9 years ago:
The night air is warm as I step out onto the balcony off of my bedroom. I fill my lungs with it, trying to clear my head as I glare up at the stars.
It’s one of those nights where I’m just pissed, even when I have every conceivable reason to be happy. There are the general things - that I’m insanely wealthy, for one, and that I’m eighteen, healthy, and pretty much set for life. Then there’s the more immediate things that should make me happy - that I’m stoned, that I just pilfered the refrigerator and remembered Mrs. Tottingham’s leftover lasagna, or that not twenty minutes ago, I was getting my cock swallowed by Stephanie Seyfried in the driveway of her parents’ house when I dropped her off.
Except I’m not. Except even with all those things, tonight’s one of those nights where it feels like something major is missing - like I’m empty inside.
Stephanie means nothing, neither do any of the rest of them, and they know that. At least, I think they know that. I hope they do, because I fucking hate having to have a talk with a girl later that - huge surprise - letting one of the princes of South Neck fuck you on the hood of a sports car, or in a pool chair during a keg party doesn’t mean you’re “going steady.”
So, Stephanie and her toothy blow job and the annoying sex sounds she makes when I have fucked her before mean nothing. The mild, passing high I’ve got from Ash’s weed means nothing. The lasagna was pretty fucking good, but it’s nothing that’s going to bring me out of this hole tonight, which means it also means nothing, at least right now.
Water water everywhere and not a drop to spare.
The line from the Samuel Coleridge poem comes to mind as I slump into the deck chair out on the patio and glare off across the property.
A light goes on, and suddenly, I’m alert.
She’s still up. Second floor, left-hand side, right above the back patio.
“She ever bring any dudes over? I mean, hell, you can probably see into her room from up here.”
It’s been about two weeks since that party and all of our bullshitting up here on my balcony, but Tyler was right. Yes, I can see into her room from up here. No, she most definitely doesn’t know that, or she’d be keeping her blinds drawn a hell of a lot more often.
They’re open right now, as it happens.
It’s one in the morning on a school night senior year. For me, that means staying out late, smoking weed, and getting a blow job in my Land Rover. For Anastasia, that means studying, cramming, and going to bed by ten.
Except, she’s up.
I’m intrigued.
I reach for my cigarettes, lighting one and dragging on it as I lean forward, resting an elbow on the stone railing of the balcony and focusing on the lit room in the gardener’s cottage. It’s a dim light, and as I peer at her window - yeah like a total fucking creep - I can see that it’s just a low light of a bedside table lamp. A shadow crosses, and as I watch, Ana walks past the window, a guitar in her hand, and sits on the edge of her bed. She strums, and while I can barely hear it, I can hear it.
I’ve never actually heard her before, and I am spellbound. Because goddamn she’s good. Not like “oh, that sounds nice” good, I mean like actual, real “holy shit you can fucking play” good. And then the voice comes out, and I’m just done.
I can’t make out the words from here - at least, not enough to really understand what she’s singing, but fucking hell does it sound amazing. Her voice is low and breathy, this sultry sound that I swear to fucking God gets my dick hard just listening to it. It’s like a mix of singing and moaning or something, and I am listening. In fact, I’m listening for the next twenty minutes, just smoking cigarettes and watching and letting the sounds of Anastasia playing just melt through me.
Eventually, she puts the guitar down.
I frown.
I want more of that. I want more of that all the damn time. Hell, I’m almost about to march over there, pound on her door and tell her to keep playing, when suddenly, without any warning, she stands, reaches down, and pulls her shirt off.
And I am very much paying attention.
Her back is to me, and I can feel my blood pounding as I take in her bare back. She tosses the shirt aside, followed by her plain white bra, and I can feel my pulse thudding harder in my ears. Her hands go to her belt, and my cock becomes fully hard as she slips her shorts down and kicks them away.
Black thong panties.
Now that I wouldn’t have expected. At all.
I’m staring at that ass when she turns towards the full-length mirror on her closet door, and I growl. I actually growl, out loud. Every neuron in my brain is firing, every nerve ending in my body is sparking, and every inch of my cock rock hardens in my shorts as I see the girl who’s both infuriated and entrapped me for the last eight damn years.
And she’s perfect.
I’ve slept with many girls. I’ve seen even more naked. And without a second’s hesitation, I can say that none of them hold a fucking candle to Anastasia.
I stare. I stare like it’s my first time seeing tits for fuck’s sake. Because she’s literally perfect. Petite and soft in all the right places. Long legs, pert little tits, and an ass I legitimately salivate over.
She turns in the mirror like she’s checking out her own ass over her shoulder, which makes me grin since Ana is the last chick on the planet I can imagine preening in a mirror. Her hands slide up her body, cupping her breast slightly and making my cock lurch. She slides her hands down to her panties, and I lean forward, jaw tight and my hand drifting to my dick, just waiting.
She slips her thumbs into the waist by her hips, when suddenly, she stops, as if realizing something. She turns, and steps to the window, glancing out of it casually, taking a slow breath, and giving me one last perfect glance at those sweet tits of hers.
Then she’s pulling the string of the blinds shut, and the show’s over.
I’ve got my cock out and in my hand in seconds. I’m aware of how fucking weird this is, or how fucking creepy this might seem, but I truly don’t care. I’m harder than I’ve ever been, and I want more than I’ve ever wanted with any random chick I’ve ever been with.
And I want her, badly.
I groan, sinking back in my chair and letting my head drop back as I replay what I just saw. My hand strokes my cock as I memorize every detail - every imperfection and flawless line of her. It’s fast, and I’m almost caught off guard as the orgasm hits me like a truck. I groan, my cum warm across my hand as I grit my teeth, muscles clenching.
Fuck.
That’s the night I lose the war I’ve been fighting with myself for eight years. That’s the night the last of my bullshit defenses, and excuses when it comes to Ana fail me.
Because I saw her that night. Yes, I saw her as in I saw her almost naked, but I mean I saw her that night. I caught a glimpse of the Ana behind the armor I’ve spent eight years forcing her to put up when she’s around me.
That’s the night I hear that voice of hers, and I’m lost.
* * *
Present:
The blood roars in my ears as I slam the door shut to my own quarters. My pulse thunders, my senses tingling as I lean against the door, my hand clenching over and over again at my side.
I can taste her on my lips.
The beast inside roars the words through my fucking skull as I yank open my belt, pop the button of my jeans, and pull down the zipper.
I can taste her.
I groan as I move to my bed, losing my jeans and my T-shirt along the way and lying across it, my hand still working my shaft. My tongue runs across my lip, and my cock pulses in my hand.
I imagine Ana on her knees, bent over on my bed with her hands clasped behind her back. No, tied. Tied behind her back. I groan, pumping my cock up and down as I imagine biting that peach of an ass, letting my palm slap across it, making it red and tender for me.
I imagine running my tongue up and down the lips of her pussy and swirling it over her clit until she’s begging for release.
And then I imagine claiming her. I imagine fucking her like I should have years ago. I imagine grabbing her hips and the tie holding her wrists together and driving every fucking inch inside as she screams for more.
My balls tingle a warning, and suddenly my mind goes numb. Every muscle in my body tenses and coils as I explode across my hand and my abs.
Slowly, I drift back down from orbit, my jaw clenched tight and my eyes still shut.
Picturing her.
The fuck am I doing?
Bringing her back here was a mistake. Pushing the line and blurring the boundaries is making it worse. She’s here for one reason, and one reason only - for me to win. For me to save my empire, regardless of whether I deserve it or not. But that’s it, and whatever unfinished bullshit the two of us have is off the table. Because it has to be.
She’s an employee.
She’s a means to an end.
I made damn sure she got away from me years ago. But like I said, I was lost the first night I heard her sing. I’ve just been fighting it ever since.
…And I can still taste her, by the way.