Kat
Bed sheets twist around my naked body like a dusty purple toga. I’m tangled up in cotton knots and a naked Chase sprawled across two-thirds of the mattress. The taut bubble of his exposed ass is a stark reminder of what we did last night. That, and the slight ache still fluttering between my thighs. Forget Neck Tattoo. Chase’s new nickname is Moby Dick.
The thought sets a sad grin on my face. I screwed my best friend, my roommate, and my sort-of boss. A fucked-up four-way that resulted in multiple orgasms, a head that’s clearly not thinking straight, and a heart full of questions.
In one night, I ruined everything. I can’t wake up next to Chase and face the awkward day after. With any other guy, I’d just get up and sneak home, but this is Chase.
And I am home.
Shit.
I extricate myself from my own blankets and pad around the room, throwing on my shorts and tee before creeping into the hall. Grandma’s awake and watching The Match Game. Gene something-or-another smiles like a buffoon on the television blaring from the living room. I swear this dude is drunk in every episode. Lucky bastard.
Still sticky and warm, I quietly duck into the bathroom to do my business. Thoughts of last night stay front and center in my mind. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and attempt to scrub away the feelings spinning in my chest, but my reflection in the mirror just points and laughs.
You allowed yourself to be pity fucked. Could you be more pathetic if you tried?
He got into you, but he’s not into you. Suck on that, slut.
F.M.L. I need a drink . . . or seven.
In the kitchen, I start making Grandma her tea. Little pink rosebuds adorn the porcelain cup. Along the rim, a shining band of platinum glimmers in the morning light. She loves this tea set. I don't know why. Maybe it’s a family heirloom or something. It looks really old.
“Morning, Grandma,” I tell her, setting her drink next to her.
“Thank you, dear.” When she drops her wrinkled hand on top of mine with a pat, it makes my heart hurt. What if Chase and I can’t live together anymore? Who’ll take care of her?
“Are you hungry?” She swipes the air with a grumble. She’s lucid today. I can hear it in her voice and see it in her pale eyes. It’s a good day for her. I don’t have to dote on her as much. Not that I mind. This is what my life has become. A single girl in her twenties, sober and spending time with an old lady. The worst part about it? I don’t even mind. I like being with her.
Jeez Louise, I am pathetic.
“Okay, well you give me a shout if you need anything.” I wander back to my room, pinching my brows together when I see my bed empty. His bedroom door is closed. He’s avoiding me. Great. Probably thinking up ways to let me down easy.
Don’t bother, dude. Just smash a brick in my face and be done with it. I’m a lost cause, anyway. May as well get it over with.
I lift my arm to knock, but the bedroom door whips open. Colorful fingers wrap around my wrist and tug then the door clicks shut with me on the other side. The next thing I see is a field of blue consuming my very soul as two bright arms cage me in on either side. A hint of mint and a splash of sweet-spicy fragrance hits my nose. Burning desire hits everywhere else. A hint of light pink flashes near the corner of his mouth, poking inside the tiny ring there. That tongue. Thoughts of how it felt threaten to eat me alive. I watch it run across his lip, taking in the sheen of saliva it leaves in its wake.
“Kat.”
“Chase.”
“Fuckin’ hell.” His lips crash onto mine with carnal fury, sucking the moan from my chest. “I want more of you,” he mumbles against my slanted mouth as his calloused fingertips roam the waistband of my shorts.
“Last night was a one-time deal, Chase. I don't go back for sloppy seconds.” My legs instinctively part as soon as his hand slips inside my pajamas.
His fingers shimmy past the line of my panties and fill my dampened core. “This wet pussy says differently.”
“That may be so,” I breathe, arching my hips as he slides in knuckle deep. “But that doesn't make it any less risky.”
“Think of it as two people getting what they need from each other. No hearts involved, no strings attached.”
“Fuck friends?”
“BFFs with benefits.”
Anything sounds like a good idea when he’s touching me like this. I’m in deep shit, drowning in lust. The tide of need is up to my eyeballs now and rising by the second.
“Why do you want this?” My voice floats out as a breathy whimper. I need some sort of validation that this isn’t the worst idea in the entire world.
“I’ve tasted that sweet honey on my tongue, felt your orgasm shatter around my cock, but I have yet to witness it with my eyes. I bet you're gorgeous when you come.”
Access granted.
My calm, quiet, dependable friend. My voice of logic and reason. He’s not the one finger banging me up against his bedroom door. He looks like Chase. Smells like Chase. But this is someone completely new. Who is this guy with his dirty tongue and magic hands? The one who has me on the verge of unravelling like a spool of twine? I don’t know him. But I want to. God, do I want to.
The swirling sea of pleasure swallows me whole. He catches me as I crumple into his arms and then hurls me on the bed as if I’m weightless. Baby blues hold me in their heated stare. He stands at the edge, licking his lips as he prepares to feed. The sound he makes next is inhuman. Part moan, part growl. It thunders from deep inside as he sucks my desire off his fingers.
He drops his pants and stands before me. The monster cock stares at me through two crooked eyeballs. The barbell. It starts at the frenulum and dives beneath the skin, poking its head out little over halfway down the shaft. Two shining silver balls just inches above two skin-colored ones.
My gaze travels up his naked body, drinking in the sight of him on full display. Every peak, every valley, every inch of colored skin from torso to neck. When it finally reaches his eyes, my heart skips a beat. The pale blue color has darkened to a storming shade of summer rain. Gray and cold and roiling with feral madness.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks with a stern baritone.
“What do you mean?”
“You can undress, or I can tear the clothes right off your body. Your choice.” He purses his lips, lifting his pierced brow. “It’d be a shame to shred those little red shorts you love so much.”
I’m choking on the irony of his statement. Just a few weeks ago, he yelled at me for being naked in this bed, and now he’s suddenly demanding it. Using my thumbs, I glide the garment down my legs, feeling his gaze mark my skin as I chuck them to the floor. I lift my tee next and spread my knees on the comforter, waiting for him to make his move.
Another animalistic grumble reverberates from his chest. He lashes out, his teeth gnashing against my breast. Last night, he was sweet and timid. I have no idea what brought on this change, but I go with it, succumbing to the perfect sting of his bite.
This side of him turns me on. This maniacal madman flips me to my stomach, pressing his rock-hard length against the seam of my ass. My thighs, still slick from before, grow warm with the anticipation of having him inside me. “This,” he starts, with a swat on my cheek, “is my favorite side of you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday soon this sweet little ass” —whack!—“will be mine.”
“That hurts,” I whine as his fingers dig into my hips.
“Life is full of hurt. It’s that pain that reminds us we’re alive.” The crown of his cock slips between my crack before nudging my entrance. “I don’t do nice and sweet. . .” With one fierce stroke, he buries himself balls deep. I lurch forward with a yelp, and he chuckles, grasping my hips to hold me steady. “And I like to be in control.”
“Oh, yeah?” I answer his laugh with one of my own. “Too bad for you, so do I.”
I jerk my hips, knocking him back on his haunches as I sit up on mine. Chase’s hand tangles in my hair and snaps my head back. Hot breath feathers my ear, his lips nipping at the lobe. “Doesn’t matter who tops who. As long as my name is the one you’re screaming.”
He pumps his hips hard and fast, the barbell raking against my inner walls with each steady thrust. The elusive G-spot isn’t a myth. It’s real, and Chase not only found it, he fucking owns it. The euphoria rippling through me steals the sound from my lungs. It’s nothing but muted shrieks lodged in my throat. But when his fingers slip between my legs and squeeze, my entire world goes black.
Ecstasy. Unadulterated, uncut, and pure. It snakes around my spine and cyclones through me in a tornado of delirium knocking me senseless. I fall forward, burying my face in the mattress as the brutal pace of his pelvis smacks me into submission.
I haven’t been fucked like this since . . . well, ever. Each dynamic thrust reaches all the way to the end of my canal, jolting my body with shockwaves of pleasure. My arms and legs quiver; my body trembles. The sweet ache resurfaces a second time, tearing a screech from my lungs.
He spanks my ass hard and spills into me with a ravenous howl. One by one, we topple over. Deep breath pants in my ear. He brushes my hair aside, nipping at the back of my neck. “I was right.”
“About?” I ask, lifting my head just enough to catch his eye in my peripheral.
“You’re gorgeous when you come.”
A sleepy smile grows on my face. “You’re an animal.”
Chase rolls over, reaching for his cigarettes on the bedside table. “You’re a crazy bitch. You bring it out of me,” he breathlessly warbles around the stick.
He pauses to light the end, takes a drag, and then picks a stray piece of tobacco off the tip of his tongue. Why I find the movement hot as fuck, I cannot tell you. Chase may be onto something. I’m certifiable. Cuckoo for Coco Puffs. He just fucked me into next week, yet I’m four seconds away from jumping on his giant cock and taking a second ride to Pound Town.
This is too bizarre. I’m not this girl. I don’t cuddle in bed after sex or share ciggies in post-coital bliss. I should be halfway out the door by now, but when Chase slides his arm around my back and pulls my body against his, I melt like lip balm in a hot car. We’re snuggling. What’s even worse? I like it.
Grandma shuffles beside me, pushing her walker out in front of her. She moves surprisingly fast for an old lady. The late summer air blows through the thin sweater draped over her petite shoulders. When we first started taking these walks, she wasn’t receptive, but it’s become our routine. Just her and me, every day.
Ducks swim in the pond that shines in the center of the park. Metal swings squeak and squawk, and the murmur of children’s laughter echoes as we take a seat on a nearby bench. She lifts her shirt just enough to pull the plastic bag of bread from her pocket. With spindly fingers, she tears a piece and throws it by the baby ducklings wading in the shallow water.
I reach into my bag and pull out a cold bottle of water. “Hot today,” she says, taking it with a smile. “I always loved the summertime. Watching TJ chasing the ducks. He was a good boy.”
Who the fuck is TJ? I smile and nod.
For a moment, she lifts her face to the sun, letting it shine down on her paper skin. She’s at peace here and alert. It’s so much better than sitting inside the house all day. Being in the park, she’s part of life again. She’s embracing it instead of waiting for it to end.
“You’re a good person, Kat.” Her hand is warm and dry when she rests it over mine. “Of all my daughters-in-law, you’re my favorite. But don’t tell, because I’ll just deny it anyway.”
Crap. She’s doing it again. Comparing me to some random relative that probably doesn’t even exist. Far as I can tell, Chase doesn’t have any other family. None that he’s mentioned, anyway.
“Between us, I was happy to see Diana go. She was only ever after the money. Good riddance. I’m happy Tanner has you. You make my boy happy.”
Tanner. This is a name I’ve heard. She’s said it to Chase before. Times like this, I wonder what I’m supposed to do. Do I go with it, letting her think I’m someone I’m not? Or do I risk upsetting her and tell her the truth? The former seems like the easier tactic. “I try.”
“So modest. Let’s go back.”
By the time we get home, it’s late in the day. She settles into her chair, and like clockwork, her chin slowly falls to her chest. I take the opportunity to start dinner.
Chicken sizzles in the pan on the stove as the scents of citrus and spices fill the kitchen. A lemon slice covers the top of each boneless breast. I set it to warm and throw on the lid just in time for Chase to come through the door.
“Smells awesome in here.” He drops a kiss on my forehead and lifts the lid to peek inside. “Do I have time for a shower?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
I follow him down the hall, stopping at the giant closet at the end. A stacked washer and dryer hides inside. After filling the basket with freshly dried clothes, I carry them to Chase’s bed and dump them in a heap.
Cooking, laundry, and a day out with Dementia Doris . . . my life is hella glamorous, isn't it? Try not to be envious.
One by one, all my friends dropped out of contact. It’s as if sobriety is a sickness they don’t want to catch. Beware the most boring girl on Earth! Nobody wants to hang out with the new me. I’m no longer interesting, rather a caustic reminder of what could happen. A worst-case scenario.
In just a few short months, I went from being a fun, driven career woman to “the little woman.” How the heck did this happen to me? Why can’t I be like everyone else who goes out and has a drink then goes home? Why does everything need to be so goddamned hard?
But when Chase walks out wearing nothing but a towel slung around his slim waist, I’m reminded I don’t need them. Shallow friends may come and go, but what he and I have is real. He stood by me at my worst and builds me up at my best. Chase is a true friend.
And a damn hot lay, might I add.
Droplets cascade down his chest and stomach, giving his tattoos a weird third dimension. He reaches through the pile of clean laundry and pulls out a tee. “How was your day?” Lean muscles flex under his colorful skin as he pulls it over his head. His freshly showered fragrance delights my nostrils. I lean over and inhale his scent into my lungs, holding it inside me for as long as I can.
“Business as usual.” I carry the folded stack to the dresser, but something in Chase’s open closet catches my eye. A shining scrap of blood-red silk hanging from a velvet hanger, perfectly lined with Old Navy jackets and Levis. “What the . . .?” I reach over and snatch the garment from the rack. “You got something you wanna tell me, Chase?”
“Hm?”
“Why do you have a Marc Jacobs cocktail dress in your closet? Pretty sexy.”
He pulls on his boxer briefs and flicks his eyes in my direction. “Stay out of my closet, Kat,” he snaps.
A bubble of nervous laughter pops from my chest. “What?”
“It’s not mine. It’s not yours. Put it back.” His lips press into a thin line. It’s just a dress. Why’s he losing his mind?
“Sorry, dude,” I say with a sarcastic eye roll, setting the dress back on the rack.
Chase comes up behind me and slides the door closed in a huff. “How was Grandma today?”
The conversation we had in the park immediately comes to mind. “Um, all right, I guess. She was talking about some people. Diana, Tanner, and some kid named TJ? Any of those names ring a bell?”
He turns and starts fidgeting with my makeup on the dresser. “Why is all your shit in my room?” he grumbles, throwing my stuff into the case.
“The lighting in here is better.” I step forward, resting my hand on his bicep. Clearly, these names upset him. “Chase. Talk to me.”
“Did she call you Diana?”
When his head whips in my direction, his eyes are wet and manic. “No. She said she liked me better than Diana. Who is she?”
He leans his palms on the smooth wooden surface and sighs, sucking the corner of his lip between his teeth then letting it out slowly. “My mother.”