically, but they didn't quell the fire raging under my skin. The rejection, the alienation, it all mixed with a sudden, sharp spike of lust. I looked at Leo—really looked at him. He was here.

He was safe. He was a guy. The idea took root in my brain, nasty and sudden.

"What if I want it now?" I whispered, stepping closer until my hips pressed against his. I felt him stiffen, his muscles locking up under my touch. "What if I just want to get it over with? To rip the label off and throw it in their faces?"

I slid my hands up his chest, feeling the hard planes of his pecs through his shirt. "Leo, you’re here. We’ve known each other forever. Why not you? Why not just... fucking do it right now?"

Leo pulled back like he’d been burned, his hands flying off my waist as if touching me suddenly scared him.

"Whoa, Elara. Stop. Just stop." He took a step back, putting distance between us, his eyes wide. "I can't do that. You’re upset. You’re drunk on the drama, and you’re not thinking straight."

"I am thinking straight!" I argued, my voice rising. "I’m thinking that I want to feel something other than this fucking shame. I want to know what the big deal is. Come on, Leo. Don't make me beg."

"I'm not going to be your revenge fuck, Elara. That’s shitty, and you know it," he said, shaking his head. He looked genuinely uncomfortable now, his jaw set tight. "Your first time shouldn't be about proving a point to some mean girls. It shouldn't be because you're angry. It should be because you actually want the person you're with."

"But I do want—"

"No, you want to stop feeling weird," he cut me off, grabbing his jacket from the chair. "And I’m not going to take advantage of that. I’m going to go. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’ve cooled down."

"Leo, don't you dare leave me here alone like this," I snapped, humiliation washing over me in a cold wave.

"I’m offering myself to you on a silver platter and you’re just walking away?"

"I’m doing you a favor," he muttered, opening the bedroom door.

He slipped out into the hallway before I could say another word. I heard the front door open and then slam shut a second later, the vibrations rattling the pictures on the wall.

"Fucking coward!" I yelled at the empty room, kicking the bed frame. Pain shot through my toe, but I welcomed it. It was better than this hollow, aching feeling in my chest. "Fucking waste of space."

I flopped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room felt too quiet. The rejection stung more than I wanted to admit. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stay back. I wasn't going to cry over him. I wasn't going to cry over a bunch of catty bitches either. I just needed to fucking breathe.

I lay there for a minute, the silence pressing in on me, my heart still hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until the sound of footsteps cut through the quiet.

They weren't Leo's footsteps retreating to the street. They were heavy, confident, coming from the top of the stairs. My eyes flew open. Ben wasn't home. He was supposed to be at work until late.

I pushed myself up on my elbows, my heart jumping into my throat. The door to my room, which Leo had left slightly ajar, creaked as it was pushed open wider.

I froze.

Standing in the doorway was Marcus. Ben’s best friend.

He was looming there, filling the frame with his broad shoulders, his dark eyes fixed right on me. He was wearing a black t-shirt that strained against his muscles and jeans that hung low on his hips. He looked older than us, rougher, infinitely more dangerous than Leo.

I stared at him, my mouth going dry. He must have come looking for Ben. He must have been standing right there on the landing when I was screaming at Leo. He must have heard everything.

Every single word.

The heat that had faded with Leo’s absence roared back to life, but this time it was different. It wasn't just frustration; it was acute, mortifying awareness. Marcus had heard me begging for it. He knew I was a virgin.

He knew I was desperate.

A slow, lazy smirk spread across his face, curling his lips. He didn't look away. He didn't apologize for intruding. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms, his gaze dragging over my body where I lay prone on the bed. The look was heavy, thick, and it felt like a physical touch.

"So," Marcus drawled, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. "Leo's got a fucking hearing problem, doesn't he?"

My breath hitched in my throat. I scrambled to sit up fully, pulling my knees up to my chest to hide myself, but I knew it was useless. He’d already seen everything.

"Marcus... I... Ben isn't here," I stammered, my voice sounding weak and pathetic to my own ears.

"I know. I heard," he said, taking a step into the room. The air in the room shifted, charged suddenly with his presence. He smelled like expensive cologne and something metallic, like leather and tobacco. "I heard you telling him to man up. I heard you asking why you're the only one who hasn't been fucked yet."

I felt my face flush hot, a crimson blush burning my cheeks. "You were listening?"

"Hard not to. You have a set of lungs on you," he said, his eyes dropping to my chest, then slowly traveling down my legs. He wasn't ashamed of it. He was enjoying it. "He's a fool for walking out, Elara. Leaving a hot little thing like you alone, frustrated and begging for it? That's just bad manners."

The way he said it—hot little thing—sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. It was pure, undiluted lust. Marcus was a player. Everyone knew it. He fucked girls and forgot them before the sun came up. But right now, looking at the way he was undressing me with his eyes, I didn't care. I just wanted the burn.

"He... he said it was a bad idea," I whispered, unable to look away from him.

"Leo's a boy," Marcus said dismissively, taking another step closer. He was at the foot of my bed now. "He doesn't know what to do with a woman who knows what she wants."

He reached out, his fingers trailing over the duvet cover, inches from my foot. "Is it true? What you said?

That you're the last one holding out? That you're tired of being the good girl?"

I nodded, unable to speak. My heart was pounding so hard I thought he might be able to hear it.

"You shouldn't have to beg, Elara," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, turning dark and seductive.

"Not when there are guys like me around who are more than willing to help you fix that problem."

He smirked again, a wicked, predatory glint in his dark eyes. He leaned down, putting his hands on the bed, boxing me in. The scent of him overwhelmed me, intoxicating and sharp.

"So," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Do you want to try with me instead?"